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Sunday December 21, 2008 "The Light Breaks Through" Isaiah 9:2-7 |
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Location: Blogs Brad's BlogBrad's Sermons |
 | | Posted by: Brad Miller | 12/22/2008 2:13 PM | The night was as dark as one I had ever experienced. Oh, not some “spiritual dark night of the soul”…I mean it was DARK outside. I would guess I was 8 or 9 years old at the camp my parents ran in northern Michigan. It was generally darker up there than in our home in Detroit. There was no ambient glow of the city lights to brighten things up, and generally, that was a good thing. Because without that city glow, the skies were filled with thousands upon thousands of stars and may nights were spent looking for the big and little dipper and other constellations we knew.
But this night, it was overcast and the lights of the stars were hidden by the clouds. When I tell you it was dark, I mean it was dark.
And this was the night my flashlight decided not to work.
The camp my parents ran had two parts. First, there was what called “the hotel.” It was a hunting and fishing lodge that my grandfather and my great uncle had built in the 1920’s, sitting on the banks of the St. Mary’s River. It had 30 bedrooms on the second and third floor and the first floor was made up of a huge front porch, a beautiful wood paneled lobby and a large dining room and kitchen. The camp was a family camp and so different churches would sign up for a week and families would stay in the hotel. If it was a small church, then they would share the week with other small churches.
The second part of the camp was what we called the “tenting area.” This area was down an old two tire tread path about a mile from the hotel sitting on the banks of Munoscong Bay. Back there was a clearing for probably 20 camp sites where churches who wanted a little more rustic setting could set up camp for the week. The path to the tenting area was winding and close; a canopy of trees formed an umbrella over the road.
Earlier in the evening, I had announced to my mother that I was going back to the tenting area to play with some of the boys who were camping back there with their families. My mother said fine and reminded me to take my flashlight if I would be coming back after dark.
I went back to the tenting area, played with my friends: climbing an old bent over tree, skipping rocks on the bay, chasing frogs. Then it was time for them to go to bed, and I headed back down the path. It was dark, dark, dark and I was glad I had my flashlight. Until it went out. I shook it. I clicked the button on and off. I shook it some more. And then I tried to let my eyes adjust to the light as I peered down the path.
Have you ever been in that situation? Where it’s so dark you can’t see your hands in front of your face? And you have about a mile to walk along a rutted and grassy path? Well, how hard could it be? I’d been on this path a gazillion times in my young life? I knew it like the back of my hand. Or so I thought.
As I stand here today, I can still feel the fear rise up in me. Remembering the stories from Uncle Clyde about the bears that they had dealt with over the years. Trying hard to make my way without stumbling, afraid that a skunk might be right in front of me, and I knew that wouldn’t be good. Trying hard to keep my feet in the ruts of the path. Walking with my hands out in front of me just in case my brother or someone would be laying in wait to scare the pants off me. My senses heightened to every sound. My muscles tensed, my hearing was at it’s peak, my eyes straining to see something in front of me.
That’s what darkness is all about: fear. Fear of the known. Fear of the unknown. Fear of what lies beyond our control. Fear of the worst that could happen.
The people of the prophet Isaiah’s time, we are told, walked in darkness, too. Their lives were dominated by the darkness all around them, and the fear that the darkness caused to well up in them. Even if the sun was shining, the darkness of their situation made it so they groped to find their way through life, never certain that they were walking on a path they understood. Even if it was the middle of the day, the darkness that permeated their lives kept them on edge about what was behind the next corner, what the next day held for them, who was waiting to jump out at them.
The fear that the Israelites felt was the fear of oppression. Oppression by a series of political and military conquerors who had overrun them, taken away their rights, made it clear that they were second class citizens. They had taken thousands upon thousands of them into exile.
The Israelites darkness was a heavy, all encompassing darkness, because they were not free.
And here comes the prophet Isaiah announcing that this will not last forever. There will come a time, he says, that the darkness we strain against will be lifted, and that darkness will be broken by a great light, the light of freedom.
Isaiah tells the Israelites that there will come a day when the light will brighten everything in their path, and they will be able to act confidently, boldly, without fear. Their enemies weapons and soldiers uniforms will be burned in a mighty funeral pyre. The death of oppression will be signaled by the birth of a baby, a baby who will grow up to lead them to the light of freedom, and wholeness, and safety.
What a celebration there will be, says Isaiah!
Think about how you feel when the most bountiful harvest comes in! Think about how you feel when war is over and the plunder of the enemy is being divided up once and for all. Think about how you feel when the path is clear, when each step is secure, when the fear of the darkness is replaced by the guidance of the brightest light possible! Hold onto that feeling, Isaiah told them, because when the light comes into the world, it will be even greater!
It is the arrival of that light that we celebrate this week. A thousand years before the birth of Jesus, the Israelites longed for that light to enter into the world and lived on the hope that it would come. Oh, when it comes, Isaiah told them, it will be something to behold. It will be the celebration to end all celebrations.
This one that comes, he said, will be known by many names: wonderful counselor, mighty God, everlasting father, prince of peace…and that’s not all, Isaiah said. Oh no, not by a long shot: there will be endless peace; justice and righteousness will prevail from that day on.
What was, will no longer be. What is to come, will last forever. The darkness of the past will be illuminated by the brightness of the light of freedom to the Israelites.
We prepare ourselves to commemorate the coming of that light, the messiah in the form of a baby, Jesus born in Bethlehem in a stable behind an inn, but we must also wonder, what of the promises of Isaiah? Where is the endless peace? Where is the overarching justice that we seek? Where is the rule of righteousness in our world? Why does so much of our world still suffer in darkness, when we know the light has come?
Why do people still live in hesitancy and fear that characterized our Israelite ancestors? Why do people still feel directionless, groping into seeming nothingness, seeking the slightest touch of something familiar and comforting, something that will cause them to celebrate, too?
It raises some important questions for me: what is the darkness in our own lives that keeps us from truly embracing and celebrating the light of Christ? What is the darkness in our community that the church might work to focus Christ’s light on? What is the darkness that our world seeks to break free of?
There is no doubt that the darkness is not totally gone. But until we can name the darkness, for ourselves, for our community, for the world, how will we know where to point Christ’s light?
Those of us here today are not oppressed, not like the Israelites. It is not political freedom we seek. It’s not even religious freedom we seek. We have both those things. But still, darkness can invade our lives to this day: The darkness of misplaced priorities. The darkness of broken family relationships. The darkness of guilt. The darkness of addiction. The darkness of loneliness. The darkness of lost opportunities. The darkness of our own fear.
As we move away from our own personal areas of darkness we see issues of fairness and integrity and greed and corrupting power and bigotry that cause darkness to be the primary living condition for too many people the world over.
And the question resonates: what will illuminate our darkness? Be a personal darkness we struggle with, be it a darkness that permeates our community or our world, where is the light so powerful to break through that darkness?
The answer is the same after all these years: Jesus Christ is the light of the world, yesterday, today and tomorrow. Still we must remember, that the light shone so bright in the stable behind the inn, but still, it took time for the light to reach the world. Jesus grew and ministered and died and was resurrected from the dead, and still it took time for the light to spread. The apostles fanned out across the known world, and still it took time for the light to spread. 2000 years later we gather to celebrate the light that came into the world, and still, we know it will take time for the light to spread completely.
The simple truth is that we still face those pockets of darkness in our lives. Because we still face pockets of darkness, there is still work to be done. It is why we are here. We come not simply to revel in the light, although that is a wonderful feeling and a worthy celebration. We come, naming our own personal darkness and accepting on faith, that Christ’s light can help us leave that darkness behind. We come, seeking to dedicate ourselves to using the light of Christ to reach out to people who so desperately need freedom from the darkness that they live in. We come, acknowledging that we are sinners, yet accepting that our actions as believers can help reach those who struggle for the light we have found. We come, to rededicate ourselves to being people of the light, Christ’s light, so that through our prayers, through our personal interactions, through our public actions, we might come ever closer reaching that amazing end goal that Isaiah so eloquently put forward: that there shall be endless peace for all, and justice and righteousness will prevail. We come, seeking to be disciples of Christ in all that we do. We come, knowing in our heart of hearts, that any fear we face can be overcome when we have the light of Christ to guide us.
But it all starts with us truly opening ourselves, our own dark places, to the light and living every day with the knowledge that the light will never fade. Then, it’s about taking actions to spread that light to all we meet. And each of us must decide how to best do that. In big ways and small, the light of Christ love will only shine bright through those who have come to feel it themselves. It need not be standing in front of people and witnessing, or contributing to worthy causes, or teaching Christian education classes, although all those things are wonderful examples of sharing Christ’s light. It might be something very quiet, very private, no matter what it is, it comes from our having been touched and wanting to touch others.
This past week I heard a story of someone spreading Christ’s light in the simplest, most profound way possible. I heard this story as part of the “Story Corps” project undertaken by National Public Radio. This project seeks to record as many stories of peoples lives as possible, to weave a tapestry of the American experience. The story I heard this week was from a chaplain in an Atlanta hospital who had a habit of visiting with staff in the hospital as well as patients. One day, she found herself speaking with one of the women who packed and autoclaved instruments to be used in the various surgeries during the day. The surgeon would send a form to this office that contained all the instruments they would need, and on the form was the patient name and the operation to be performed.
In a small windowless work room in the basement, this woman would carefully assemble everything needed for the surgery and while she was doing this, she was in constant prayer for the patient and the doctor and the team that would seek to heal the patient. For 40 years, this woman spent her days in prayer for people she would never meet. Yet I would be willing to bet that her contribution to each surgery was felt by all. Why? Because she felt Christ’s light in her life and wanted to share it in any way possible.
That dark night in Barbeau, as I made my way slowly down the path, tense to point of hurting, straining to hear every sound, fearful of what was right in front of me, wondering who or what was watching me, I said a prayer, an 8 year olds prayer. A prayer for safety, a prayer that the bears would be sleeping off a big dinner, that no rabid raccoons would be along the way. That the light of the hotel would soon be visible.
And soon it was. As I made the last turn out of the woods, I could see the outside yard light of the hotel about 200 yards in the distance. As the path entered on to the road, I found myself running, faster and faster to get to the back corner of the hotel, the corner upon which the big yard light was mounted. And when I reached the corner, I stopped, out of breath, relieved, happy and secure, standing in the light of safety.
As I stood there looking back toward the darkness and the head of the path to the tenting area, I realized that I had had nothing to fear. The light would always be here: it was just a matter of continually moving toward it.
My brother came out as I was leaning against the wall, dead center under the light’s illuminating circle.
“What’s wrong with you?” he said.
“Nothin’” I answered.
“Well, mama’s been lookin for you.”
“What for?”
“I don’t know. She was afraid you might be scared out on the path in the dark. I told her you’d be fine, not to worry. You weren’t scared were you?”
“No way,” I quickly retorted.
He shrugged his shoulders and wandered away and I stood there for just a moment more, looking up at the big light, knowing full well that nothing outside it’s illuminated circle could hurt me now.
The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light…for a child has been born for us…and now, it’s up to us.
Let us pray:
Gracious God, we come seeking the light. We have experienced it’s warmth and it’s illumination, but we have not always let that light into our darkest places. Help us to open up our own dark places so that you’re light might illuminate our lives, and others might see your light alive in us, this day and every day. In Jesus name we pray. Amen. | | | Permalink | Trackback |
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