Tuesday, December 24th, 2013
Trinity Anglican Church, Bradford, ON
The Rev. Daniel F. Graves
Texts: Isaiah 9:2-7; Luke 2:1-20
“The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light.”
-Isaiah 9:2
Many have been in the dark in the days leading up to
Christmas. Ice has weighed down power
lines. Branches and even the trunks of trees have snapped. Many have sat in coldness and darkness, and
yet wonderful stories of hope, of generosity, and of joy have emerged. Perhaps, just perhaps, there is a sign given
to us in all of this. Perhaps, just
perhaps, the darkness and cold might have awakened us to the insatiability of
the consumerism of the season and the unrealistic expectations of family to be
in two or three places at one time. When
the angels sing of peace on earth, for many, this may seem the least peaceful
time of year. For many, it is a time
filled with pressures, with angst, with exhaustion. The loss of power and heat, the loss of light
and warmth, the snow blocking driveways and entrance ways, perhaps these are a
sign to us to be still for a moment and seek the meaning and truth of a season
somewhere else than malls and parties.
Where shall we seek?
Where shall we look? And where
shall we go when our road is blocked and the way seems dark and cold? The shepherds of old, on a cold, dark wintery
night, in the quiet of the darkness heard the song of the angel, and they
responded, “Let us go then, even unto Bethlehem, and see this thing which is
come to pass, which the Lord hath made known unto us.” We may not be able to travel to the literal
Bethlehem, but can we, ourselves, go even unto another very real Bethlehem and
witness this thing which the Lord has done?
With lights out, with driveways blocked, can we yet go even unto
Bethlehem?
In the days of the Prophet Isaiah, the people of Israel
walked in darkness. Perhaps they, too,
felt as if their way was blocked. Perhaps they, too, felt a coldness and
darkness that cut them through to the core.
For them, the darkness was the boots of tramping warriors. For them the darkness was their loss of faith
amidst oppression and corruption. For
them the darkness seemed unending. But
Isaiah reminds them that even the people who have walked in darkness have seen
a great light. Yes, even those who have
dwelled in the land of deep darkness, upon them a light has shone.
For the people of Isaiah’s day, the hope came in the birth
of a new heir – someone who would bring justice, righteousness, and peace.
Although this child about whom Isaiah spoke was a king who predated Christ by
about eight centuries, Isaiah’s words were also a prophetic utterance
concerning another king who would come centuries later, and who, through the
indwelling of the Holy Spirit, is with us still. The name of the king about whom Isaiah spoke
to his contemporaries is lost to us, but the name of the one who ultimately
fulfilled his prophecy is written on our hearts for ever and ever, and that
name is Jesus Christ, our King and Lord—the one who was born in a stable in
Bethlehem, heralded by angels, worshiped by shepherds, adored by magi.
But in this present time, amid the stamping of feet in
Christmas malls, and the reverie of Christmas parties, can we hear the angels’
song? Can we hear the mother’s
lullaby? Can we hear the babe crying in
the night in that cold, dark stable?
With all the clamour our ears become deaf. With all the hysteria of “doing Christmas
right” is it possible that the artificial warmth of our hearths will prevent us
from receiving the Good News about which the angels sing? Or of making that
journey even unto Bethlehem?
Then suddenly God acts in a surprising and unpredictable
way. When the world is struck dark, when our artificial fires fail, when the
way to the mall is blocked, we are given a special gift. It is the gift of being able to gather with
that small group of shepherds around that meagre fire, a fire that is soon
paled by the warmth of the angelic apparition that fills the sky. Then, and
only then, are our hearts prepared to make that trip to Bethlehem. Then, and only then, are we able like the
magi to leave riches, and opulence and the safety of our earthly palaces behind
and make the journey along desert road,
our path illumined only by the light of a distant star. In the darkness, with all light extinguished,
we seek the light that never goes out.
In the cold night, we seek the warmth that cannot fail, along our
snow-blocked, ice-laden paths, we seek the one whose way is ever open to us.
Oh how difficult it can be to see his light, perceive his
warmth, travel his way, when other lights distract our eyes, other fires burn
within us, and other roads seem to beckon down their paths. These things become for us the meaning of
life, they masquerade as the meaning of Christmas, they encourage us to rely on
them to such an extent that we do not know what we shall do when they fail us.
What can we do? Where may we go?
Let us go then, even unto Bethlehem! No, not that distant war-torn place we see on
TV and read of in our papers and on the internet, but that place where heaven
touches earth and the cold turns to warm, the darkness turns to light, and the
way of life is open for us. Let us turn to the Bethlehem of our hearts, where
Christ is born this day! Let us go then even unto Bethlehem and see this thing
which the Lord has done! For in
Bethlehem, there is no artificial light.
In Bethlehem there is no artificial warmth. In Bethlehem there is no road but one, one
that leads directly to the King of Kings and Lord of Lords. In Bethlehem, his gates lie open continually.
There is not wanting nor destruction within its borders. Even as all other lights fail, so too shall
all nations come to the light that shines in Bethlehem. And all the ends of the earth shall see the salvation
of our God.
Advent began with a prayer that we might be given grace to
cast away the works of darkness and put on the armour of light, now in the time
of this mortal life. But darkness
deceives us. Darkness masquerades as light. Sometimes we do not know that we
travel in the darkness, for the lights are so bright, and the fires burn so
brilliantly, and all roads seem lit.
Yet, make no mistake, the light we create because we are afraid of the
dark is of no enduring consolation. The
fires we light because we are afraid of the coldness within us shall not warm
us continually. The roads we build to
make the rough places plain will crumble.
There is only one light, one divine flame, one holy way, and that is
Christ our God.
Sometimes we need to have our lights turned off; sometimes
we need to have our furnaces quit; sometimes
we need to have our driveways blocked, to remind us of the true light, the true
divine flame, the one true way, and to
seek it. The angel voices herald it
again. The shepherds make the journey again.
The magi once again follow the star.
And in stable, cold and dark, the light shines in the darkness.
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