Christmas 1c.06                                               December 31, 2006

John, the mystical Gospel, is written in poetry,
         with a spiraling dream logic.
It opens with an echo of Genesis,

         “In the beginning . . . “
And then it plunges into a meditation on the creation of our world.
Genesis says “the world was without form and void,
         and darkness covered the face of the deep.”
Then God said, “Let there be light.”

John says “n the beginning was the Word,”
         the Word that eternally says, “Let there be light.”
John goes on, “The light shone in the darkness . . . .”

Is John describing the Creation or the Incarnation,

         – the birth of Christ or the birth of the Cosmos?
In John’s poetic dream language,
         they are much the same thing.

The Creation and the Incarnation are both historic occasions
         of an eternal process – God speaking light into darkness.
A few nights ago,
         the sky was completely covered by thick clouds

                   – there was not a star to be seen

                   – and the darkness was deep.
Then, as I looked up, it was as if
         the moon had burned a small hole through the clouds.
A round opening in the cloud cover revealed a three-quarter moon,
         shining brightly into the blackest night.

We begin the Great Easter Vigil
         in absolute darkness.
Then the deacon enters with the Paschal Candle
                   chanting “The light of Christ”
                   and we chant back, “Thanks be to God.”

Nature and ritual both echo this theme

         – God speaking light into darkness –
                   just as John echoes Genesis –
                   just as the Incarnation echoes the Creation.

And so it goes on through the centuries for,
         as John says, “the light shines in the darkness, . . . .”
The light does not obliterate the darkness.
The darkness is where the light shines.

Neither Genesis nor John mean darkness to stand for evil
         as in the dark side of the force in Star Wars.
It’s more like the dark wood in Dante.
His Divine Comedy begins,

         “Midway upon the journey of my life,
                  I became lost in a dark wood.

The darkness is not malevolence.
It’s a place we feel lost, alienated.
It’s the darkness of discouragement, despair,
          and not knowing where to turn.
It is a darkness that has without faith,
          without hope, without love.

There is darkness in our world
          and there is darkness in our lives.
Finding darkness in the world is sadly all too easy.
We find it in Somalia where drought, flooding, and war
          have left 400,000 people homeless and 1.4 million
                   are threatened with hunger.
We find it in Iraq, Darfur, Chad, and Haiti – all places that make us
          shake our heads not knowing what to do.

And there is darkness in our personal lives.
Maybe it’s the darkness of grief or of loneliness.
Maybe it’s the darkness of a job we hate
          or a family where we feel like an alien.
Maybe it’s just not finding enough reason to live.
We each have our own particular brand and shade of darkness.

It is the residue of where we come from.
Before the Big Bang, the universe was an extremely compact
          spot of pure energy, so tightly condensed
          that no particles of light escaped.
Physicist Heinz Pagels says the universe was then

          “a burning world of darkness.”

But God said “Let there be light,
          and God saw the light that it was good . . . .
          And the light shines in the darkness . . . .”

We are born from darkness into darkness.
So we must come to some terms with it.
Rilke wrote,

          “You darkness that I came from,
          I love you more than all the fires . . . .
          I have faith in nights.”

Darkness is inevitably part of our experience.
We mustn’t be surprised or think something is radically amiss
          when darkness falls in the world
                  or in our personal lives.

But faith, hope, and love
          shine in that darkness.
That is not just wishful thinking.
Faith, hope, and love do shine in the darkness.
The proof is that we are here.
If it were not for faith, hope, and love
          we would all of perished of despair long ago.

Yes, there is war and hunger in Somalia, Chad, and the Sudan.
But Episcopal Relief and Development, Oxfam,
          and other people of faith are also there
                  giving people both food and hope.

And in our own lives, grace happens.
Light breaks in through prayer, sacraments, and friendship.
And there’s also something I call gracious serendipity.
Someone says the right word.
An unexpected opportunity comes along.
The right book falls into our hands when we weren’t looking for it.
Healing happens by ordinary or extraordinary means.
Our darkness may not turned into eternal day – not yet –
          but we are given a flashlight.

Is this a matter of believing in God, trusting in God.
Yes, it is that – but putting it that way sounds vague.
We do trust in God vaguely, trust that God will do something good
          in our lives and in the world – we don’t know what.
But then God acts quite specifically, quite precisely
          to heal and restore us

                   – often in ways we didn’t expect.

God is our light in the darkness.
And God’s light, calls us to respond
          in three ways:

First, we acknowledge the darkness.
Christian Scientists, Scientologists,
          positive-thinking Christians like Robert Schuller,
          and a lot of New Age religion
                    are in a state of denial.
We need to acknowledge the darkness in the world
          and in our lives

          – admit our disappointments, our frustration, our anxiety.
Denial doesn’t deal with anything.
So it is essential that we dare to experience life as it is,
          the dark and the light together.

Second, we trust God to do something good.
We look for meaning, for value, for ways to learn and grow.
We sculpt our darkness into something beautiful.
Maybe we practice patience and grow strong.
Maybe we use our darkness
          to make us compassionate for others.
Maybe we dare to be vulnerable enough to accept
          the kindness of someone helping us.

Finally, when darkness is all around,
          we can shine the light into it ourselves.
Don’t worry, we don’t have to generate our own light.
We have no light of our own.
It is God’s light – but we transmit it.
St. John of the Cross said,

           “Where there is no love, put love,
                   and there you will find love.”

Yes, St. John tells is “Jesus is the light of the world.”
But Jesus said, “You are the light of the world.”
So be light.
Be the light to yourself,
           and the light to your neighbor.
Befriend each other, and befriend the lonely.
Be the light in Haiti, Chad, the Sudan, and Iraq.

Be the voice that speaks for justice and mercy,
           the voice that demands that the hungry be fed,
                    the oppressed be set free, and the broken people healed.
Be the voice for peace and reconciliation.

The light which John calls “the . . . life of all people”
           shines around us in our darkness,
           and it shines within us,
           and it shines through us.
And that light, that gracious, kindly light,
           is the glory of God.

                                            Amen.