He Came to Testify to the Light

”He came as a witness to testify to the light, so that all might believe through him. He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light.” What light? With the frenetic holiday celebrations taking place on the other side of the red doors, we often don’t see much of the Light of the World at this time of year – or any time of year. And in a world where gunmen kill police officers on college campuses and suicide bombers still threaten innocent worshippers, it may be hard even to believe in the Light of the World.

A middle manager in a small factory – let’s call him Tom – stood looking at his desk on Christmas Eve.1 His report to his boss was overdue. Everyone else had left, and the building was eerily quiet. “I hate Christmas,” he sighed. This month had been one of the worst in his career. His department had lost several key positions to budget cuts, and everyone was expected to “work smarter,” i.e., get everything done with fewer people. “Don’t worry about me,” he’d told his staff members as he sent them home to their Christmas Eve celebrations, “I’ll be done very soon.” But Tom knew that the report would take him a long time to finish. He might be in the office for several hours yet. “I hate Christmas,” he sighed again.

About 8:00, he decided to go out to the corner deli and get something to eat. Making his way out the back door into the icy air of the alley, he nearly fell over a pile of rags, cardboard, and what seemed to be a tarpaulin. As he lifted his foot to kick the pile out of the way, a woman’s voice said weakly, “Sorry, mister. No one usually comes through that door at this time of night. It’s a good place to sleep, you see, because of the warm air coming out from under the door.” Tom had enough on his mind, so he just turned away, headed towards the deli, and muttered again, “I hate Christmas.” As he waited in the long line at the deli, Tom had time to read “A Pastor’s Christmas Note” in the local free newspaper. The pastor told the story of a homeless man whom he had watched sharing a stale hunk of bread with a flock of birds gathered round him. The man would take a bit of bread, break it in two, eat one part, and give the other part to the birds. No one bothered the homeless man, who seemed perfectly content sharing his meager meal with the birds. When he got to the counter, Tom ordered his usual corned beef on rye. Then he burst out, “No, make it two. And throw in a couple of pot pies and some veggies. I’ll have some orange juice too. How about a couple of Hershey bars? And do you have any warm hats?” Tom left the deli with two full sacks. Now he was eagerly looking forward to his Christmas Eve dinner with the homeless woman by the back door. He didn’t care if the report got done in time. Who would read it on Christmas anyway? As he walked through the cold night to his office, an old hymn floated back to him, “Rejoice! Rejoice! Emanuel shall come to thee, O Israel ….”

“He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light.” What was John the Voice in the Wilderness up to? As he gathered followers around him and began baptizing people, the religious authorities confronted him. They questioned him, just as they would later challenge Jesus. “Who the devil are you, and why are you baptizing people?” “I know you’re waiting for the Messiah, God’s anointed one, but I am not he,” John told them plainly. “I’m not Elijah either, nor am I the prophet like Moses whom Moses said would be the Messiah’s forerunner.” Not, not, not. Then who was he?

The Fourth Gospel introduces us to John immediately after its opening hymn to the incarnate Word, immediately after its celebration of the light of life, the light that enlightens everyone, the light that darkness cannot quench. Who was John? John was a witness to that light. John was not a witness to a cute little baby, lying in a stable surrounded by adoring animals. John was a witness to an adult, an adult who would, through his own death and return to life, give life to the world. “This is the Messiah for whom you are waiting,” John told the religious authorities. “In all the old prophecies, in Isaiah, in Jeremiah, in Micah, in Malachi, God promised you a savior. Now God has made good on God’s promises. As I point to him, I am preparing people to receive him. And I rejoice to see this day, for God is faithful.”

“He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light.” In a story in the Huffington Post last year, Lynne Hybels wrote, “When Jesus comes, everything changes.”2 About a hundred years ago, Egyptians from rural villages migrated to Cairo. Most of them were unskilled and illiterate, and so they wound up becoming itinerant trash collectors. In the 1970s, the zabaleen, as the trash collectors were called, were forced into a kind of tin-shack ghetto near Cairo’s Mt. Muqattam. Poor, filthy, and dangerous, Garbage Village had no churches, schools, electricity, running water, health care, or even stores. Disease, addiction to drugs and alcohol, and violence were widespread. One day, in 1974 a young trash collector asked a Christian businessman whose trash he collected, to tell him about Jesus. Then the young man persuaded the businessman to teach a Bible study in one of the shacks in Garbage Village. The zabaleen rejoiced to hear the message that God loved them. Within a few years, there were so many believers that the Coptic Orthodox built a church in the village. The villagers were free to select their priest, so they chose the businessman who had shared God’s love with them. After the businessman was ordained by the Coptic Church he became known as Father Samaan. “When Jesus comes to a place, it changes the whole society,” said Father Samaan.

“He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light.” What about us? Do we recognize the light to whom John pointed? Do we recognize that we too are loved by God? Do we share with John the sense that God has given us a purpose in the story of salvation? Dare we believe that we are less important than John the Voice or Father Samaan? Advent is a special time. Advent is a time to stop, pause, and reflect. Instead of getting caught up in the activities that beckon us at every turn this month, take the gift of Advent quiet to prayerfully reflect on your own life. Reflect on the miracle of your own birth, your life choices, and your vocation. What do close friends and family members see in you? What are your gifts and from whom have they come? Who needs what you have to offer? Could it be that you too are a beloved child of God, with a unique and essential purpose? Could it be that you too are called to enable people to see the light?

Could it be that you are called to be an evangelist? Episcopalians shy away from that word. We say, “The Episcopal Church is the best kept secret,” and I sometimes think we prefer it that way. Faith is a private affair, some of us would say. Is that what the prophets say? Is that what Paul says? Is that what John the Voice in the Wilderness says? If our faith is a source of joy to us, how can we not want to share it? I’m not talking about damning non-believers to hell. I’m not talking about coercing or manipulating people into believing. I am talking about pointing to Jesus, enabling people to see the light, either through our words, or, better yet, through the quality of our lives and ministries. If we are truly his disciples, then as individuals and as parishes, we cannot be ashamed or afraid to say, “There he is.” During Epiphany tide we will hear the passage that comes a little later in this same chapter of John’s Gospel, in which Philip tells Nathanael that he has found the Messiah, Jesus of Nazareth. “Can anything good come out of Nazareth?” Nathanael scornfully asks. Philip’s answer: “Come and see.” We too are called to say, “Come and see.” We too are called to point to the light, to share the good news of Jesus, using words, if necessary, as Francis of Assisi said. We too are called to stand at the foot of the Cross and point to him.

“He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light.” Such is our call too.

1. The following story is based on Tom Gordon, “A Deeper Meaning,” in Within an Open Eye (Iona: Wild Good Publications, 2011), 24-29.

2. The following is based on material in Synthesis, December 2011, 3. The story by Lynne Hybels originally appeared in the Huffington Post on December 21, 2010.