Put on the Armor of Light

“… the night is far gone, the day is near. Let us then lay aside the works of darkness and put on the armor of light ….”

Why do we light candles on a wreath of greens? Although the Advent wreath has been part of our tradition as Episcopalians for a long time, no one quite knows its origin. Some think that pre-Germanic people used wreaths with lit candles during December as a sign of hope for the warmth and light of spring. Others think that Scandinavian people lighted candles around a wheel and prayed to the god of light to turn “the wheel of earth” back toward the sun and bring back longer and warmer days. By the Middle Ages, Christians had adopted this tradition and used Advent wreaths to help prepare for Christmas.

Actually, it’s not hard to see why the Advent wreath became a Christian symbol, and why we still use it today. The greens of the wreath – evergreens – remind us of continuing life. The circle, which has neither beginning nor end, symbolizes the eternity of God, the immortality of our own souls, and the new life of the resurrection. The purple candles symbolize the prayer, sacrifice, and good works that are part of this season. The pink candle, which we light on the third Sunday in Advent, Gaudete Sunday, or Rejoice Sunday, symbolizes joy and hope, joy for the celebration of Jesus’ first coming and hope for his expected second coming to judge the world and renew creation. Finally, the light of the candles signifies Christ, the Light of the World, the light that dispels darkness, the light of the new day that is already dawning.

It is just this wonderful image of the light of the dawning of a new day that we heard in our reading from Paul’s letter to the Roman Christians. Unlike his other letters, Paul was not writing here to a community that he had personally founded. And this may well have been his last letter, as it sounds something like his “last will and testament.” If you read it through – and I encourage you to go beyond the snippets of the letter that we hear in the lectionary – you will discover that Paul spends much of it wrestling with the implications of the transformed – and transforming – way of life to which he understands disciples of Jesus to be called. Although Paul respects the way of life of the Jews around him, as a follower of Jesus he has come to realize that the ritual requirements and dietary restrictions of Hebrew law no longer bind followers of Jesus. Rather, Jesus’ disciples are called to a life epitomized by love.

We hear this call clearly in the verses immediately preceding our lection: “Owe no one anything, except to love one another; for the one who loves another has fulfilled the law. The commandments, ‘You shall not commit adultery; You shall not murder; You shall not steal; You shall not covet’; and any other commandment, are summed up in this word, ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ Love does no wrong to a neighbor; therefore, love is the fulfilling of the law” (Rom. 13:8-10). Do you hear the commandment in this kind of love? Love here is not a sappy, sentimental, or romantic feeling; it is a way of behaving that wants only to benefit another person. Paul’s charge here then? As followers of Jesus we are called to a transformed way of life that is grounded in love.

In the piece of this wonderful letter that we just heard, Paul uses the images of night and dawn to emphasize his point. In effect, he is telling the Roman Christians – with some urgency – to get up and get dressed for a new day. Whether or not the second coming of Jesus is imminent – and it’s not clear what at this point in his life Paul believed about Jesus’ second coming – it is clear that the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus brought about a turning point in time, a “new day.” From now on, Christians are called to dream with God of a new heaven, a new earth, a new way of being human beings made in God’s image. As those baptized into his body, the Roman Christians are now living in a new time. Just as those who were baptized took off their old clothes and put on new white robes, the Roman Christians – and we – have entered a new time, a time in which we are called to exchange the nightgowns and pajamas of the old life for the “armor of light,” for Sunday clothes, for the clothes of newly transformed people.

As we begin preparing to enter into that new day, as we lay out the armor of light, what, we might ask, are the night clothes that we must first take off? One way to answer that question is that we are told – commanded – to give up all those old habits that dull our senses and all those uncaring behaviors that destroy our relationships. Here’s another way of thinking about what night clothes we might remove. To put on the joy of the new day, the true joy of this season, first we might remove “the fears and pains that weigh us down, that we carry around like heavy wool coats, that we try to wrap up in festive themes” during this “holiday season.”1 Perhaps what we really need is an oasis of silence, a place to be quiet for a few moments, a place where we might open our hearts and share with God all that is really on our minds. .

Second, we might take off our feelings of isolation. Although our culture encourages our hyper-individualism, as Christians we are never only single cells. We are called to be members of a community, always in relationship with others, in families, workplaces, parishes, villages, and communities across the globe. While we are enjoying our full refrigerators and warm houses, this is the time to take off our blinders. This is the time to see that there are many people – some right here in this town – who have no parties, no warm clothes, no heat, and no reason for joy or hope. And third perhaps we might take off our guilt. Putting on the armor of light, the clothes of a new day, does not require us to be ashamed of what we have. Rather, we are always called to share with others some of the many gifts with which God has blessed us.

We too are included in Paul’s commandments. We too are called to take off night clothes and put on the clothes of a new day. What might that look like at St. Peter’s? Perhaps if we wish to live into a new day as a parish we might continue to ensure that our worship truly reflects our tradition and is true to the people we are today, in 2013. Our life as a Christian community in the Anglican tradition did not stop in 1549 or 1662 or even 1928. We must also continue to grow in our faith and Christian practice, both as individuals and as a parish. You have all continued to grow as people since middle school and high school. Has your understanding of your faith similarly continued to grow? More to the point, are we helping each other grow as mature, faithful people? Finally, we must also grow in our understanding of ministry. To what new ministries in this new day is God calling us? Do we have the courage to take off old ways of doing things and put on new responses to the needs of those around us? Are we far-sighted enough to see on the horizon God’s reign breaking in?

I spent the summer of 2006 doing a chaplaincy internship at Children’s Hospital in Columbus. Nine times during the ten weeks I was there I was called to be on call for twenty-four hours. One of those nine nights I waited with three generations of an anxious family while a newborn infant was in surgery. The prognosis had not been good. Indeed, after some time, the surgeon came out and told the family that the surgery had not helped, and that the infant would be taken off artificial life support. At the request of the family, I baptized the infant and waited with them until he died. Then we wept and prayed together. It was a long night. As I was returning to my little room on an upper floor of the hospital, the first streaks of dawn were already appearing. As I prayed one last time for the child and his family, I did so with a heavy heart, but also with the certainty that God would receive him, bless his grieving family, and eventually bring us all to that day when grief and crying are no more.

It’s still dark out. But the first streaks of dawn are already appearing on the horizon. We the followers of Jesus Christ, crucified and risen, continue to pray for his coming, into our own lives today, and into the future of which he has already shown us a glimpse. As we light our Advent candles, as we enjoy their glow, we remember the light that is coming. We rejoice in God’s gifts to us, and, with the Roman Christians, and all of Christ’s faithful disciples, we put on the new clothes of that glorious day.

1. Catherine A. Caimono at faithandleadership.com (11/23/10), quoted in Synthesis December 1, 2013; and following. well.