The Everlasting Light

“Yet in thy dark streets shineth the everlasting light.” The baby was born. The angels rejoiced and glorified God. The shepherds came and found the baby, just as the angels had described him. While Mary pondered in her heart her experience of this strange birth, the shepherds returned to their flock, rejoicing at what they had heard and seen. Yes, we heard it all on Christmas Eve – together with a story about an angel that doesn’t occur in Scripture! Yes, Christmas Eve was wonderful! But where is the baby now? Why, on this first Sunday after Christmas, do we not hear more about him and his miraculous birth? Actually, perhaps some of you are heaving a sigh of relief. Perhaps you are like those who toss out their Christmas trees the day after Christmas, saying, “Thank heaven, we’re done with that for another year!”

“Yet in thy dark streets shineth the everlasting light.” Strangely, perhaps, we hear details of Jesus’ birth only in the gospel of Luke. The gospel of Mark, the earliest gospel, begins with Jesus’ adult ministry. The gospel of Matthew prefaces the birth with the wonderful story of Joseph’s discovery that Mary is pregnant, yet of the birth the gospel relates only that Joseph and Mary didn’t have sexual intercourse until after Mary had given birth. We also hear no birth story in the gospel of John, whose opening eighteen verses you just heard. Instead, the writer of this gospel asks us to ponder a much deeper mystery than that of the miraculous birth of a child. We are asked to ponder who it truly was that was born: a precious baby or something much more mysterious and awe-inspiring?

The opening words of this gospel plunge us right into that mystery: “In the beginning….” Do those words sound familiar? The original hearers of this gospel would have recognized them immediately. They are the very first words of the Hebrew Scriptures. The very first words of the book of Genesis, the first book in the Hebrew Bible, are “In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth.” Indeed, the very first word of the Hebrew Bible, bereshit, literally means “in the beginning.” The first hearers of John’s gospel would also have remembered that “in the beginning” the first thing that God created was light: God swept God’s spirit over the formless waters and said, “Let there be light.” And there was light. And God pronounced the light good.

“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.” The first hearers of John’s gospel would also have recognized the Greek word, logos, which we translate as Word. They would have known that in using that word the Evangelist was reminding them and us that the God in whom we put our trust was not like one of the Greek gods, not like those disdainful deities who looked down on the struggles, heartaches, joys, and fears of this world with supreme detachment. Rather, John was reminding his hearers that the God whom they and we worship was not only unknowable mystery but also the driving force behind all creation. This God was also the construction foreman, if you will, of the whole creation project. And, more miraculous still, this logos, this Word, this God, was so involved, so caring, so loving, so giving, that he deigned to join himself body and soul with humanity, he dared to “pitch his tent” among us.

And more. This construction foreman of creation, this activator of God’s light, this logos who was now inseparably joined to humanity, was the light of the world, that light that “shines in the darkness,” which the darkness has never extinguished. The Evangelist reminds us that John came to testify to that light and to prepare us to receive that light. Because the Word took on human flesh and moved into our neighborhood, into the neighborhood of every living being, we who live in the light that he brought are not only children of God but have received from God more grace than we can ever fathom.

My friends, this is why we celebrate the birth of that baby. We celebrate Jesus’ birth, because, even though we are frail, limited, broken human beings, we do not live in total darkness. Even into our “dark streets” the “everlasting light” penetrates. The light that came into the world with Jesus still shines on us wherever we are. And where are the dark streets in our lives? Do you need me to name them? There are dark streets wherever there is war and conflict: in Iraq, Syria, South Sudan, Afghanistan, the West Bank; on the streets of Columbus, Cleveland, and Cincinnati, in Boston, Newtown, Connecticut, and Aurora Colorado, in shopping malls in Nairobi and Logan, Ohio. There are dark streets wherever there is enmity and conflict. There are dark streets wherever there is estrangement: especially within families, between parents and children, or among siblings. There are dark streets wherever there is addiction. There are dark streets wherever there is sickness, or when people are unemployed, homeless, or despairing.

“Yet in thy dark streets shineth the everlasting light.” The baby was conceived, born, executed, and raised to life again. Now we, who are privileged to be members of his body, are filled with his light. The Word now becomes flesh within us. We too are called to spread the tiny flame of the everlasting light that we carry into the dark streets around us. We too are called to join with others and create new communities of love that continue his ministry into a dark world. For another miracle happens: when the Light of the World shines on the children of God, a new community comes into being. Now we suddenly see those around us as friends. Now we find the night sky dotted with the lights of the homes of neighbors. Now we see a community of love ready to reach out to those in need. When the Light of the World shines on us, we see the truth of Mother Teresa’s reminder: “It is Christmas every time you let God love others through you – yes, it is Christmas every time you smile at your brother and offer him your hand.”

This is a true story. It ran in the New York Times the day after Thanksgiving.1 There was a thirty-three year old cabbie who tied his shoulder-length hair in a ponytail. About five years ago, the cabbie “prayed to God for guidance on how to help the forgotten people of the streets who exist in life’s shadows.” He heard God tell him, “Make eight pounds of spaghetti, throw it in a pot, give it out on 103rd Street and Broadway with no conditions, and people will come.” He did, they came, and now he goes from door to door giving people food to eat.

God is probably not asking us to rush to New York and give out spaghetti. Today, we at St. Peter’s give dinners to the hungry every month. Like the New York cabbie, we offer people dinner with no conditions. And people come. This month we are also offering hats, scarves, and gloves. To what other ministry might God be calling us? Might God be calling us to offer spiritual sustenance to those around us? Is there anything else people need from us besides a free dinner? What else might God be inviting us to act on “with no conditions?” How are you personally and we as a parish being called to be living lights for others?

“Yet in thy dark streets shineth the everlasting light.” Let us pray,

Holy One, sender of the Word made flesh,2
So many in our world still wait in darkness and long for your light.
In the midst of darkness, enkindle our hope.
As we long for lasting peace in the midst of war, be with us.
As we long for families to be reunited, be with us.
As we long for enemies to be reconciled, be with us.
As we long for cures, healings, and freedom from addictions, be with us.
As we long for decent jobs and economic security be with us.
As we long for love and community, be with us.

Fulfill the deepest longings of your people and dispel the darkness in our hearts and in our world. Teach us to take your light into the dark places of our world. And let your Word ignite the hope the world needs to bring to life your love and justice. Amen.

1. www.educationforjustice.org

2. Adapted from “Advent Prayer Service,” Education for Justice, www.educationforjustice.org