DARKNESS & LIGHT
Wednesday night,
December the 14. There was a chill wind blowing as I left St. Mary’s
Cathedral following this season’s final performance of Conspirare’s “Christmas
at the Carillon.”
The cold front had arrived. The sky was clearing. And through the high,
thin clouds the moon, which would be full the next night, shone brightly.
Light shining through the darkness and the cold.
The past twelve months have had an unusually large share
of darkness and cold, literally and figuratively. And it has not
yet come to an end. A massive tidal wave; devastating earthquakes;
more and more devastating hurricanes than ever before in recorded
history; Americans, Iraqis, Israelis, Palestinians, and others (less
noticed) caught up in war and acts of terror. Literally millions
of people whose lives have been torn asunder, and who continue to
live with the aftermath of destruction, suffering and death.
But those are only the more obvious and
publicized examples of the darkness and cold that surround us. There
are also the ongoing “silent
disasters” which do not make the news channels or the print
media, or receive attention from us or from our political leaders,
at least not very often. They are the 165,000 people who die every
month from malaria, the 240,000 who die from AIDS, and the 140,000
who die from diarrhea. They are the eleven million children under
age five who die every year—that’s almost one million
children per month—more than half of them from hunger-related
causes. They are the 9.6 million people in the United States, including
three million children, who live with hunger daily. They are the
ongoing “silent disasters.” (*)
The darkness and cold of our world and
our lives, crying out for light and warmth. The darkness and cold of
our world and our lives crying to God for comfort and peace—a
cry expressed poignantly and achingly in these words by Eliza Gilkyson:
…calm
our fears, have mercy…
…drowning
in a sea of tears, have mercy
hear our mournful plea
our world has been shaken…
in the dark night of the soul
bring some comfort to us all
…come and carry us in
your embrace
that our sorrows may be faced
…fill the glass to overflowing
illuminate the path where we are going
have mercy on us
all…
in the dark night of the soul
your shattered dreamers, make them whole,
…find us where we’ve
fallen out of grace
lead us to a higher place
in the dark night of the soul
our broken hearts you can make whole
…come and carry us in your embrace…(“Requiem”)
Yes, I know, it’s not the sort of thing one likes
to think about on Christmas Eve. But this night is not about glossing
over the reality that surrounds us and of which we are a part 365
days a year. Indeed, there may be no better time to be cognizant
of the darkness and cold that abound in our world and our lives than
on the night when the light of God shines forth—when we celebrate
God coming into our world and our lives to bring the light and warmth
we so desperately need and desire.
For God is not absent. God is not distant. God has come
to be with us. And this night we celebrate with joy that God is with
us. Light shining in the darkness. Warmth penetrating the cold.
A year or so ago in the TV series “Joan of Arcadia,”
Joan was berating the “God character” about God’s
absence in the midst of all the suffering and pain in the world. “Where
are you in all that?”
she demanded. To which the “God character” replied: “You
know that someplace there is goodness in the midst of cruelty and pain—that’s
me.” The light of God’s love, shining in the darkness.
The warmth of God’s mercy, penetrating the cold. Sometimes through
the generous warmth and outpouring of mercy and assistance of people
helping other people in times of devastating and overwhelming need.
But tonight in God coming to us, to be in us, to be
with us not in the safe world of holy sanctuaries and hallowed places,
but in the rough-and-tumble world of people with jobs to do, more
anxiety than they know what to do with, fractured homes and families,
death and destruction, hurricanes, tidal waves, war, and conflict.
It was into that world, this world, that
Jesus was born. It was to situations of conflict, exile, oppression,
and despair that the prophets of Israel spoke words of promise and
hope that we see taking on flesh and blood in Jesus’ coming to
us. It was in a world that did not recognize him (and frequently still
does not) that God appeared in the person of Jesus.
The fear, ignorance, and distress of our
world, the pride, misery, and sin of human life is what the prophet
Isaiah called walking in the darkness. But God’s light has come to shine
in that darkness. God’s light has come to shine and will continue
to shine on us, and in us and through us to lighten our darkness
and the darkness of others and of our world. For a child has been
born for us, a son given to us. And God is with us. That our joy
may be full.
The Light of God shines upon us and our
world. It breaks the gloom and cold of our dark nights. It fills our
souls with the love and light of God. And in that love and light, there
is peace. And there is harmony. And there is warmth. And there is hope
for today, and for tomorrow, and for all our days. As we are held and
carried in God’s light and in God’s warm embrace. AMEN.
(With gratitude and
acknowledgement to Eliza Gilkyson, Douglas Letel Rights, Mattie J.T.
Stepanek, Craig Hella Johnson and the Company of Voices of Conspirare
for their inspiration and contribution to this text.)
(*) Statistics from The Lutheran,
March 2005; ELCA World Hunger Web site.
Copyright © 2005 Robert J. Karli
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