John 1:1-15
The true meaning of Christmas: The light that shines in the darkness, and the darkness that will never overcome it
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. 2 He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it. -NRSV
12/24/18 | Trinity Lutheran Church in Sunset Park, Brooklyn |
Rev. Michael Vanacore
This evening, in our Christmas Eve service, we gather together to celebrate the most important moment in the history of our faith: the birth of our Lord Jesus. We will conclude our worship together by turning off the lights, and lighting our candles one by one from the Christ candle here in front of the altar. And we will sing together as the light of our candles reaches into the heights of our darkened sanctuary. With that action, we symbolize, and we celebrate the central meaning of the birth of Christ: that with Jesus the light came into the world, and that the darkness did not overcome it.
The other day, I was sitting in the church office late one evening. Night had already fallen, and we were working away, finishing up some final details in preparation for our Sunday and Christmas Eve celebrations. One of our fellow church members stopped by for some reason or another, and she stayed behind for a moment to chat with us as we finished our work.
As we talked, she began to tell us about this great new job. For months, she told us, she has been cleaning houses in different neighborhoods across Brooklyn. As is the case for so many in this line of work, she has been desperate to find more hours or new houses to clean, because the low pay and minimal hours she has are nowhere near enough to get by. And then one day just the other week, she happened to strike up a conversation with a complete stranger at the bank by her house. This new acquaintance told her of a job cleaning a house right in the neighborhood--a solid offer of eight hours a day, five days a week, at a decent wage. And this complete stranger was more than happy to recommend her for the job.
What amazing news this was! I could see the relief in her face and hear the excitement in her voice. And I could sense that the darkness that had consumed her for months was beginning to give way to the light of hope.
As she finished talking, I too began to feel differently. And I realized that I myself, over the past few months or so, have been looking too closely at the darkness, and not seeing the light.
Almost on the daily, as a minister in this community, I cross paths with people from all walks of life, races, and creeds who are struggling--with food insecurity, legal troubles, depression, and a host of other challenges. And then when you turn on the news, it seems that all you see there is bad news too. Caravans of starving and terrorized families who cross thousands of miles to our southern border, and who are met with tear gas and bullets instead of love and support. In short, it seems like everywhere you look, you see darkness, and no light.
And I think to myself, “how insidious it is, this mentality of darkness. It can creep in and take over your mind, perhaps even without you knowing, until it becomes all that you see. Until you believe that things are just bad, and they’re not going to get any better.”
It is in moments like these when the light of Jesus breaks in. When some real and concrete, honest-to-goodness good news comes our way, and our world lights up like 100 candles shimmering in a darkened sanctuary on Christmas Eve.
That was the case with me the other day here in the office. I began to recall many other pieces of good news that I have been hearing lately.
I began to think of a client that my wife Rosa won asylum for in her first trial as a Public Defender. This young man, after six months in detention, was released from jail on the same day he was granted asylum. He stood there outside the gates of the prison, at 11PM in the dead of night, blinded by the light of his sudden freedom. I also thought of a recent decision by a Federal Court in Washington D.C. that overturned the bulk of President Trump’s asylum policies.
And then I thought about my own ordination, where more than 150 people reached out their hands and lifted me up into the light of ordained ministry.
In each of these instances, the light shone in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.
And so it was on the night of the nativity of our Lord some two thousand nineteen years ago. In the region of Bethlehem, as our Scripture tells us, there were shepherds living in their fields, keeping watch over their flock in the dead of night. This night, that our Scripture describes, was not just the physical darkness that falls when the sun goes down. No, it was the long night of domination that the Jewish people had endured for generations at the hands of many oppressors--the Romans, the Greeks, the Babylonians, the Assyrians, and many more.
This was a night like the one that the Mexican revolutionary Emiliano Zapata called “la larga noche de los 500 años.” A night of colonization and persecution, of suffering and of despair, of injustice and fear.
It was into this long night, upon these poor shepherds who had long lain in wait, that the glory of the Lord shone. And the angel told them, “do not be afraid; for see--I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord.” And so when the angel had gone, they ran quickly to the city of Bethlehem, to a lonely stable next to crowded inn. And there inside, lying in a manger, wrapped in swaddling cloths and the love of Mary and Joseph, they found Jesus, their Savior.
Throughout history, those who have walked in the shadow of suffering and death have dreamed of the light. The light that would end the night of their oppression, and bathe them in the warmth of God’s liberation.
This is the light that Jesus brought into the world. This was the light that he gave his life to keep. And when his time had come, he gathered his friends and loved ones and disciples around him and he said: “this do in remembrance of me.” With these words, he gave them the responsibility of carrying the light in the midst of the night.
Emiliano Zapata said: Nosotros nacimos de la noche. En ella vivimos. Moriremos en ella. Pero la luz será mañana para los más, para todos aquellos que hoy lloran la noche, para quienes se niega el día, para quienes es regalo la muerte, para quienes está prohibida la vida. Para todos la luz. Para todos todo. We were born of the night. We live in her. We will die in her. But the light will be tomorrow for the rest, for all those who today cry in the night, for those for whom the day is denied, for those who are given the gift of death, for those for whom life is prohibited. For everyone the light. For everyone everything.
This, to me, is the key to the Christmas message. That even through the shadows of oppression and suffering that stretch across the centuries, it is still our duty to fight for the light. For whenever you stand up and defend someone who is oppressed, whenever you extend a hand of compassion to someone in need, whenever you do something that is good and kind when you had a choice to do evil, then you make sure that the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness does not overcome it.
And so, on this Christmas eve, let us light our candles and sing our hymns. Let us watch the light of our candles flicker in the dark. And let us commit ourselves anew to fighting for the light that Jesus gave his life to bring to the world. Amen.
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