Waiting for the light that shines in the darkness

Susan Wojciechowski’s book The Christmas Miracle of Jonathan Toomey is about a lonely, brooding wood carver, haunted by the loss of his wife and child. He left his home, travelling “until his tears stopped” in an escape from the pain, finally landing in a small cottage at the edge of a small village. Muttering, grumbling, stooping under the weight of his heavy heart, he dismisses the company of others.  Finally, through the innocent and guileless badgering of a young boy named Thomas, for whom the craftsman is carving a nativity set, Jonathan Toomey is able to confront the hurt he thought he had fled.  The miracle he discovers is that light can shine through the cold darkness of a heart that has shut out the hope of ever knowing joy and peace and love.

But you, O Bethlehem of Ephrathah, who are one of the little clans of Judah, from you shall come forth for me one who is to rule Israel, whose origin is from of old, from ancient days.  Micah 5:2

The prophet Micah, distressed with the worldly splendours of the great city of Jerusalem and the corruption that surrounds him, looked at Bethlehem, a modest village with a rich history, a decent economy but not much else, and declared it to be the place out of which the future hope of Israel would come. And of course, it did. In a dark, crowded stable, away from the royal palaces and holy temple of Jerusalem, God chose to empty God’s self into the very lives of humanity. In the place least likely for it to happen, in a dark little grotto in an overcrowded village, God became one with us, so that we might become one with God.

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In the place least expected: the pain of loss; the weight of hopelessness; the silence of the forest; the stillness of the sea at rest – it is there you will find the power of God working out the Divine purpose. In the dark quiet of Advent, where the light of day comes late each morning and flees early each evening, we wait for the coming again of the glory of Christ, the light of the world. From the reality of what is to the promise of what will be, we watch, and we wait for the light that shines in the darkness. And try as it might, the darkness will never overcome it. The miracle will continue to be born, shining its light into every corner of our heart.

In the beginning, God spoke the Word and created light out of darkness, order out of chaos, life out of the void. In Bethlehem, God emptied God’s self into the reality of the day to renew and restore life. In our present day, we are bombarded by a cacophony of messages that declare destruction and devastation while Christmas carols – increasingly referred to as holiday songs – do their best to mask the despair and desperation. The liminal space that is the season of Advent provides the Church with a time to confront the hurt and the pain of the world through hopeful prayer, inviting God once more to be in our present reality, and empower us to be agents of God’s Divine purpose.

In her book, Come Emmanuel: Approaching Advent, Living with Christmas, UK poet and retreat leader Ann Lewin writes: “Advent: a time for discovering treasure in darkness; Christmas: the dawn of light transforming light.” May we take this season of Advent to discover the treasures as we watch for the Christmas dawn of transforming light.