CHRISTMAS LIGHT

 

During the past few weeks I have been looking across the monastic choirstalls at the stained glass window
opposite me. At six in the morning it is as black as ink. During the office of Vigils it stays black, even as the scripture readings and the Advent sermons of the Fathers of the Church keep promising that upon us a light will shine, and that a people who walked in darkness have seen a great light. 

Easter lights the entire cosmos

It seems to me that there is a real contrast between the symbol of light in Advent/Christmas and the light we celebrate at Easter. The paschal candle at Easter symbolizes Christ the Light who has come as the victorious redeemer who triumphs over death and darkness, flooding every corner of the cosmos with the light of God's victory over the shadows of sin and ignorance and death.

By contrast, candles at Christmas symbolize another much more humble truth. Emmanuel has indeed come to earth, but only to be born in obscurity and simplicity, like a candle shining bravely against the darkness of night. St. John in the prologue to his gospel writes:

  the light shines in the darkness,

        and the darkness has not overcome it....

The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world.

    He was in the world,

        and the world came to be through him,

        but the world did not know him.

    He came to what was his own,

        but his own people did not accept him. (Jn 1:5-11)

The gentle rays of Emmanuel glow modestly against the backdrop of the world's deep darkness.

This more modest Nativity vision of "Christ our light" happens to be, however, wonderfully appropriate for a couple of friends of mine who are going through dark times right now. One is grieving at the recent sudden death of her mother, and second is struggling with all the problems that come with being responsible for an aging parent in a rehab facility. It's important for them as they experience darkness, as it is for so many of us, to see that Christmas is not a victory celebration in the way that Easter is. The little flame in Bethlehem does not pretend to annihilate the cosmic darkness, but rather brings us a promise that the darkness will not win, that ultimately the light will overcome every kind of darkness.

Christmas is a feast of hope: God has indeed come among us as one of us, but in the form of a helpless infant that needs to be loved and nurtured and protected. Christmas is the celebration of the fact that the victory has now begun, but, like a tiny infant is not yet mature.

For people who, like my two friends, are experiencing darkness right now, the Babe of Bethlehem comes as a promise, a candle shining modestly but steadily against the night. Emmanuel is indeed here and walking among us. May the Father who gave us his Son give us the grace to recognize Jesus, God-with-us, standing close by us in the darkness of our lives.

Emmanuel is here!