by James Prescott
I’ve always struggled with seasonal affective disorder. I need to get up at 6am for work each weekday morning – and it’s noticeable that in the summer months, when it’s light outside, it’s pretty easy to get myself going. In winter, however, the nights are longer, and it’s still dark outside when I wake – and I find it tougher to get up.
There’s actually science behind this. The sun gives off something called seratonin, which increases our energy levels, and which our body needs, and can even impact our mood. So in summer we get more of that in the morning (and during the day generally), so it’s a lot easier to get up early, and we’re less tired, and our mood is brighter.
Recently, I’ve been struggling with low moods, anxiety, and have had conflicts in my one to one relationship with God. Hurt going back decades has been more exposed, God making it very clear He wanted to deal with this.
One area of my life which was bringing anxiety was work. I was struggling with a relationship with an individual at work and there was a lot of tension. I was at home group sharing this with people, and God gave me a revelation. I realised, when I get up to go to work, it’s dark. When I get to the underground rail station it’s dark. And on the London Underground, it’s dark.
But when I arrive at the station near my work, and walk up the stairs to the outside world, suddenly, light has dawned. I’ve literally gone from darkness, to light.
And I had a revelation. That no matter how dark the night gets, how long the darkness lasts, that eventually morning always comes. Dawn always breaks. Light always comes back eventually. The dawn begins whilst it’s still dark. There’s a moment when light begins to slowly permeate through, more and more, until it takes over. Darkness never, ever, lasts forever.
In response to this, in conjunction with my home group leader, I made a decision. I decided that I would be light to those around me. That instead of choosing fear and anger, and to let darkness literally overwhelm me, I would be an agent of the good, of the light.
I have to say, it changed everything. I repeated it to myself every day to begin with. And eventually it sunk into my subconscious. I was less anxious, less moody, less down. It even helped me get up in the morning.
I began to see so much more clearly the metaphor of darkness and light, in my life, and in the world around me. And for some strange reason, I began to feel a sense of hope in the midst of the darkness this world is in right now.
Which brings me to Christmas.
Because Christmas is about light in the darkness. In the midst of a dark night, a baby is born to bring hope to the world. In the darkness of the night, wise men see a light leading them toward the hope of the world. Shepherds up at night, are lit the way towards this saviour.
In every way, Jesus is a light in the darkness.
The physical, I believe, reflects what’s going on in the supernatural. And the fact that the light always comes in the morning, no matter how dark the night, is a symbol, a sign. It’s a promise of God made through creation that no matter how dark things get, there will always be a dawn.
There will always be light.
There will always be hope.
Jesus, is the human representation of that hope. That in a world overwhelmed by fear and darkness, where love, peace and hope seem so distant – there is still, somehow, hope in the midst of it.
That the sun will rise. There will be a new day. Things will get better.
Our job is to trust, to keep faith in the darkness. To be love to the world around us. Indeed, to try and be light in the darkness around us. God has called us all to represent Him to the world, to keep the faith, to keep loving, to keep hoping and acting for a better world.
This Christmas, let us be reminded to never give up hope. And let us be representative of that light to the world.
I love this reflective telling of the story of Christmas and the beautiful images that are used. It is good for us to remember sometimes how small our planet earth is and how special the unique things that happened in the town of Bethlehem are not just for us but in ways we don’t comprehend, for the whole universe.
Our church has a tradition of creating an Advent “waiting room” which is simply our church courtyard lit with white mini bulbs. The light is soft and dim, and the air is cold. We shiver together and sip hot chocolate as we wait to be invited inside. Last Sunday evening I distinctly remember thinking that what made this cold and dark wait tolerable, even enjoyable, was sharing it with friends as we recalled our week’s journeys, and teased and chatted. But waiting is rarely so easy.
Those simple memories of moments shared became a warm wrap of assurance for what was to come. There were two mass shootings in the following week, one in Georgia and then in San Bernardino. This year there have been more mass shootings (defined by 3 or more victims) than there are days in the year. This is one of the darkest and coldest Advents I can remember.
I had had a pretty Advent blog post all ready to go. But I felt despondent and angry. The senseless and violent loss of life was abhorrent enough, but this last heartbreaking event seemed to only serve to polarize people even more than ever. Many seemed to entrench themselves even deeper into their ideologies, wearing them like bulletproof vests as if they have the power to save. Most disturbingly, the resoluteness of what is now so much of American Christianity – this civil, nationalistic religion that is so often diametrically opposed to the ways of Jesus – seemed to become more unyielding.
I resonate with Karl Rahner’s cry, “You were supposed to redeem us from ourselves and yet you, who alone are absolutely free and unbounded, were ‘made’ even as we are. Of course I know that you remained what you always were, but still, didn’t our mortality make you shudder, you the Immortal God? Didn’t you, the broad and limitless Being, shrink back in horror from our narrowness? Weren’t you, absolute Truth, revolted at our pretense?”
I am revolted by it.
This American “Christianity” has lost its way. It has shrunken its identity to being defined by an orthodoxy test. One can say they believe in Jesus Christ the Son of God, and that he was crucified and raised from the dead, and then live as if that great love has no further bearing on our lives.
Most people recognize by now that the religious right was formed in the 1980’s largely as a political ploy to guarantee the conservative Christian vote. That group has now become utterly consumed by right wing politics and ideologies. It has become thoroughly individualistic in focus through the emphasis on a personal ticket to heaven and a blessed life if you have enough faith. The needs of the world are not secondary; they barely even matter except to serve those two points.
The way of Jesus moves in a completely different way.
In a culture where his own brethren were oppressed by the violence and power of the Roman Empire, Jesus taught the mystifying way of peace.
American “Christianity” clings to its guns like a golden calf.
In a culture where only those who were deemed worthy and clean by religious leaders could enter the temple and worship God, Jesus touched a bleeding women, healed those deemed unclean by disease, and welcomed the sinner.
American “Christianity” defines itself by who is allowed in and who is not.
In a culture where the high religious scoffed at the poor openly, Jesus showed no preference for the “deserving poor.” He fed the hungry and healed the sick.
American “Christianity” applauds spending more than half the federal budget on war machine, and strains at gnats: the relatively small amounts of money for food stamps and health care subsidies. We turn our backs on the poor and hungry.
In a culture where the highly religious could easily pass by a wounded man in the road, Jesus applauded the love of an outsider – a Samaritan- for his genuine care for him.
American “Christianity” wants to withhold healthcare from those who have not earned it in their eyes.
In a culture where the stranger was always suspect, Jesus made space at his table.
American “Christianity” has turned its back on the refugee who is fleeing unspeakable violence due to political and military unrest in his homeland. Like Jesus, the refugee has nowhere to lay his head.
In a culture where strict adherence to the practices of the religious law could bring power and honor,
Jesus made it clear that what we do to the least of these – the suffering one, the hungry and thirsty one, the outcast and stranger, is what we do to him.
American “Christianity” has become an allegiance to dogma and behavior that makes us feel upright and safe. It circles the wagons of loyalty around us. It also protects us from God and all that the Kingdom asks of us. We remain safely unchanged.
So waiting outside in the cold, aching to get inside, aching for things to be made right I hear the Advent story ask, “Do you see?” Advent is, above all else, a call to consciousness, says Richard Rohr. It is meant to wake us up.
Indeed, in this time of waiting, we can attune to profound ache of the world and let it be a harsh and wondrous wake up call. Many are beginning to see that this civic, nationalistic religion is not the way of Jesus. Many are weary of a religiosity that marginalizes the poor and less advantaged, that cares little for the plight of the refugee and stranger, and has what Ben Corey calls a “sadistic fetish” with guns. Many are waking up and seeing that we have exchanged the truth of the Good News for the lie of a civic religion. Many are awakening to a longing for Shalom, peace on earth.
Rahner continues, “Slowly a light is beginning to dawn. I have begun to understand what I have known for a long time. You are still in the process of your coming….It is said that you will come again and this is true. But the word again is misleading. It won’t really be another coming, because you have never really gone away. In the human existence that you made your own for all eternity, you have never left us.”
We wait for the Light to come, and yet the Light is already here.
Advent allows us to re-examine our own ache that longs for the coming of God in our midst, not just for ourselves, but also for the flourishing of all. Advent opens up a space in us to receive God who is not revolted by our narrowness and pretense, but who is pleased to be with us, as us, as we are. It can even open up that space in me for them, lest I cast them out as they cast out others. In this time when so much of Christianity has lost the plot, Advent is opportunity for us all to begin anew. Then, like Jesus, we can dive right into the world with only faith, hope and love as our accoutrements. This is when I can believe again that God’s love will always have the last word.
Welcome Advent, welcome Christmas. May the Christ, the God who loves in flesh and bone, right here, right now, be birthed in us this season.
I love this Irish Christmas blessing that I found a couple of years ago and thought that it needed to be coupled with this wonderfully Irish Christmas song. Enjoy and have a wonderful and blessed Christmas.
Seattle skylight – Craig Goodwin http://craiggoodwinphoto.com Used with permission.
by Gil George
As I prepare for the coming of Christmas I have been reflecting on John 1: 9-14:
The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world. 1He was in the world, and the world came into being through him; yet the world did not know him. He came to what was his own, and his own people did not accept him. But to all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God, who were born, not of blood or of the will of the flesh or of the will of man, but of God. And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth.
The true light was coming and the Light’s own people did not recognize him. This is a serious check for us who consider ourselves followers of Jesus. Are there ways we ourselves are not recognizing the light which even now breaks into the world. This is the conviction that rests heavily on me now as I witness the sad state of the world around me. I wonder that I, like the people of Israel, am focusing so much on the hurts around me that I am missing the presence of Jesus. As I write this my daughter is working on her schoolwork, sent home for her to work on while she fights an e-coli infection. As I write this the news plays the latest tragedies in the world, and I am overwhelmed with my own senses of loss in terms of my relationship to the Church. I am missing Jesus because I am not looking for him, I am just looking for a way through. How often do I not take the time to look around me for the presence of the light, or only as a solution to the problems of the day?
But the Word became flesh and dwells among us, and longs for some time to be with us. As this season progresses and we move through times of hope and hopelessness, faith and doubt, joy and despair, peace and strife, let us resolve to stop and lean into the arms of the Light so that we might find the small hopes hiding in hopeless situations, the faith that only comes through expressed doubt, the joy that comes with light in the middle of dark despair, and the peace which surpasses understanding in times of strife. These come paradoxically, not because we work for them, but as gifts that flow from the presence of Jesus.
Lord, I come to you seeking the gift of your presence. Open my eyes to see where you are already at work around me and in me. Help me lean into and recognize your in-breaking light. Amen
Here is a beautiful Christmas creed to reflect on as we approach Christmas. I don’t know who wrote it but if you can help would love to find out.
I believe in Jesus Christ and in the beauty of the gospel begun in Bethlehem.
I believe in the one whose spirit glorified a little town;
and whose spirit still brings music to persons all over the world,
in towns both large and small.
I believe in the one for whom the crowded inn could find no room,
and I confess that my heart still sometimes wants to exclude Christ from my life today.
I believe in the one whom the rulers of the earth ignored
and the proud could never understand;
whose life was among common people,
whose welcome came from persons of hungry hearts.
I believe in the one who proclaimed the love of God to be invincible:
I believe in the one whose cradle was a mother’s arms,
whose modest home in Nazareth had love for its only wealth,
who looked at persons and made them see what God’s love saw in them,
who by love brought sinners back to purity,
and lifted human weakness up to meet the strength of God.
I confess my ever-lasting need of God:
The need of forgiveness for our selfishness and greed,
the need of new life for empty souls, the need of love for hearts grown cold.
I believe in God who gives us the best of himself.
I believe in Jesus, the son of the living
God, born in Bethlehem this night, for me and for the world.
Oops – I posted this by mistake – it should be part of the post Meditation Monday – Conceive in Us Your Wholeness Lord but since several people have already liked and shared the post I have decided to leave it. I hope you will explore the complete post though.
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