Don Friesen
Dorothy and I don't usually go out of our way to look at Christmas lights, but a week ago we were early for a social engagement and so we stalled for time by driving around the neighbourhood looking at Christmas lights, providing each other with a running commentary:
Christmas lights are a fine Christmas tradition, and in our part of the world an abundance of light in the darkest part of the year is a welcome sight. Candles were used before the advent of electricity and although we retain a fondness for candlelight we now use electric lights, of every colour and size, to create a festive atmosphere. Some people take great pleasure and pride in their lighting, going to great expense and effort to create imaginative displays. Local newspapers cover the more ostentatious displays, and for many a trip to see the lights is a much-anticipated part of the Christmas holiday.
I don't know if the people who put up Christmas lights are aware of the association of light with the birth of Christ, but for centuries artists rendered the Christ child, as well his parents, with bright halos around their heads. This is, after all, the birth of the light of the world! Matthew's Gospel declares, "...the people who sat in darkness have seen a great light, and for those who sat in the region and shadow of death light has dawned." (Matthew 4:16) Jesus himself said, "I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness but will have the light of life." (John 8:12; compare 9:5) He said, "I have come as light into the world, so that everyone who believes in me should not remain in the darkness." (John 12:46) It's not surprising, then, that Christmas is, in many respects, a festival of light.
Bass Mitchell, a United Methodist minister in Virginia, was driving home one night during the Advent season, and couldn't believe his eyes when he saw it! He pulled the car over to the side of the road to take a closer look. Someone had put Christmas lights in the cemetery! Bass says it's a very old, dignified graveyard where some of his family's ancestors are buried. Many years ago someone planted evergreen trees all around the graveyard, and someone had come out and put up beautiful white lights all over those trees. A place of death was circled and illuminated by Christmas lights! (Bass Mitchell, In Every Blade of Rustling Grass)
The idea of Christmas lights in a graveyard initially struck me as yet one more tacky display of hydro consumption--at best a strange place for Christmas lights--and yet, in some strange way it's a very appropriate place. Christmas means that light has come into every part of this dark world, even into the darkness of death. In the Christ Child we have received life and light that darkness--even the darkness of death--cannot take away!
Light in the Darkness of a Bethlehem Barn?
The curious admixture of darkness and light was also there at the birth of Jesus. Like the line in the children's story that Rachael read, there was at Jesus' birth both "Great Joy and Great Trouble!" (Angela Elwell Hunt, "Avner and the Morning Star") Many of our renditions of the Christmas story focus on the more dazzling aspects of the story. We imagine a sky full of lights and angels singing, as well as a very bright star guiding the magi from afar. Whatever heavenly extravaganza occurred, however, it did not occur in the stable. The birth itself was hardly noteworthy, for the family in that stable were poor folk. The Christ child was born in darkness. The birthplace of Jesus had no more light than the average nightlight gives off. There were no angels flying around with bright torches in their hands. There were no halos lighting the dark recesses of that Bethlehem stable, and the baby lying there did not glow in the dark! (Anne-Marie Hislop, "Let It Glow, Let It Glow, Let It Glow")
Jesus was born in a dark stable in dark times. Mary and Joseph were part of a small minority. Their people were viewed as strange by much of the ancient world. The weary new parents were not only outsiders to the Roman culture, but they lived in a little backwater that any Roman official assigned there quickly concluded that he must have really, really displeased someone who mattered.
What is it about this little child, in remembrance of whom we light candles and put up lights, that captures our imagination and our hearts? What is it in his life that leads us nearly two thousand years later to celebrate his birth? We are told in the Gospel that in those dark times there was an old man in Jerusalem who had been looking forward to the "consolation of Israel" for years. (Luke 2:25) And when Simeon, this old man of faith, watched the parents bring in the child Jesus, Simeon saw something there that others had missed. Simeon took the child in his arms and praised God, saying, "Master, now you are dismissing your servant in peace, according to your word; for my eyes have seen your salvation, which you have prepared in the presence of all peoples, a light for revelation to the Gentiles and for glory to your people Israel." (2:28-32)
In the temple there was an old prophet, Anna, an elderly and very devout woman, who, when she saw the child, "...began to praise God and to speak about the child to all who were looking for the redemption of Jerusalem." (Luke 2:38) Perhaps she had in mind the prophecy in Isaiah, "...for Jerusalem's sake I will not rest, until her vindication shines out like the dawn, and her salvation like a burning torch." (Isaiah 62:1)
As there was darkness then, so there is darkness now. We are quite familiar with darkness. Violence is a daily occurrence. The clouds of war are gathering. Nuclear threats increase. Economies are crumbling. In addition, many of us also know personal darkness. Loved ones have died; someone we care about is injured or falls ill; a family member descends into dementia; friends, or we ourselves, are diagnosed with cancer or have a heart attack. Our interior darkness includes moments of unfaithfulness, disloyalty, doubt, hurt, and anger. Sometimes it feels as if our internal darkness will overwhelm us.
As Christians, however, we know that darkness is not the end of the story. The darkness was not able to put out the light of Christ's Godliness. The Gospel of John tells us that "...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." (John 1:4-5) That is the gospel promise. The light has triumphed. The darkness has been destroyed. We know that the darkness is still there--that is part of our human condition, and at times we may feel as if we wander in darkness, but the darkness cannot overcome the light. And the light of life shines strongest when there is darkness, much like Christmas lights are most vivid at night. No one is foolish enough to seek out crises and tragedies, but the paradox of faith is that it is often in those dark times that the light of faith shines brightest. We live in shadows--a shadowland -- but our leap of faith allows us to believe that a world that in many ways seems absurd is indeed a wonderful place, a place touched and blessed by the presence of the holy and divine.
An Unconventional Light Goes On!
Christmas lights are a wonderful and festive way to celebrate the birth of the light of the world, but not everyone appreciates them. During Advent I came across a moving story told by Jenee Woodard, the mother of an autistic boy named Phil. Phil is ten years old and is severely handicapped by his disability. His family learned to slow down at Christmas a number of years ago when he was unable to tolerate any of the celebration. He couldn't handle the changing scenarios--the twinkling lights, the changes in grocery store displays, the changes in the sanctuary at church, presents appearing under the tree, the tree itself, or any moved furniture. He would fall on the floor and scream, unable to move. This went on for the duration of the Advent and Christmas season. His mother says that when they went out they carried him around with his head covered with his coat so as to spare him further anguish.
Their neighbour across the street was one of those people who buy every new outdoor Christmas display. For two Decembers Phil slept on the sofa in the living room, trying to stay awake so he could make sure that all of the lights across the street, if not the whole block, were functioning correctly. If a light went out, or if the lights went on or off at unusual times, Phil would scream and cry in panic until it was fixed. His mother spent an hour one cold night on top of the neighbour's garage, replacing one bulb in a Santa display so the boy would sleep!
Christmas celebrations at home were a nightmare. Phil would scream and cry as each package was moved and unwrapped. As frightened as he was when each new thing appeared, he was equally frightened when it changed or disappeared. His parents tried to find him a present he'd enjoy, but he'd merely scream and cry in panic at the intrusion on his carefully ordered world, and the gifts would sit ignored until he outgrew them and his parents gave them to some little boy who could appreciate them. Phil asked for nothing and anticipated nothing. In some romantic fantasy it may sound great to have a kid who wants nothing to do with Christmas commercialism, but for his parents it was a surreal nightmare.
Jenee relates that this year, when they asked their kids what they wanted for Christmas, Phil said, "PlayStation 2". His parents just about fell over! His sister gave him a piece of paper. She wrote "Phil's Christmas List" at the top. He wrote down "PLAYSTATION TOW". "At Sam's," he said. "Go to car." So they drove to Sam's, where Phil had never looked at anything or seemed interested in anything, but he led his family right to the PlayStation 2 sets, picked out the bundle he wanted and put it in the cart. "Open at Christmas," he said. At home he watched gleefully as his parents wrapped the package, and then he solemnly placed it under the tree. "December 25," he said. "Open PlayStation 2 December 25."
Somewhat later Phil found a advertisement in the paper and turned immediately to the PlayStation games. He circled "Harry Potter" and "John Madden Football," handed the ad to his father and said, "I want Christmas." His mother was moved to tears, for it's a small sign that her son may be able to function as an adult one day. Says his mother, "This Advent season I am grateful for being able to appreciate what complexity and miracle is involved in such small ...acts as wanting something for Christmas and expressing those wants to another person."
A light went on in an autistic child's mind, igniting the light of hope in his mother's mind, and while for some of us commercialism and materialism are enemies, for this little boy it represents a breakthrough! The people "who sat in darkness have seen a great light, and for those who sat in the ...shadow of death light has dawned," says Matthew's Gospel. (Matthew 4:16) Jesus said, "I have come as light into the world, so that everyone who believes in me should not remain in the darkness." (John 12:46)
May the light of Christ's redemptive love shine even in our darkest moments, in darkest times, that, in the words of the next hymn, it will "dispel in glorious splendour the darkness ev'rywhere." ("Lo, how a Rose e'er Blooming," Hymnal: A Worship Book, #211)
* That one's nice.
* I've never seen orange-coloured lights before.
* Oh, I don't like that reindeer.
* That one's very strange.
* Oh, I like that!
All quotations of Scripture, unless otherwise noted, are from the New Revised Standard Version.