Advent Light

When Jesus says, “I am the light of the world,” some of us shrug.  OK.

When he first said it, his listeners knew the night time was threatening and dangerous.  For them night fell like a heavy blanket at the end of the day.  In the dark it’s hard to walk on rocky paths.  In the dark it’s hard to tell a friend from an enemy.  So when the dark comes, you wait for the morning. 

Alaskans know what the dark feels like.  Tomorrow (Dec. 21st) is the Winter Solstice.  It’s the shortest day of the year.  Most Alaskans will get about 5 hours of daylight.

So in Alaska, Seasonal Affective Disorder is a real problem.  Symptoms include lethargy, a heightened desire for sleep, cravings for carbohydrates, feelings of melancholy, fuzzy thinking and loss of libido or sociability,  Translated, that means you’re in bed, crying, eating twinkies, and telling everyone to just get away.

One article I read put it this way:

While some Alaskans defy winter by embracing it, others cope by exposing themselves to bright-light therapy. Others install full-spectrum lighting in their homes and offices. Some people frequent tanning booths. Some take antidepressant medications. Some self-medicate with drugs or alcohol.  Then there are those who flee the state.

The list is funny to me because all these strategies for dealing with the dark are treated equally - some use light therapy . . . some get hammered . . . some just leave.

When you hear Jesus say, “I am the light of the world,” what kind of light is that for you?

We have lamps by our beds.

There are buzzing neon signs in the windows of bodegas.

There are florescent tubes in dropped ceilings with their harsh, white light.

And the warm glow of pendant lights hung discreetly over a welcoming bar.

Even when we go out into the night, out onto the sidewalk, we’re still awash in artificial light.

Serious astronomers are complaining of “light pollution” - the light generated by our brightly lit cities.   All this artificial light is making it hard to see the stars anymore, even with powerful telescopes.  Some of the darkest places on earth are too hard to get to.  You can’t put a telescope in the middle of the Atlantic and Pacific oceans, or Antarctica, for instance.

So scientists put their biggest telescopes in the darkest places they can find on land.  

On a clear night here in New York City, you might be able to pick out 200 stars.  In very dark place like remote Sutherland, South Africa, 7,000 stars fill the sky.

When Jesus said, “I am the light of the world,” I wonder whether he said it during the day or night.  I wonder whether he was inside or outside.

If it was early morning, his listeners had just woken up and were watching an orange sun slowly crest over the hills in the east.

If it was midday, his listeners were shielding their eyes from the glare of a fiery yellow sun high over head.

If it was late in the day, the skies were purple and the sun almost pink, as it slowly dropped out of sight.

What if he said it around a fire - with his listeners also hearing the crackle, hiss, and pop from the fire?  Watching it spark.  Seeing each other’s faces in the fire’s glow.

What if he said it on a clear night when the moon hung close and bright, bathing all of them with a reflected, borrowed light?

Maybe they listened to him at night while lying on the ground, looking up into a sky pricked with thousands of starry lights, hanging there in the heavens -- for what?  For a show?  For decoration?

He could have been indoors of course, in a home or synagogue lit by candlelight . . . speaking as his listeners watched the candle’s colorful flame dance with every draft of air and return again and again to its beautiful form.

Obviously, I don’t know where Jesus was when he said, “I am the light of the world.”  But I know that we’re here, now.  In a dimly lit auditorium, having just come in from the street, on a crisp winter night, waiting for Christmas.

It’s not Christmas yet.  It’s Advent.  And we’re waiting.  We’re in the moment before the moment.  We’re in that moment when the conductor of the symphony raises the baton but before the first note sounds.  We’re in that moment when your favorite band has come on stage in the darkness but has yet to hit that first body-pulsing note.  And in the moment before the moment, you’re holding your breath.

“The people walking in darkness have seen a great light;

On those living in the land of deep darkness a light has dawned.”

- Isaiah 9:2; Matthew 4:16

“I am the light of the world.  Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness.”

- John 8:12

As we light candles and receive communion tonight, let’s remember that the one who said, “I am the light of the world,” is the same one who said to us -- to us!! -- “You are the light of the world.”  So come, and eat, and fill yourself with light.