But there will be no more gloom for those who were in anguish…The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness - on them a light has shined.
Isaiah 9
There are lovely and comforting images and experiences that can enliven a Christmassy feeling. There’s snow falling lightly, again, here in Vancouver, as I look out the window. Maybe it’s a winter wonderland. There are lights up all through the neighbourhood now, and this year, there are actually Christmas gatherings after two years without. It’s the most wonderful time of the year often because it is the most sentimental. If you can experience a feeling of warmth, comfort, or even joy then maybe you’ll call it a good Christmas.
Those are the positive ways to engage. There are negative ways, too. By that I do not mean engaging in bad ways. Oscar the Grouch’s “I Hate Christmas” is a great song, but it’s not quite what I am talking about. By negative ways I mean, you can get closest to Christmas often through an awareness of the absences. You can consider not the light, but the darkness. And there is much darkness in the world. The words from the book of Isaiah 9 are often read during the season of Advent in churches. “The people walking in darkness have seen a great light.” Before that is a promise that, if you put it over the pain in the world right now, it could break you with a hope against the reality of sorrow. “There will be no more gloom for those who were in anguish.”
What could that possibly mean? Could it be true?
For those who claim Christian faith, the promise of light is connected, fulfilled even, in the birth of Jesus. The story of his birth, though romantacized, doesn’t have a lot of space for warm comfort and sentiment. He is born in a shed, surrounded by animals.
Somehow though, Christian faith says that he is the Light of the world. This is better understood as a question than as a triumphalist declaration.
A prayer,
Dear Jesus, what does it mean that you are the light of the world when there remains so much darkness?
Aware of the risk of turning people’s pain and desperation into a metaphor, I encountered, this week, what has become a Christmas image for me. You may have heard how the psychosis of Vladimir Putin, after his failed invasion of Ukraine, has been to simply do whatever he can to bring about misery for those in Ukraine. Russia, retreating in most places even in the east, has turned to destroying power stations in the country. Millions of people, during a cold winter, are without heat and without light.
Will there be no more gloom for these people who are in anguish?
An image for consideration:
It can be hard enough to navigate a stroller through ice and snow. That wet, cold ground in Ukraine looks about what Vancouver, after a snowfall, can look like. For those familiar, you know what it feels like to walk on ground like that.
But you most likely do not know what it feels like to live in a war-ravaged landscape like that, in a land of darkness.
The image, for me, has become a door to prayer. Not only for the woman in the photo and for her child, but for those facing other forms of darkness.
Faith says that it is fulfilled in Jesus, the promise of no more gloom. There is a lot of gloom in the photo, though, so my feeling at Christmas, as I look at the baby in our nativity set, is that the light has dawned, even as I can see how the promise remains unrealized in so many ways.
This is why it remains a hope.
Blessings to you as we continue in this season of Advent.