THE LIGHT HAS COME, by Bryan Norford

I hate candles. Our home has hosted two small fires thanks to candles. If I had the authority, I’d ban them from the planet—at least until the next power outage. But a current TV advertisement shows the power of one candle: in pitch blackness its light is visible beyond the length of several football fields.

 

Isaiah 60:1–2 promises: “[Israel’s] light has come” to dispel the intense darkness that covers the earth.John identifies Jesus as the source of life, “and that life is the light of men.” But although that “light shines in the darkness,” the darkness “has not understood it,” John 1:4–5.

Also translated “Has not overcome it,” the last phrase still carries the idea of a concept that darkness cannot grasp. God’s thoughts are not only higher than ours; His ways are sufficiently different to be mostly opposite to ours.

Our fallen condition has reversed God’s vision of the world. The lie that holds the world in darkness is that power is the final authority; when, in reality, God created our world for love to be the ultimate ruler.

The reverence accorded to Nelson Mandela briefly reminds us, from somewhere beneath our distorted thinking, that forgiveness and reconciliation, established at the cross, is the bedrock of human existence. That light will flicker for a while, until buried anew under human reasoning that cannot understand it.

John expands the content of Jesus’ light, describing Him “full of grace and truth.” John adds further, it is “from the fullness of His grace we have all received one blessing after another,” John 1:14 and 16.

The greatest characteristic of grace is humility. Jesus’ entry into the world was not in a blaze of supernatural power, but as a dependent child, born in a cattle shed and placed in a feeding trough. The darkness, hungry for power, cannot grasp this form of authority.

But humility is measured by the power it withholds. God measures his grace to us by Messiah’s humility. His humility is boundless because His omnipotence is ultimate. The wonder of Christmas is not just God’s amazing gift to us, but the humility of God it portrayed. 

[Jesus], being in very nature God, 

Did not consider equality with God something to be grasped,

But made Himself nothing, 

Taking the very nature of a servant, 

Being made in human likeness.'

And being found in appearance as a man, 

He humbled himself

And became obedient to death—even death on a cross! 

Phil 2:6-8

Darkness cannot understand this light; it is foolishness to it. I’m not sure I can fully absorb this light either; utterly aware of how short I fall from its example. But I will rejoice that this unfathomable and unexpected plan of God is already dispelling our darkness—towards its day of complete erasure.

Song Of The Bells ~ by Marcia Janson

Childhood memories tend to come to me in vignettes, often with very little context in which to interpret them.  They are like small ice chunks that have broken away from a glacier, bobbing along on the surface of a spring thaw river.

Sometimes when I catch sight of them, I pluck them out and have a look-see. The Christmas bits are particularly compelling. Nostalgia gives them a crystalline sparkle and I enjoy caressing the smooth, time-eroded surfaces. I catch a glimpse of my siblings and me decorating the tree with miniature carousel ornaments that twirl round at the slightest breath of air. Snow ball-shaped lights frame the picture window and crackling wood radiates warmth from the fireplace.

I remember the thrill of anticipation over the special gift “Santa” would bring and the soft, buttery taste of Mom’s shortbread. And there was the excitement of staying up very late to go to Midnight Mass on Christmas Eve. I loved being in the children’s chorus, singing carols from our perch up in the choir loft. We had a grandstand view of the magical, life-size manger scene at the front of the sanctuary.

 When I was ten years old, we moved to the other side of town. There was no midnight service in the church there, so we stayed home. How we spent the evening is not part of my memory flow, but one vignette from that Christmas Eve has stayed with me all my life. 

It was quite late and I was lying snugly in bed, my little sister sleeping peacefully nearby. All was quiet in the house and my mind, over-stimulated by holiday activity, was trying to process everything. All the anxieties and excitements of the day clamoured for attention and I was trying to tuck them away so I could settle down and fall sleep.

And then I heard the church bells.  A waterfall of notes cascaded through the darkness and settled into a tune I recognized.

Silent night, holy night.

All is calm, all is bright….

 I sang the words quietly to myself as carol after carol pealed out and something hidden way down inside me started to let go and relax.

Oh holy night! The stars are brightly shining.

It is the night of the dear Saviour’s birth.

Long lay the world in sin and error pining

Till he appeared and the soul felt its worth...

I don’t think that my ten-year old self had any astounding theological revelations that night. But I do believe that God rejoiced and sang over me in the music of the bells. And, as the carol proclaims, my “soul felt its worth”. 

Isn't that what we all need? May the Lord sing over you as you celebrate the advent of His Son into our world.

Sleep in heavenly peace,

Sleep in heavenly peace.

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Photo credits
Icy river: http://www.flickr.com/photos/nicmcphee/916741349/
Nativity scene: http://www.flickr.com/photos/16502322@N03/6568703575/
Star: http://www.flickr.com/photos/the-maestros/352417169/