Taking the Time to Make a Difference

It was seven o’clock in the morning, on a day in mid-December, dark and rainy here in the Midwest, an ordinary day. In front of our house, toward the street, morning joggers and walkers and cars were easily visible under the grey sky. To the side of our house, under the Holly and Magnolia trees, darkness remained. If there were birds at the feeders, they were invisible. From our back deck, I could see the homes of several neighbors. A basement window at one house was brightly lit. Another home has a light in an attic window. I wonder if those neighbors know those lights are on all of the time. The day was slowly brightening, but street lights were still on. Their automatic sensors were waiting for more daylight before they would go off duty. It is a good time of the year, during Advent and at Christmas, to think about light and darkness, how a little light can make a difference — not just in illuminating the things around us but also in illuminating the hope within us. I remember some years ago, an occasion when we took our son Matthew to catch a train to go back to college. From Evansville in Indiana, we drove to Centralia in Illinois, so Matt could catch a northbound train to Chicago. In the early morning darkness, we waited near the railroad tracks where we were told the train would stop. We saw no depot, no fast food store or coffee shop, no local businesses were active at that time. There was not even an unattended basement light or attic window in sight. After some minutes, we wondered if we were in the right place. We stopped talking. We stood in silence, looking down the tracks toward the south, where we believed we should see the train approaching. As more minutes went by, I admit that I had some doubts. Did we come at the right time? Had the train already passed? Darkness is the sister of doubt. And the moments before dawn contain drops of anxiety as small but as penetrating as the morning mist. A light shone in the distance. Just a car on a distant roadway. It was not the one we hoped for. Then we saw it, the oscillating light distinctive, the beam that seems to swing from side to side, lighting left and right and center, approaching and brightening, reflecting from the front of the locomotive along the bright iron rails. Before we could hear the engine, we saw the light approaching our of darkness – and we started talking once again to each other. Doubt was gone, reality resumed.

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Our Scriptures are filled with references to the light of the world, the light shining in darkness, the star that illuminated a stable where eternal light was born. Even so, we know that darkness will return on a terrible afternoon, that dreadful day. Will our faith so bright falter? Or will it carry us through to the glorious morning we hope to see? Even at the time we celebrate the Nativity of our Lord, we recall the sacrifice of Good Friday. Even as we rejoice in the new presence of Jesus-among-us, we pray that our faith will sustain us from the darkness of Good Friday through the sunrise of Easter.

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Where or when has light come into your darkness? Or perhaps, the better question: who has held up the light so that you would not stumble? Was the light of faith bright in the lives of your parents? A relative? A pastor or a teacher? How have you brought light to those who might remain in darkness? The one in prison in cells without windows? The one in nursing care behind hospital curtains? The one prevented by immigration laws from seeing the light in the eyes of a son or a daughter? The one who has no basement or attic inside light, no home but the outside world? Now is the time to bring hope to this world. Jesus brought us light, once and for all, and now it is our time to reflect what we have seen to those who remain in darkness. Now is the time to make a difference.

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