The people walking in darkness have seen a great light.
On those living in a land of deep darkness, light has dawned.
You have made the nation great;
you have increased its joy.
They rejoiced before you as with joy at the harvest,
as those who divide plunder rejoice.
As on the day of Midian,
you’ve shattered the yoke that burdened them,
the staff on their shoulders,
and the rod of their oppressor.
Because every boot of the thundering warriors,
and every garment rolled in blood
will be burned, fuel for the fire.
A child is born to us,
a son is given to us,
and authority will be on his shoulders.
He will be named
Wonderful Counselor,
Mighty God,
Eternal Father,
Prince of Peace.
There will be vast authority and endless peace
for David’s throne and for his kingdom,
establishing and sustaining it with justice and righteousness
now and forever.
The zeal of the Lord of heavenly forces will do this.
HOMILY
It seemed like the latest hours I knew as a child, when put
to bed before sundown, I would watch the canary yellow of my room fade to grey,
and hear the distant sounds of older children still out past bedtime. Luffing
off my sheets, I would stand backwards against the helm of my
little-wooden-twin-headboard, balancing my sea-legs between it, the mattress,
and the crack in-between, where my pillow could be stuffed, at least momentarily,
to see out the window.
My city’s nightfall was perforated by a haze of street
lights, and the grainy film darkness was floored by golden polka doted light
pools, evenly spaced, along the black asphalt of an apartment complex across the
drainage ditch from my backyard. In those spotlights, the starkness of a
shadow’s edge became the revelatory details of night, and therefore I would
stare into them, as if they held the answers for the things I didn’t know, the
things which darkness shielded, and the things for which bedtimes were put to
avoid.
But of all my staring, and wanting to know, only once did I
ever see anything in the spotlight and it was simple. I remember a black shadow
of a boy running across the yellow pool of light, like “Jack be nimble, Jack be
quick, Jack jump over candlestick,” Though the nursery rhyme warned of the
danger of night, I saw, with his jumping, that there was still life to be had
in the darkness and that it was good.
And imagine the shepherds in the fields likewise, watching
the warm summer’s canary-yellow sun turn everything it touched to goldenrod
just before dusk. I imagine the length of the day stretching into sunset over
the hills, and the sky above slowly fading to it’s blue gloaming before
twilight, and it’s quiet that falls with the sundown and settles in the dark of
night. I imagine them on top of their blankets, watching their flocks at night.
Christians have always read this darkness as a thing to fear, that the
shepherds watched for the wolf or the coyote, or any danger that might befall
them and their flock, because we couldn’t imagine anything good happening after
midnight, be they predators to sheep in a field, or little girls staring out
their bedroom windows. But what if it wasn’t like that, what if it was a summer’s
night, without the fear of chill and cold, when even black water was inviting,
and subsequent night swimming was invigorating, when the darkness is friendly,
and the quiet is welcome, and we are unafraid? What if that was and is, what it
was like that night? Would we know? What if it is this night? Would we know?
When is the last time we watched the night?
Was it when fear had a grip on our future that wouldn’t let
us sleep? Was it when the loneliness of grief became the restless partner in an
empty bed? Was it the distraction of staying up too late to avoid the fullness
of the next day’s work? And in those moments did we just toss and turn cursing
the dark, or did we sit up, watch it, and welcome it in, or perhaps go out to
walk in it?
The prophet Isaiah speaks, of a “people walking in darkness”
and the Israelites, have had many a reason to be afraid of the dark. They are
living as refugees in their own land, under the heavy thumb of their oppressor,
wars rage and blood covers every garment. And therefore, they live in a land of
deep darkness. Likewise, there are times when the darkness seems to have chosen
us, and will not let up, as if we are in a wrestling match with the devil and
have to cling on hard for a blessing to come with the dawn. And there are other
times when we choose the darkness knowing and watching for the life it will
bring.
My friend James went out for a night walk, through a forest
of massive fifteen foot bonfires everywhere. A prescribed burn of the slash
dropped from fall’s thinning created giant flames patch-working the snow laden
forest. He described it as one of the most surreal experiences of his life,
first walking with a friend, and then going back alone. And so often, those
moments are surreal, when we choose to walk into the dark, rather than away
from it. I imagine him going back, the way a night fire can beckon us in, with
both fear and comfort at the same time. I imagine it, like the renewal promised
in a yule log, where we set one year to end by burning it so long that it
becomes fuel for the next. Those bonfires releasing the lodge pole pine cone
seeds to sprout, and the ashen earth soon to erupt into spring morels. The
prophet Isaiah, echo’s the scorched earth’s promise, by praising God saying,
“every boot of the thundering warriors, and every garment rolled in blood will
be burned, fuel for the fire.” That the boots of the warriors shall turn into
the carols of angels, proclaiming,
“A child is born to us,
a son is given to us,
and authority will be on his shoulders.
He will be named
Wonderful Counselor,
Mighty God,
Eternal Father,
Prince of Peace.”
And the angel said unto them, watching their flocks by
night,
“Fear not, for behold, I bring you good tidings of great
joy,
which shall be to all people.
For unto you is born this day in the City of David a Savior,
who is Christ the Lord.
And suddenly there was with the angel
a multitude of the heavenly host
praising God and saying,
“Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will
toward all!”
These are the things which happen at night. So, for Isaiah,
and my friend James, and me as a kid at the window, and the shadow of the child
I saw jumping, and the shepherds in the fields, and also to the sleepless we
who are crowded in this dark night, may we know the way to that peace is
through the darkness, for in that darkness is life.
