Wednesday, December 27, 2006

...And the darkness has not overcome it.

It is quiet, though both the glow and the detritus of the season are still in evidence. Bits of wrapping paper still litter the living room floor; fragments of late-night bulletins remain scattered on the sanctuary pews. Housekeeping at both home and church will require a little extra attention. Boxes are mostly gone from beneath the tree, and candles, for the most part, are now similarly stowed at the church. Visitors to our house have returned to their own environs, and my guess is that Sunday's worship crowd will look much more familiar than did the attendees on Sunday past. It was Christmas Eve, after all, and both morning and night presented friends I hadn't yet met.

But suddenly, like the candles on Christmas Eve that were quickly lighted and just as quickly extinguished, it is over. "Sleep in heavenly peace." Left, now, to ponder the affirmation that "the light shines on in the darkness, and the darkness does not overcome it."

  • the light of extended family crowded onto sofas near the warmth of the fire;
  • the light of a worshipping family crowded into pews, holding candles high with one hand and brushing away a tear with the other, singing of "Jesus, Lord, at thy birth";
  • the light of stories told and memories warmed;
  • the light of lives held tightly in each other's care;
  • the light of plans and possibilities beckoning us forward;
  • and yes, the light of grace made plain, personal, compelling, and enlivening.

It is, indeed, quieter today and our common spaces are messier. Yes, there are fresh bills to pay and things to put away. And while it remains to be seen exactly how much, at least some of Christmas this year won't soon be boxed or tossed or sucked up into the Oreck. Hopefully, in fact, never. I have a hunch that every time I pull on one these new shirts, the gift will be worn more visibly on my face. Everytime I read one of the pages I unwrapped, the words will be accompanied by carols. And at least for some time to come, when I stand in the midst of a worshipping community, their faces will glow, as if with candles -- shining on in the darkness, in a way that the darkness -- or the more usual routine -- simply cannot overcome.


powered by performancing firefox

2 comments:

Ben Allaway said...

Tim, your words helped remind me to try and enjoy Christmas a little longer as work beckons. Saw the Al Gore movie last night, and so with that inspiration went to see John Edwards speak tonight. I was impressed with his prodding to not wait until the elections to become activists, as if he had just seen the Gore movie, too. During Advent we usually are waiting, but this year our children of the church didn't wait. They became activists. God used them to remind people that we are to feed God's sheep, tend the garden, share the good news. Perhaps our MO at First Christian during Advent and Lent can be "while we're waiting for God, how can we minister?" Might be a good way to approach the election season, too-- how can we use this public energy to get something done for the country, during this time usually given over to hype, mudslinging, and partisan politics? And waiting-- and more waiting-- for all the politicking to be over. At least with Advent we know that Christmas is coming, but that package at the end of an election can be a real clunker sometimes... Pray, and act.
Peace to you. Ben

granddaddy said...

How interesting to discover how the lights of Al Gore and John Edwards have changed in the last seven years and the softer lights you mention continue unchanged. Blessing and curse. When Robert Frost wrote that nothing gold can stay, he was dead wrong. I say nothing gold ever goes away. But, of course, it all depends on what's gold and what's not.