The Longest Night

Wednesday, December 21^st is the winter solstice.  It is the shortest day of the year.  Daylight feels more like a visitor than a substantial part of our day.  At our Session meeting on Sunday, Elizabeth Ables gave a very poignant devotion about how Christmas, the light of Christ, brings darkness into our darkest places.  As the Gospel of John notes,

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it. (John 1:1-5)

It is true that the light of Christ shines in the darkness and the darkness will not overcome it. But that does not mean that we do not experience darkness. The darkness is still heavy for many people this time of year. For some it is Seasonal Affective Disorder.  For some, the memories of Christmas past are haunting because they remind us so vividly of people we love(d) who are not with us anymore.  Sometimes their absence is because they have died. Sometimes they are estranged because of a fracture in a relationship. Sometimes physical distance causes us to be separated from loved ones. Amid all the traditions and feelings of nostalgia, it may also be difficult to think of the ways in which the world has changed or become unfamiliar.

And, on the winter solstice, the “longest night” can be both a figurative and literal description of our experience and state of mind. In the midst of this difficulty, I have held many conversations over the years with people who felt their winter sadness was somehow a failure of faith.  How could I be so sad when we are celebrating the birth of Jesus? 

I want to assure you that big feelings around Christmas, even the hard ones, are not signs of any kind of lack of faith. Sadness, cries of lament, and cries for help are woven into the stories of our scriptures.  Consider this passage from Lamentations:

I’ll never forget the trouble, the utter lostness, the taste of ashes, the poison I’ve swallowed. I remember it all- oh, how well I remember- the feeling of hitting the bottom. But there’s one other thing I remember, and remembering, I keep a grip on hope: God’s loyal love couldn’t have run out, his merciful love couldn’t have dried up. They’re created new every morning. How great your faithfulness! I’m sticking with God (I say it over and over). He’s all I’ve got left. God proves to be good to the man who passionately waits, to the woman who diligently seeks. It’s a good thing to quietly hope, quietly hope for help from God. It’s a good thing when you’re young to stick it out through the hard times.

When life is heavy and hard to take, go off by yourself. Enter the silence. Bow in prayer.  Don’t ask questions: Wait for hope to appear. Don’t run from trouble. Take it full-face. The “worst” is never the worst. Why? Because the Master won’t ever walk out and fail to return (Lamentations 3:19-31, The Message). 

The bad news is that everyone experiences pain, loss, grief, anxiety and all sorts of hard things. The good news is that you are never alone in your grief and pain and anxiety.  The light who comes into the world is here for the pain of the world, not to be set against those who feel it.  In the darkest hour of the longest night, as we wait for the celebration of the Christ-child, we are reminded that Christmas is more than decking the halls and feeling joy. It is also about the angels who went to the trouble of ripping the skies open to proclaim to proclaim a great joy that is bigger than any darkness we can possibly know. Jesus the Christ, Emmanuel, God with Us, is here and we will never be abandoned to the darkness again, no matter how long the night, and no matter how deep our wounds are that he comes to heal.  As Lamentations promises, “The Master will not ever walk out and fail to return.”

Grace and Peace,

Rob