Light in Darkness

I think I’ve always been afraid of the dark.

When I was a child, it was the darkness of my room and the boogie man in the closet. At camp, it was the darkness of the woods at night and animals waiting to pounce. Now, it’s not the external darkness that haunts me, it’s the internal darkness, and it’s all I can do to keep it at bay this time of year.

Make no mistake, I used to be “Mr. Christmas.” Just ask my siblings who still roll their eyes when they think of the boy who shook with excitement while hanging stockings and pulled them out of bed too early on Christmas mornings. Just ask the people with whom I used to work. If that doesn’t convince you, look at my bank account and see how overboard I’ve gone every year.

And yet, beneath it has always dwelled a darkness, a deep sadness, that even now I find hard to write about. At first it was the result of my wanting more from life – the people, places, and things of my life – than it could possibly give. Then, it was the contrast between the joy of the season and the reality of my life that opened the door for the darkness.

If I let it, the darkness will enter and prevent me from seeing the many blessings of my life. No, Christmas will never live up to my wild, romantic imagination, nor will buying presents I cannot afford light up the dark. I will never be able to get people to do or say what I think they should.  

Understanding this is the only way I’ve come to learn the most important lesson of Christmas: it’s not about me. It’s not about what I think or feel, and, most importantly, it’s not about what I do. This is the season that’s all about God - what God has done and continues to do. In the Gospel of John, it’s written that God’s light comes into the darkness and the darkness can’t overcome it.

This year I need to cling to that truth like a prayer.

When I do, I see that God has always come into the world when it’s darkest. He did it two thousand years ago, and he does it today. Just ask the family sitting in the hospital waiting room, the spouse sitting alone at the kitchen table, and the fired man carrying the cardboard box from his cubical. No wonder the church chose this time of year, when the days are shortest and things darkest, to celebrate Christmas. It forever reminds us that there is no darkness God cannot enter, no darkness that can overcome the light of God’s presence.

I may not always know that, but I’ve always believed it.