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Isaiah 40.1-11
 
Comfort, O comfort my people,
   says your God. 
Speak tenderly to Jerusalem,
   and cry to her
that she has served her term,
   that her penalty is paid,
that she has received from the Lord’s hand
   double for all her sins. 

A voice cries out:
‘In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord,
   make straight in the desert a highway for our God. 
Every valley shall be lifted up,
   and every mountain and hill be made low;
the uneven ground shall become level,
   and the rough places a plain. 
Then the glory of the Lord shall be revealed,
   and all people shall see it together,
   for the mouth of the Lord has spoken.’ 

A voice says, ‘Cry out!’
   And I said, ‘What shall I cry?’
All people are grass,
   their constancy is like the flower of the field. 
The grass withers, the flower fades,
   when the breath of the Lord blows upon it;
   surely the people are grass. 
The grass withers, the flower fades;
   but the word of our God will stand for ever. 
Get you up to a high mountain,
   O Zion, herald of good tidings;
lift up your voice with strength,
   O Jerusalem, herald of good tidings,
   lift it up, do not fear;
say to the cities of Judah,
   ‘Here is your God!’ 
See, the Lord God comes with might,
   and his arm rules for him;
his reward is with him,
   and his recompense before him. 
He will feed his flock like a shepherd;
   he will gather the lambs in his arms,
and carry them in his bosom,
   and gently lead the mother sheep. 
 
In this nine-month period of COVID 19 there does not seem to be a comparable time in history when every human society has suffered at the same time and has had to depend on each other for help—and finally turn to God for guidance.
 
We have turned to our Synagogues, Temples and Churches, wherever we find our God and, finally, we know that we will have some relief because:
Here is your God!
See, the Lord God comes with might—-
 
We believe that He will bring forgiveness and comfort: 
He will feed his flock like a shepherd;
   he will gather the lambs in his arms,
and carry them in his bosom,
   and gently lead the mother sheep. 
We will have comfort and forgiveness as long as we will acknowledge and respect the role that, women, gently led by the Guidance of God, play in the recovery of society.

John 3.16-21

“For God so loved the world that he gave his only Son, so that everyone who believes in him may not perish but may have eternal life. “Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him. Those who believe in him are not condemned; but those who do not believe are condemned already, because they have not believed in the name of the only Son of God. And this is the judgment, that the light has come into the world, and people loved darkness rather than light because their deeds were evil. For all who do evil hate the light and do not come to the light, so that their deeds may not be exposed. But those who do what is true come to the light, so that it may be clearly seen that their deeds have been done in God.”

To be honest, I struggled with some of the language and imagery in this scripture. I was struck by the language John uses to contrast Christians with people of other faiths. It seems a bit ironic that today is the sixth day of Hanukah, the festival of light, and this passage condemns Jews and other non-believers, saying they are evildoers who love darkness, just because they do not believe in Jesus. In a divided country, where it feels like there’s so much intolerance, I find the intolerance in the passage particularly jarring. John reminds me of some rants I’ve read on Facebook recently.

I know using imagery of light and dark to talk about good and evil is very common in the bible. And I admit as we near the winter solstice, it’s natural to miss the sun and those long summer days. But light isn’t always good, unending light makes it hard to sleep, just ask anyone who has lived through an arctic summer, and it’s even used to torture prisoners. I know darkness seems scary, and we imagine evildoers lurking behind every corner, but it can also be a place to hibernate, to rest and recover. Finally, John’s denigration of darkness becomes more problematic when you view it in a racial context. I wish I could remind John that sometimes black can be beautiful too.

So yes, there’s a lot in this passage that seems off-putting to our modern ears, but I think the underlying message is still important. I know a lot of people are going through hard times right now. In a country where we are surrounded by so much poverty and death, I think this is a time where we really need to celebrate doing good deeds. If God sent Jesus to save the world, let us be that salvation through our deeds. I don’t want to be the kind of Christian who looks down on his neighbors or acts holier than thou, but the kind who helps my neighbors, especially the hungry and the poor. I am grateful for the church of Holy Apostles for providing concrete ways that I can help the children of PS 15, and support local food pantries, and support the community. During this time of advent, I hope we can spend less time waiting, and more time acting.

¹ John 1.4-7

We are writing these things so that our joy may be complete.

This is the message we have heard from him and proclaim to you, that God is light and in him there is no darkness at all. If we say that we have fellowship with him while we are walking in darkness, we lie and do not do what is true; but if we walk in the light as he himself is in the light, we have fellowship with one another, and the blood of Jesus his Son cleanses us from all sin.

How hard it is to tell the truth and do what is true! I confess: I was born and walked in darkness most of my non-Christian life; and even now, five years after my baptism, I still walk in darkness. But there’s a difference: I now know when I’m walking in darkness. I can tell the difference. Indeed, darkness is vastly different than light, and hallelujah!

What is the light? Who is it that has no darkness, no shadow? Who is this God made of light, walking in light, containing all? When I walk in the light, I do not become as God is, and yet, as John’s gospel tells us, I can have fellowship with you, my sisters and brothers in Christ, and pray to be washed clean of my many sins.

For me, this walking in the light so that I might have fellowship with you begins with contemplative prayer in the form of poetry writing. I’ve been writing poetry for most of my adult life—but this kind of poetry writing, this “contemplative” writing, is different and has come about very, very recently, after a long absence from any kind of writing, after the aftermath of a family crisis and the death of my aunt from COVID. Also, I’m teaching from home now, and am blessed to have a separate, quiet room at home in which to work, pray and write uninterruptedly.

I wake in the morning and cannot shake the darkness: the fears that have surfaced in my sleep, the afterimages of hospitals and deathbeds, the emotional ingestion of grief and suffering, hunger, homelessness, illness and death taking place every day for millions, corruption and incomprehensible greed at the highest levels of governance, a disregard for our natural home and its creatures. Where is the light? Who shall bring it?

Sometimes I let my fears and doubts—or my paperwork and busywork—have the upper hand, and I persuade myself that entering the light for an hour just isn’t worth it. Sometimes I manage to convince myself that the light is an illusion, and I go about my day—or days—ever so gradually turning back into a machine that churns out projects, products and results and forgets to feel.

Eventually, driven by a sense of emptiness or longing, I return to my writing. I write to God. Sometimes I ask God a question. Sometimes I offer a confession. It hardly matters. There’s a radiance, a presence. A stillness in which God’s closeness is palpable and I feel inseparable from God and you, the bare trees, the snow, the light itself and the vast silence in which God creates everything. Sometimes, God seems to answer:

Advent I

I’d been too busy to pray or write.
Too busy for God.

“Go,” said God. “Get your calendar
and cross out your appointments.

Cross out the names of the months and days.
Tear off the year in its large, heavy type.

What do you have but a series
of empty boxes?

Do you think the soul stays neatly,
first in one, then the other?

Each day is a womb the fetus outgrows.
I stretch to accommodate you—

but imagine deciding to stay small.
There was less than a nanosecond

before creation, before I decided
to share myself

and everything, even you,
yet to be born.”