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John 1.6-9

There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. He came as a witness to testify to the light, so that all might believe through him. He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light. The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world.

The first thing I noticed is that light comes through hearing from a witness, someone telling us. The author is careful to tell us the witness was not the light, but a witness to it. The witness is a human, an “earthly” creature, like us. God uses this witness to point us in his direction.

I also noticed legal words like witness and testify were used. Those make me think of how a witness must be very careful to tell the truth and not take this job lightly, that words are important.

Jesus is called the true light, the Savior that was coming into the world. Light is a rich metaphor because in light there is truth, brightness, knowledge and beauty. We have a house in rural Pennsylvania and the times we have remembered to go out to look at a clear night sky, it is magnificent. The sky is completely covered with twinkling stars; lights shining in darkness. Those stars are always up there whether or not we take the time to notice them. Maybe the problem is that I fail to see how great the light actually is. It takes an awe-inspiring night sky to remind me. When we stare at God’s beauty, taking the time; we are moved and enlightened. Then we can be a witness and tell someone about it.

John 1.1-5

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.

Words, words, words, pages filled with words, word clouds, word walls, spewing words… As I’ve limped out of this election season--somewhat tattered and battered but thankfully recovering sleep, sanity, and slowly relationships—I’ve given a lot of thought to words and their purposes: To name. To communicate. To persuade. To obscure. To confuse. To encourage. To embolden.

In reading this scripture, the poetic opening cadence brought me back to Genesis with God calling forth creation, and this thought leapt out at me: Words give life, and we must be intentional about the life we wish to bring forth.

Indeed, I recently inscribed in my journal and my heart this prayer of Howard Thurman: “Lord, make me an instrument of Thy Peace. Teach me how to order my days with such sure touch that I may say the right word at the right time and in the right way—lest I betray the spirit of peace.” And, in recent moments fraught with tension, I meditated on this intention of being an instrument of God’s peace through my words.

But the scripture is not just about words, it is about the Word incarnate: Jesus! Who brings light everlasting, who overcomes all darkness! And Jesus is ultimately about Love.

So, in this new season – the season of Advent – perhaps we should put aside our words and instead open our hearts and minds to the love of Jesus.

Lord, let us set aside our own words and instead open our hearts to your Word coming alive inside us and among us. That we may radiate your love and peace in all that we are and all that we do.

Mark 13.33-37

Beware, keep alert; for you do not know when the time will come. It is like a man going on a journey, when he leaves home and puts his slaves in charge, each with his work, and commands the doorkeeper to be on the watch. Therefore, keep awake—for you do not know when the master of the house will come, in the evening, or at midnight, or at cockcrow, or at dawn, or else he may find you asleep when he comes suddenly. And what I say to you I say to all: Keep awake.”

Keep awake. We don't know the precise moment, except it is now. We depart the clearing, likely to journey to the high peaks, above tree line, where the air is thin and alarming and clear, the only foliage is tenaciously fragile, and the deep rooted silence can be felt on your skin and down in your heart. We have not been brought here by accident.

We have pilgrimaged here due to our need to cast off scales like old clothing, to stand unadorned as the blur of stars merges with the dawn sky and listen to the voice in the ceaseless wind. To come away with a new sewn garment of knowledge that we are responsible to and for each other, that at our deepest we are never alone. That we will return to the valley prepared to embrace, to support, to survive transformation, to really, truly risk.