January 4--Waiting for the Light

"The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.” –John 1:5

Sunday was amazing.

Seventy two degrees, a soft wind, and absolutely nothing to do. The perfect ‘winter’ day for short-sleeve -clad torsos to soak in the sunshine . . . for cousins to fly kites at the park down the street . . . for grandmother to join granddaughter in casual conversation about the precious gift of life and the peaceful joy of returning to our master in death.

So much light and love . . . so much warmth and comfort . . . it is hard to believe the shortest day of the New England winter was only a week ago. That ice storms and piles of snow and frigid temperatures defined my life until the morning of Christmas Eve. All that is far away as I linger in bare feet and turn on the ceiling fan for a bit of cool air and prepare for the year to turn in this very different part of the country where I have celebrated Christmas with family.

But I have not forgotten the darkness.

Darkness has defined so much of our lives for so many months that it has seeped into our very bones, especially if we live in New England. Those of us who are not native to this part of the country may resist it at first. (I still remember the shock of that first year of steady but stark decline in daylight hours from late fall to Christmas week.) Eventually, though, it becomes part of the rhythm of our lives year after year . . . something we may even embrace as a comfort at times . . . the deep call of nature to a season of restful hibernation in the midst of the frenetic pace of a culture that never sleeps.

Darkness may actually be a welcome friend for those of us who are sensitive to light, who burn easily, who find too much sunshine and hot weather to be even more stressful than cold, snowy winters.

“All things came into being through the Word, and without the Word not one thing came into being,” John’s gospel tells us in the lectionary text for today. “What has come into being in the Word was life, and the life was the light of all people” (John 1:3-4).

It blows my mind to imagine a God who created all these things that have come into being . . . the darkness, the light, the different kinds of people and animals and plants who need different kinds of climates in order to thrive. It blows my mind to remember the darkness and cold of New England as I rest in the radiant sunshine of the American South. It blows my mind to pray to a good and generous God who created all of it, who loves all of it, who redeems all of it, who knows that we need light in the midst of too much darkness, that we need darkness in the midst of too much light.

I am grateful for the light of this fleeting alternate reality, the warmth of this southern weather, the wisdom of this moment with Grandma, the faithful reminder that these things exist, even as I prepare to return to Boston. The memory of lightness will sustain me through the long, cold winter yet to come.

Which is the mystery of faith.

God has come into our world in just this way this Christmas season . . . an alternate reality, a constant comfort, a wisdom of age mixed with youth . . . one brief moment of spiritual ecstasy before returning to our normal lives. The darkness is still with us; it will not ever go away completely, nor should it. But the memory of this light sustains us through everything that will come in the months and years and lifetimes ahead.

“The Word became flesh and lived among us . . . full of grace and truth” (John 1:14). May this truth be a comfort to us in this season of darkness and light, giving us hope, and filling us with joy, reminding us of the Creator even as it speaks of the Redeemer. God is with us, in all the seasons of our lives. Amen.

Gusti Linnea Newquist

(additional lectionary texts: Jeremiah 31:7-14; Psalm 147:12-20; Ephesians 1:3-14)