Lighting Candles, Lighting Hope
DATE: December 24, 2009
SCRIPTURE: Luke 2:1-20
One of the presents that will be found under many Christmas trees tomorrow morning will be iPods. Due to a rather amazing digitally based technology, hundreds of songs and other recorded materials can be squeezed into this tiny device which is no bigger than my hand. No self-respecting teenager lives without one—and many adults, me included, have also discovered the joys of having so much music and programming in such a portable format.
One of the ways I use my iPod is to download radio programs called podcasts, and then listen to them on my morning walk. There are three programs in particular that enjoy: This American Life, Speaking of Faith and Selected Shorts. Selected Shorts features short stories read by actors and other well known folks. Often as I listen I discover an author or a story that was previously unknown to me on the program.
That happened just a week or so ago. The story, by Barry Lopez was called "The Mappist"—and it tells the tale of two cartographers, men who draw maps. It was fascinating. As a young boy I used to draw very crude maps of make-believe countries, and one of my best Christmas gifts of all time was a book of medieval maps that my father gave me when I was thirteen. So I really resonated with "The Mappist."
Near the end of the story, the older cartographer explains how he understands his work to the younger cartographer who has come to visit him. "The world," he says, "is like a miracle being hurled into the darkness. And we are to be about the job of lighting candles."
That line seems to have really stuck with me. And as I've thought about it, I've come to realize how appropriate it is for this time of year, for this season, for this very night.
Long ago, in a far off land, on another cold winter's night, a child was born in a dark stable. A child of poor parents. A child far from home. A child living in an occupied land. You know the story well—you've heard it again tonight. You knew it before you even walked through the doors of this meetinghouse. You know it so well that you may have forgotten what a startling claim is made in this story about this child. This child, we are told, is Emmanuel. God with us. This child will be known as the light of the world! This child is God's ultimate candle in the dark—showing the way, lighting the path, lighting our very lives! And his life, his way, is like a map—showing us how to live, how to maneuver, how to make our way through this often dark world. His way shines the light of hope on our lives.
And what is that way? How are we supposed to travel the highway of life? How are we supposed to live? What are we called to do?
Light candles. Plain and simple. We are to light candles of hope, candles of peace, candles of joy, candles of love.
Robert Russell tells about a Christmas season many years back. He was living in a subdivision near Louisville, Kentucky at the time. One of his neighbors had a house very near the entrance to the subdivision, and they kept their Christmas lights lit well past the holidays. New Year's Day came and went. Ground Hog Day, Lincoln's Birthday, Valentine's Day. Russell found himself getting rather irritated by it. "I became a bit critical and said, "If I were too lazy to take my Christmas lights down, I think I'd at least turn them off at night." ("Jesus Came to Be the Light") But still the lights blazed on. Well into March.
But then one day, a sign appeared on the house. And the mystery of the lights suddenly became clear. "Welcome Home, Jimmy," it read. They'd been waiting for their son to return from Viet Nam. They'd kept the candles lit to show him the way, to remind him of their love. To proclaim their hope that he would indeed come back, safe and sound. And he did. No doubt, it was a Merry, if somewhat delayed, Christmas for that suburban family.
I suspect there will be lights left burning long after Christmas in many homes across America this year—families waiting for sons and daughters returning from Iraq and Afghanistan. Candles of hope, peace, joy and love.
But lighting such candles is not just the task of military families. We are all called to burn bright in the darkness that can sometimes shroud life. For you are called to light candles of hope, peace, joy, and love.
Maybe you have a neighbor who lives alone, who is grieving the loss of a spouse, who is approaching tomorrow with a sense of loss rather than celebration. How could you light a candle for that lonely man or woman? An invitation for Christmas Dinner? A brief visit during the day? A promise to include him or her in upcoming holiday activities? It's dark out there! Light a candle of hope.
Maybe you are estranged from a friend or family member. Maybe there is some longstanding disagreement that has kept you apart. What can you do to help mend the rift? What can you do to bring about a measure of peace? A phone call tomorrow to offer an apology? Hold out a hand of friendship? A well written letter expressing how much you miss him or her? It's dark out there! Light a candle of peace.
Maybe you know someone who worries constantly about the state of the world. What can you do to help alleviate their anxiety? Share the powerful truth of the Christmas story? Tell of the word "Emmanuel"—share how God's presence in your life gives it meaning and purpose? It's dark out there! Light a candle of joy.
Maybe you are touched by stories of folks who are homeless, or unemployed, or chronically ill. Howe can you make a difference in their lives? Volunteer to prepare a meal at the Gillespie Center? Offer your skills or knowledge to one of our career transition support groups? Volunteer at the hospital? It's dark out there! Light a candle of love!
It's Christmas! And so we celebrate the birth of the one we call the Light of the World. We sing songs, we tell the story, we give gifts and share fine meals. And then often we put things away for another year. But that needn't be the case. For we can vow right here tonight to light candles all year round. For there are many. many Jimmys who need a light in the window and a warm welcome home. What better way to celebrate the birth of the newborn king? What better way, indeed.
Amen.
John H. Danner