Christmas Day
Scripture Reading for Today:
New Life in the Dark
by Elle Pyke
There is a small forest near my home that I love to walk in at dusk. The trail is well-worn. My feet know the way by heart. Why do I choose this trail time and again? There are certainly ones that are more peaceful and full. Maybe it's because God and I have done a lot of business there together. I've looked for His divine presence in the soft pine needles on the earthen floor on more than one occasion. I've added a lot of tearful prayers to the sounds of gently swaying trees as night falls.
Dusk is all I can handle for my trail walks; darkness has never been a favourite of mine. I still sleep with a nightlight, after all. I have vivid memories of running up the wooden stairs of my childhood home as fast as my little feet would take me so the basement's darkness wouldn't overtake me. When it comes to darkness, my physical life is remarkably similar to my spiritual life - I am no cheerleader for the dark. You’ll never find me planning a trip there. Bless the childlike feet of my heart for thinking I can outrun grief, anger, and sadness year after year. Even though it is a fool's errand, I still make feeble attempts to run toward the light.
Barbara Brown Taylor’s book Learning to Walk in the Dark has a quote in it that I could not outrun this Advent season, even if I tried. I’ve read it almost every morning as part of my daily practice, sometimes even before my head has left the pillow.
"I have learned things in the dark that I could never have learned in the light, things that have saved my life over and over again, so that there is really only one logical conclusion. I need darkness as much as I need light….new life starts in the dark. Whether it is a seed in the ground, a baby in the womb, or Jesus in the tomb, it starts in the dark."
Likewise, Luke's telling of the Christmas story starts in the night's darkness from the shepherds' perspective. These Ancient Near East outcasts, outdoors at night, in the dark on the late shift. I'm no historian, but I'm guessing city lights or headlamps were not lighting up the night for these gentlemen. There they were, in the field with the moon, the sheep and their deep longing. Patiently waiting for the Messiah they had been promised. Waiting for a burst of light to end the unspeakable and gratuitous violence, the fear and hopelessness, the burden of poverty and economic oppression. They couldn't outrun their darkness either.
And then, a blessed intrusion. Unexpected life happening in the dark. A baby in a dark womb ready to see the light of day. Hope admits despair. People who cried for peace and those who least expected it received it first. The "with-ness" that God promised to Mary, the shepherds now experiencing as a "with-ness" for all of creation. A God that was pleased to be born among the humble, the lowly, those waiting in the dark.
This Christmas morning, wherever you are, I pray that you will experience, deep in your bones, a blessed intrusion into your current darkness. May you know the glory of a newborn King under the rubble and alongside you in whatever valley of the shadow of death you are experiencing. May you celebrate a baby in a manger this Christmas morning who has come and yet will come again, a God who keeps His promises.
May you find this promised peace on the trail walks of your life.
May you see this good news enfleshed in your witness as you hold on to hope that a great light has come into the darkness.
"O holy child of Bethlehem … be born in us today … abide with us, our Lord Immanuel."
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