By now, most congregations are in the home stretch of their pre-Christmas preparations. There is much at stake for the life of any church. Try and imagine what a bad or indifferent Christmas would do to the morale of your church. We want if not a “Currier and Ives” Christmas for our families at least enough joy and good cheer to override any past enmity. Hopefully tinsel, garlands, and ornaments will chase away any seasonal affective disorder we may be suffering. Most of us are determined that the retelling of the story will bring at least enough peace of mind to help us deal with a world that often seems to be tearing itself to pieces. There is much on the line here and we want to get every carol, tradition, and pageant just right.

The struggle of getting the holiday lights up and running has often stood between me and the fullness of the Christmas spirit. Some of us are old enough to remember the strings of lights in which if one bulb went out they all went out... sounds like some churches and families I know. Some of us can remember the bulbs that radiated so much heat that they could smelt steel. Christmas often meant burnt fingers and singed limbs. Like much of church life, the ratio of heat to light in these bulbs made you wonder whether it was worth the effort. It has never added much to my Christian character to be scouring for an open hard­ware store on Christmas Eve to replace an exotic numbered fuse for the string of lights that is embedded near the top of the tree. It comes down to... find the fuse or find the strength of character to redo the tree ... or the courage to leave town.

Sociologists and other scholars remind us that there have always been ways of looking for and cele­brating divine light. Humankind could not get along without such celebrations. The darkness of the winter night is too great to bear not to have some way of fighting it off. Our most ancient ancestors gathered in hope that the light would shine in the darkness and that the darkness would not overcome it.

My father-in-law is an electrical engineer. He understands the might as well as much of the mystery of electricity. He spent his career designing high-energy towers that carried electricity across America. Though he is certainly not the light, he probably brought as much light to so many people as any other person I know. One thing he understood about electricity is how dangerous it can be if you don’t make the right preparations. You can wind up with more heat than light; or you find an energy drain sucking the life out of the power grid; or you find yourself blowing a fuse and facing meltdown. We need Advent to make meticulous preparations for the light that is coming into the world.

The texts for this Sunday affirm this truth as they point to what the light reveals, how the light can be magnified, and the danger of thinking that we are the light. In each case the coming of the light is not a solitary personal matter but a communal challenge. The Hebrew exiles of sixth century BC find the light revealing a new path for a weary people. The church in Thessalonica finds itself in the dark, as things do not seem to be going according to plan. The gospel lesson reflects some of the conflict between the followers of Jesus and John as they sort out their roles in the midst of the religious upheaval of the first century. Followers of the Baptist and the early disciples of Jesus struggled with each other’s claims. The conflict between early Christians and other faith communities gives some indication of how faith claims of religious communities can plunge us into darkness by going too far.

Isaiah 61:1-4, 8-11

I have had the dubious distinction of having lived through two power blackouts in New York City and one in Toronto. I know from these experiences that there is no greater ecstasy than the first nanosec­onds when the lights come back on. Nevertheless, for some it is not so heartening to find that nothing has changed, or to find in many cases, following some serious looting, that things have gotten considerably worse.

It seems that in the midst of the joy of the return of the exiles, where there might be some light at the end of the tunnel they find themselves facing some stiff challenges. In a church I served, we had a project to improve the lighting system in stages. Unfortunately, we also wound up painting the church section by section as well because the lights revealed how much painting we needed to do. The return from exile revealed ruined devastations that needed to be repaired, a religious life that needed to be re-established, and a community that needed to be rebuilt. If anything, the light revealed just how far the Hebrews had to go. The light can be depressing before it is enlightening. Chapter 60 of Isaiah captures the ambiguity of the moment well, “Arise, shine; for your light has come and the glory of the Lord has risen upon you. For darkness shall cover the earth and thick darkness the peoples; but the Lord will arise upon you, and his glory will appear over you.” As in many psychological theories of human experience, the light and the dark dwell very close together. As the Chinese character for crisis has it, this moment is a combination of danger and opportunity. Certainly, it was a theologically challenging moment to realize that God was sav­ing God’s people through the actions of Cyrus the Persian king. Whatever the future may hold it will be determined more by the greatness of God than the goodness of the people. This is not the message of the Santa who is checking “his list twice to see who has been naughty or nice.”

Things do not get any more doubtful or hesitant. Yet chapter 61 of Isaiah proclaims that this is the time to “bring good news to the poor, proclaim liberty to the captives, release to prisoners and the year of the Lord’s favor.” The message seems quite problematic at the holiday season when we wait for the news that the latest fad plaything is in the local toy store; when our children are evermore captivated by the toys our society has to offer; and when in many settings the oppressed must settle for a Christmas basket from the local charity.

Even more than this maddening announcement is the statement that the exiles shall be called a plant­ing of the Lord to display his glory and that “they shall be called oaks of righteousness.” This does seem to be a very tall order. Is there any good news here? The prophet does not say that they shall be a bastion, or fortress, or army of the Lord but plantings that are grounded in the earth — breathing and capable of transforming light energy into nourishment, shade, and growth.

In many ways, oaks, as well as other plants, have the light business down pat. Plants have an ability to take decayed matter and turn it into new life. They can even take animal fertilizer and turn it into new life. To me, in many ways, this begins to look like the task of the church. How do we take the light that we have, mix it with decayed matter and what God’s creatures leave behind, and turn it into something that is a further approximation of the kingdom? Plants also take carbon dioxide, a waste product from the rest of creation, and turn it into life-giving oxygen. Oaks are even able to give shade and oases from the burning sun. I suspect that such activity will be in a deep sense vital to any repair of the “former devastations” that we may have to do.

1 Thessalonians 5:16-24

I become a mass of anxiety when the electric lights begin to flicker. Does it portend a long-range problem that will plunge the neighborhood in darkness for what will seem an eternity? On the other hand, perhaps we have just a minor problem that is susceptible to a little jiggling and jury-rigging. Things will be up and running in no time. Often in church the problems seem of the latter kind, amenable to a reas­signment here or there, a shuffle of agenda, a more severe application of the appropriate muscle power. I shudder at the inventiveness and circuitous methods I have used over the years to keep the Christmas tree lit. Candles would have been safer than the wiring, plugging, and jiggling that I did. Yet, like the church, we somehow managed to survive during the years.

On the other hand, there is the more dangerous problem of a flickering light that may mask something seriously wrong. Short-term solutions may even add to the problem. That seems to be the kind of crisis that the Thessalonians were facing. They were among the earliest of Paul’s church plantings and the letter we have is perhaps the earliest book in Christian scripture. The church at Thessalonica has a flicker in the light because things are seemingly not going according to the eschatological schedule that the Thessalonians have in mind. More than a theoretical classroom issue it is a matter of the loss of those they loved before the return of the Jesus who loved them. “But you, beloved, are not in darkness, for that day to surprise you like a thief.” Things may be on the blink, but for Paul no one need be in the dark as to the final outcome. The conclusion of human history is beyond doubt. There is no need for any theological jury-rigging, “for you are all children of light and children of the day; we are not of the night or of darkness.” However, the Thessalonians seem to have given into the impulse to live as if they are completely in the dark. According to the first part of the chapter 5, idleness and drunkenness, as well as quarrelsomeness have broken out as a way of passing the time until things become a bit clearer.

In our own times, the day of the Lord seems far away. While some search for lifestyles of the rich and famous, others seem to pass the time locked in theological and political standoffs, and many overmedicate their lives. People in the mainline churches did not expect things to go the way they have. Those churches find themselves on the outside looking in at the levers of power and prestige they formerly held. For some, the world of science and the globalization of economic and political life have challenged verities of faith and belief. In today’s lectionary reading, Paul outlines his program for those who find themselves trying to read the signs of the times by flickering light.

“Rejoice always” is a tall order in our day, just as it must have seemed a great challenge to the first-century church. Of course, I do not rejoice at having had cancer. I do rejoice that it has made me a better, more sympathetic pastor. I do not rejoice that my denomination has experienced yearly decline or that we are no longer invited to the White House on a routine basis. I do rejoice that we have found ourselves focusing a lot more on what should be primal in our common life. I do not rejoice at all the bumps and grinds that come along in a marriage. I do rejoice that the ones that have come along have often been the source of personal growth. All this may seem to be nothing more than looking on the bright side or for the silver lining. Yet, it is more than that when you exercise the discipline of looking for the ways that God might turn stumbling blocks into stepping-stones.

Praying without ceasing seems beyond our reach. Do I have that much to say? However, I find that I don’t have much worthwhile to say if it is not in some sense a prayer. I pray until I find my voice. When the light is flickering, test everything, but do not quench the Spirit. There will be enough light to avoid living in the dark by keeping the energy flowing through rejoicing, praying, giving thanks, and devoting oneself to the words of the prophets.

John 1:6-8, 19-28

I believe it was Carlyle Marney who said that since the birth of the Christ child the church has been in postpartum depression. I think that he is on to something here. It certainly seems that the events following the birth of the Christ child were difficult and onerous. This text in all probability reflects, as does other parts of the Christian Testament, the conflicts between the followers of Jesus and John who were trying to perpetuate their teachings. Some suggest that a John community existed into the fourth century. Christian-Jewish relations did not get off to a stellar start when the conflict between the Pharisees and the early Christians moved to the center of the gospel. In part, John’s gospel is written to explain why many in the Jewish community just didn’t get it. John’s answer is that the wind blows where it blows. Of course, the divide must have severed families and communities. When Christians have not been in conflict with oth­ers, they have found plenty of opportunity to go at each other claiming their own truth as the only truth. In some ways, Christmas can feel like a first-class disaster or an accident waiting to happen.

In this context, John the Baptist is given some pretty refreshing lines for a religious figure. He con­fessed to not being the light and did not prevaricate that beyond a shadow of a doubt he was not the mes­siah. With more than our share of messiah complexes in religion and politics this is quite a statement to hear. He does not stop there. He is not Elijah, either. Nor is he the prophet. He rejects the tag of being part of any religious ideological plan or movement of history. With no credentials, just why anyone should listen or be interested in John at all seems a mystery. With so many ways to mark our days to Christmas why is John trotted out to be part of our Christmas preparation?

John’s claim, echoing the Isaiah experience, is that he is one who is crying in the wilderness, “Make straight the way of the Lord.” Note that he does not say “the one,” rather just one. For the writer of the gospel, John the Baptist seems to reflect the role of the gospel writer’s church. While knowing they [the church] are not messiahs, they can point to the messiah. Though John baptized with water, the implication is that there is the greater baptism through immersion in the Holy Spirit.

In the midst of the wilderness, this is what we can do. We can point to the one who is the Messiah who has led us through the desert, who like Moses, has sustained us with thirst-quenching water and nourish­ment enough for each day. He is the one who gives even more than water. If we can point to him it might even get us through the spiritual and commercial wilderness than can be Advent and the Christmas season to come.

Application

Here we are as church people with two weeks to go before Christmas and we have all been here before. There is always a temptation to attack the surrounding cultural myths and methods of finding the light. I recall one New Jersey priest a few years ago who decided at midnight mass, in a career-ending moment, to explain to the children that there is no Santa Claus. He soon found out that he was not the messiah. We often find ourselves looking for ever more inventive and clever Christmas pageants or programs to get to the light, or we pray that the ones we have will be serviceable enough to outlast the dark. We invest a lot of energy in the ritual and rights of the holiday season to get us through personal and communal darkness. The foolishness of some seasonal office parties reflects the lack of authentic community. As we go through the Advent cycle, our hopes grow stronger and our anxieties grow deeper.

The texts the lectionary gives us for this Sunday speak to people caught in the build-up to Christmas, who are perhaps worried that the season might not deliver. Remember we are not the light but we can point to the light. Rejoice always, make all things a prayer, and don’t get in the way of the holiday spirit. Get it down that plantings can take light (and what life throws at you) and turn it into enough oxygen to make breathing easier. This is a holiday checklist worth following.

An Alternative Application

John 1:6-8, 19-28. I am a John the Baptist person! He is my patron saint. He is the man in the middle. Caught between two epics he should be the emblem of all clergy who find themselves caught in the mid­dle! In my church office I have an icon that tells his story. He loses his head but in heaven has it sewn back on! He should be the patron saint of all clergy. He should be the patron saint of the middle-aged who might be losing their mind raising children and caring for aged parents. He should be the patron saint of middle managers that in discovering their limits and strengths are uncertain of where their career might take them.

John knew his limits and in accepting them he could point to the unlimited power of God. It is perhaps at the boundaries and in the middle where we can most effectively point to the light.