The Light of Christ

Photo of The Rev. Carol Sanford by The Rev. Carol Sanford

Merry Christmas! One of the wonderful things about the Episcopal Church is that, when most of the folks around us are done with Christmas, we’re just getting started. Some of us may be already taking down the tree and packing up the tinsel, but we, as Church, continue to feast and celebrate the birth of Christ until The Epiphany on January 6. Today is only the second day of the twelve days of Christmas.

It’s not in our hymnal, but most of us recognize the song that begins, “On the First Day of Christmas my true love gave to me, a partridge in a pear tree.” If we are looking for the veiled religious meanings purported to be present in this song, it seems rather obvious that the gentle partridge in the tree might represent Jesus, but did you ever wonder what on earth today has to do with two turtledoves?

Our readings seem far from the world of Lords-a-Leaping and Ladies Dancing, much less of those nearly invisible and seemingly not very bright birds who flutter out of the street just seconds ahead of being squashed by cars. After all, our Holy Scripture this morning gathers us into Divinity and Light and Salvation; into the mystery at the heart of the Nativity; the mystery of The Incarnation, of God made flesh and dwelling in our midst.

The gospel of John says that ‘no one has ever seen God,’ and yet when Jesus was born in Bethlehem, the invisible God became not only visible but touchable. The all-powerful God was born as a human infant, the very symbol of vulnerability. There is no way that we can comprehend that the very Word of God, the power that created everything that is, could come forth in the world in such a way. Babies are dependent and powerless, and yet we believe that this infant carries to us light beyond light, and the very life of the world.

Through and in this child, we all become God’s children, and we discover that we are released from understanding our relationship with God only through law. What does this mean? In the simplest of terms it means that we don’t have to get it right to be loved and safe with God and to do God’s work. The light of God’s love shines in the darkness of the worst of the world, and the darkness does not overcome it.

The light of God’s love shines in the darkness within us and we are forever saved from our own sin and even from death itself. We move more gently through life when we remember that we are saved from sin and death, that grace upon grace is still pouring out upon us, even in the darkest night and in the poorest stable. When we act out of this fundamental Christian truth, even though it is hard to understand and sometimes seems unbelievable, the dawning light of God in the world shines through us and carries hope and peace to others.

A few days ago I received an email from my sister recounting a parade of challenges including an illness in the family, a clogged water pump and a dying goat. Her husband had laughingly said that, according to Hallmark, a homeless person who is an angel in disguise was supposed to show up at their house, work Christmas miracles, and make everything right by December 25th. I had to chuckle because this is, after all, a version of the true promise of Christmas.

As it happens, the goat did die, and I seriously doubt that the baby Jesus showed up yesterday to fix the plumbing, but this does not mean to me that the love of God was not present. Kindness was offered and laughter was there and care was given for both human and animal woes, and I do believe that even a sense of humor about a situation is a glimmer of the light of Christ.

We use light as an image for God with good reason; light illuminates and light does not discriminate in where it shines. I believe that our good humor and care for one another through any crisis is carried by and carries the very light of life, and most of us have learned that we cannot carry that light to others without feeling its effects for ourselves.

Some days we are able to give our time or our money or our prayers for others who are in need, and some days it’s all we can do to be civil. And some days we fail even at that. But please remember that any gesture, however small it seems, any task done to lighten a load or to bring some joy, is our primary way of announcing the birth of Christ’s light to a dark and waiting world.

The world which now only partly shows forth the glory of God will one day fully do so. Until then, our job is to behave as daughters and sons of the very power of the universe. This seems an unimaginable task, but we have been given a very visible job description in Jesus, and he started out his time on earth as a helpless infant.

So if our efforts at carrying the light of God seem small when compared to the ills of the world, we don’t need to worry. The point is that we do something, make some beginning. The shimmering light of God’s love is more often visible on an intimate human scale than in a great cosmic blast.

Now, about those two turtle doves. I don’t know if the various web sites are correct, but according to what I find on the Internet, the two doves in the song are meant to bring to mind the Old and New Testaments, the story of God’s people. Our story. With all due respect for Hallmark, I like our version of hope better than theirs, because, virgin birth, miraculous star and all, it is more realistic.

The proof of God’s truth is all around us in smiling faces and laughing children and healed hearts, and most especially in the various kinds of giving which mark this season, even among those who do not have a name for the source of their urge to share God’s bountiful creation and love.

We are each a part of the current chapter of the story that has been unfolding on earth for thousands of years in great power and glory and mystery. Our part may seem small, but we need to remember that we carry the very light of God, the flame that holds everything together. It is an awesome and wonderful task.

Now, when so many people think that Christmas is over, how will our lives proclaim that it is just beginning?