“For liturgical Christians, candles on the Advent Wreath are part of the ritual of preparation for the coming of the Light of God’s Love into the world in the person of Jesus — the refugee baby born in a manger because there was no room anywhere else for his marginalized family. This Advent, those sparks of light on the wreath had a particular poignancy as the darkness of the violence, extremism, hatred, xenophobia and bigotry that has for too long dominated our national discourse has escalated exponentially in these last tumultuous weeks and months.”
Meditation by Susan Russell at All Saints Church, Pasadena, on Sunday, December 22, 2019. Readings: Psalm 84 and John 3:16-21.
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We’re running out of Advent. The season that began a few short weeks ago with “O Come, O Come Emmanuel” and the lighting of the first candle on the Advent wreath is drawing to a close.
The Christmas cards are sent – mostly; the packages are wrapped – well, some of them, anyway! And this evening — as we see around us the beginnings of the halls decked with boughs of holly — we gather for the ancient service of Evensong in the glow of the fourth and final Advent candle.
For liturgical Christians, candles on the Advent Wreath are part of the ritual of preparation for the coming of the Light of God’s Love into the world in the person of Jesus — the refugee baby born in a manger because there was no room anywhere else for his marginalized family.
This Advent, those sparks of light on the wreath had a particular poignancy as the darkness of the violence, extremism, hatred, xenophobia and bigotry that has for too long dominated our national discourse has escalated exponentially in these last tumultuous weeks and months.
The darkness is real. And — as Martin Luther King, Jr. famously said — “Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that.”
Only light can do that, and so in the bleakness of this Advent … the season Katharine Jefferts Schori named as the “time when Christians are called to have more hope than the world thinks is reasonable”… our hope has been made manifest in these candles on this wreath; in our prayers prayed and lessons read and in songs sung.
And tonight we gather once again in this place of light, love, beauty and music to hit the pause button for just a few precious moments on the chaos, on the challenges and on the controversy in our nation and in our world — we gather to remember what theologian and mystic, Howard Thurman wrote about these candles:
• they are candles of joy despite all sadness,
• they are candles of hope where despair keeps watch,
• they are candles of courage for fears ever present,
• they are candles of peace for tempest-tossed days,
• they are candles of grace to ease heavy burdens,
• they are candles of love to inspire all our living.
They are candles we light as outward and visible signs of the light we called to shine in the world — the light we claim as followers of the refugee baby born in the manger who grew up to be the Jesus … the radical rabbi from Nazareth; the incarnation of the Christmas promise that is indeed the reason for the season:
“What has come into being in Jesus was life,
and the life was the light of all people.
The light shines in the darkness,
and the darkness did not overcome it.”
And we light them to empower ourselves and each other to go into the world as beacons of love, justice and compassion — whenever and wherever we can.
My favorite story to illustrate how that works is one by Robert Fulghum
of Everything I Ever Needed to Know I Learned in Kindergarten fame;
one I have told before and one I think bears retelling.
It is a story about a Greek philosophy professor.
whose custom was to end each lecture
by asking the class, “Are there any questions?”
One day a student raised his hand and – half jokingly said,
“Yes, I’ve got a question. What is the meaning of life?”
The professor replied, “I will answer your question,”
and he pulled a small hand mirror out of his pocket and he told this story:
“When I was a small child, living during the war
we were very poor and we lived in a remote village.
One day, on the road,
I found the broken pieces of a mirror.
A German motorcycle had been wrecked in that place.
I tried to find all the pieces
and put them back together,
but it was not possible,
so I kept only the largest piece and
I began to play with it as a toy.
I became fascinated by the fact
that I could reflect light into dark places
where the sun would never shine –
in deep holes and crevices and dark closets.
It became a game for me
to get light into the most inaccessible places I could find.
As I became a man,
I grew to understand that this was not just a child’s game
but a metaphor for what I might do with my life.
I came to understand that I am not the light
or the source of the light.
But light – truth, understanding, knowledge – is there,
and it will only shine in many dark places if I reflect it.
I am a fragment of a mirror
whose whole design and shape I do not know.
Nevertheless, with what I have
I can reflect light into the dark places of this world
and change some things in some people.
Perhaps others may see and do likewise.
This is what I am about.
This is the meaning of my life.”
This morning as we listened to the courageous witness of Ady Barkan in the Rector’s Forum, I recognized that we were on holy ground — as holy as any ground I’ve experienced in my over 18 years here at All Saints Church.
Diagnosed in 2016 with the debilitating disease A.L.S. Ady Barkan has continued to use what he has to advocated for democracy in general and healthcare for all in particular.
“The paradox of my situation,” he says “is that as my voice has gotten weaker, more people have heard my message. As I lost the ability to walk, more people have followed in my footsteps.”
The light he reflects into the dark places of this world with what he has is indeed inspiring others to see and do likewise — through his “Be A Hero” PAC and his continued activism in spite of the horrible disease that is literally killing him an inch at a time.
Nevertheless, he persists.
And following in his footsteps, so do we.
We are running out of Advent. Let us savor every last minute of this time of preparation. Let us soak up the light, love, beauty and music this evening as we gather to pause in the struggle — and to remind ourselves and each other of the power of the Christmas promise we prepare to celebrate.
Come, O Christ and dwell among us! Hear our cries, come set us free.
Give us hope and faith and gladness. Show us what there yet can be.
Set us free to be the change you call us to be.
Set us free to live your love.
Set us free to be your justice.
Set us free to use what we have
to reflect light into the dark places of this world
and change some things in some people.
Set us free to journey into the adventure of God’s future this Advent and always.
Amen.
