“That Candles May Be Brought!”
Christmas Eve
On behalf of the Congregational United Church of Christ I once more want to welcome those of you who are our guests here this evening, whether you are visiting with family or friends or have found your way here on your own. And I extend a special invitation to you, our guests, to join everyone else at the reception downstairs after our worship—it is always a glorious occasion. I hope that all of you are finding this a place of warmth on a cold night and a place of joy as we celebrate together.
We have heard again the wondrous Christmas story from the Gospel of Luke. The angels have sung, the shepherds have come and gone after amazing everyone with their glorious good news about the baby in the manger.
As you ponder all of this in your own hearts, I want to reflect on a small part of a scripture lesson that we have yet to hear this evening. These words were part of our Call to Worship tonight. And we will hear the whole lesson once the candles that you hold have been lit.
From the first chapter of the Gospel of John: “The light shines in the darkness and the darkness did not overcome it.”
Don’t you love it when the light shines in the darkness, especially this time of year? I do. One of my joys in these days is driving north on Mormon Trek through the Iowa City darkness. I go underneath the railroad tracks and suddenly, WOW!—the light shines. It shines all the way down the Coralville Strip. You people in Coralville know how to do things right—and those of us from Iowa City thank you for it.
You make the light shine in the darkness.
Sometimes it is up to us to bring the light.
May 19, 1780 is known as “New England’s Dark Day.” From Maine to Connecticut people awoke to a haze obscuring the rising sun. By noon it is said that the skies were a dark as midnight. Historians and scientists are now pretty confident that the cause was a unique combination of smoke from raging forest fires along with thick fog and cloud cover.
The people were as disturbed by this then as you and I might be now. The pious turned to prayer, as you and I might. Others quickly headed to the nearest tavern, as, well, as you and I might.
Most memorable, however, was what happened at the meeting of the Connecticut Governor’s Council, which was in session that day. Shaken by the darkness, some urged the early dismissal of the meeting—so that delegates might head for churches or taverns. Abraham Davenport, however, objected. “I am against adjournment,” Davenport said. “The day of judgment is either approaching, or it is not. If it is not, there is no cause of an adjournment; if it is, I choose to be found doing my duty. I wish therefore that candles may be brought!”
Davenport’s wisdom and plea were heard. Candles were brought. And the Council session continued. I should mention that Abraham Davenport was also a deacon in his Congregational Church—an example for us all, perhaps, of one who kept the light shining in the darkness.
This past year has been a time of great disruption and uncertainty. The total solar eclipse that ran a course across our entire nation last summer and the deep darkness from the wildfires that continue to rage in California vividly illustrate our nation and our world in need of light.
This congregation has responded by bringing light at many times, in many ways.
When faced with the number of public school students who were going without food, we cried out: “Let candles be brought!’ And we responded with funds that made a mobile food pantry possible at Southeast Junior High.
When hurricanes brought devastation to the United States and Puerto Rico, we cried out: “Let candles be brought!” And we responded with money for relief efforts—and we must continue to work for storm relief in Puerto Rico.
When threats and abuse were hurled again people of other faiths and LGBT people and African Americans, we cried out: “Let candles be brought!” And we responded with support and efforts to shine some light on the ways our own lives perpetuate and benefit from the shadows of hate.
When lies obscured the truth your light and the light of this congregation shined brightly in Iowa City, in our nation. Your light brought light to people around the world. Along with so many others, I am grateful for that. And I am so glad to be working with you as we bring that light to the world.
Tonight we call out again, “Let candles be brought.” You hold in your hands symbol of the light of this congregation that has been shining all year long.
But tonight we also hear another message.
It is not “Bring the light.”
The message we hear is this: “The true light, which enlightens everyone has come into the world.”
This is the great good news of Christmas. The light has come into the world in Jesus Christ. The child in the manger is the very light of God piercing the darkness of our world and our lives. Remember how “Hark! the Herald Angels Sing” describes the work of Christ? “Light and life to all he brings.”
Before 2017 began, that light was already shining.
Before we brought any of our light into the world, that light was already shining.
When we grew weary, when we despaired, that light continued to shine.
When we worry about what the future year might bring, that light is shining still. When we are troubled by what we hear and see, that light is shining still.
It is the light that we look toward as we meet each new day, each new year.
It is the true light that is the true source of the light that we bring.
It shines in the darkness and—remember this—the darkness does not overcome it.
In the coming year, let your light shine—you should, you know, because Jesus tells you to do just that.
But in the coming year—and tonight and tomorrow in particular—remember that the light is already shining out of a manger.
As one person put it just yesterday, the light shines as a Jewish baby is born in Palestine in abject poverty and hailed as a king. The light shines as an unwed teenager becomes the ideal mother, and her baffled boyfriend the model of fatherhood. The light shines as angels from heaven choose for their audience a scraggly band of shepherds with dirty hands and the stink of work upon them. And, as the Epiphany story that we will hear two weeks from today tells us, the light shines as relentless foreigners, lacking proper papers, pursue a shining beacon of liberty, traveling through the night with a light from above.
The light of Christ shines in the darkness, erasing all the artificial divisions and distinctions and borders and walls that we would create.[i]
For two thousand years that light has shined upon this weary and threatened world. That light still shines in the darkness and the darkness does not overcome it.
When you bring your light into the world, rejoice that is a part of a much greater light—the light of God, made flesh this night in Jesus born in Bethlehem.
[i][i] David Von Drehle https://www.washingtonpost.com/opinions/the-mythical-war-on-christmas-drives-us-apart/2017/12/22/c271657c-e71e-11e7-ab50-621fe0588340_story.html?hpid=hp_no-name_opinion-card-a%3Ahomepage%2Fstory&utm_term=.326a9af3c473