Sermon - December 17th, 2023 - Guest speaker - Andrew Ault

I speak to you in the name of one God, Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.

I'm sure most, if not all of you, are familiar with the song, this little light of mine.

History is mostly unclear on the precise origin of the song, but what we do know is that it

most likely began as an African American spiritual in the 1920s and rose to distinct prominence

during the Civil Rights Movement of the 1950s and 60s.

Now by no means is this particular song a revered advent anthem, or even one we think

of around Advent or Christmastime.

But reflecting on the Gospel passage appointed for today, I couldn't help but think back

to my favorite verse of this classic, the one in which we exclaim, hide it under a

bushel, no, I'm going to let it shine.

Out of the gate in today's Gospel lesson, we learned that a man named John had been

sent by God to testify to the light.

The light in question here is easily applied to be Christ, yet to be born into the world.

And if you read just one verse further in John, past the verse as appointed for today,

we see in verse nine that the true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into

the world.

This distinction becomes important when we read on to the latter portion of today's Gospel

electionary, when John, questioned by priests and Levites sent from Jerusalem, very plainly

states that he is not the Messiah.

Instead, John would go on to become the very first disciple to identify Jesus as the Son

of God.

Much like the aforementioned spiritual, no one has come to a complete consensus on who

the exact author of the Gospel of John is.

It has, however, always been recognized as the latest of the four Gospels, written sometime

between 90 and 110 AD.

John's Gospel has also long been acknowledged as presenting a much more hostile picture of

relations between Jesus and the Jews, or more specifically, the religious authority of the

day.

It is also now widely accepted that this state of affairs represents the circumstances of

the Christian Church some years after his death and not of Jesus himself.

Where a fickle bunch we humans are and the schisms that run us asunder aren't a modern

novelty, I'm afraid.

Looking past the historical aspect of John, however, when you really get into the theological

weeds of this particular Gospel, you find that John, more than the others, paints a particular

emphasis on the divinity of Christ.

Scholars today even assert that since the second century, John has been collectively

thought of as the spiritual Gospel.

It seems fitting, then, that this Gospel that focuses so heavily on the divinity of Jesus

would be one that prepares our hearts for the coming of Christ in just over a week's

time.

Advent, at its core, is an inherently penitential season on the Church calendar.

Now, it's certainly not as stark as what we observed during the season of Lent, but

this is a season of watching and waiting, apart from other festive and ordinary seasons.

This can be a contentious topic among some in the Church, but it's not a big secret

that the season asks us to prepare our hearts for the arrival of the Messiah.

Even our colic for this Sunday entreats the Lord to come among us, and because we are

sorely hindered by our sins, let your bountiful grace and mercy speedily help and deliver

us.

It can be hard for us to reconcile this contrast between acknowledging our sinfulness and waiting

for our Savior in the midst of a consumer culture that markets all things feel good

and festive.

But that's what makes this message from John today all the more important.

The light of the world is coming, and we only have a little bit longer to wait in order

to receive it.

One of my favorite aspects of the season of Advent is the comparison we sometimes draw

between the first and second comings of Jesus.

We cover this a fair amount more on the first Sunday of Advent, but it's still a theme that

resonates so much with me as we make this journey together.

Christ has already come to redeem the world, yes, but there is still no promise that the

journey will be an easy or painless one.

On the contrary, grief and pain can even seem more acute this time of year for some of us.

Whether we find ourselves estranged from family or loved ones, or mourning the loss of someone

we held so dearly, and spending the holiday apart from, these feelings of loss and sorrow

don't always get easier with time.

One thing that brings me hope among all the sorrow of this world is the promise that Jesus

will return again to bring us that fundamental light once and for all, and establish a kingdom

where there will be no more crying or pain.

We read in John's Gospel today that John was the voice of the one crying out in the wilderness,

make straight the way of the Lord.

The promised babe, the Messiah, is not yet here, but he is coming.

It's one reason why I love the tradition among some to withhold placing the baby Jesus from

household nativity scenes until Christmas Eve, that symbolic gesture of waiting and

preparing until Jesus descends from heaven to come among us and live and die as one of

us.

This promise upon his arrival wasn't one that offered us instantaneous lifetime of pleasure

and happiness.

No, on the contrary, it opens us up to the possibility of a lifetime of woe.

We all find ourselves in the wilderness at times, as well, that voice crying out for salvation.

I'm sure for civil rights marchers in the 50s and 60s who made this little light of

minor rallying cry that the struggle probably felt hopeless.

A wilderness they wondered if they would ever be delivered from.

But the promise lies in the ultimate truth that this is not the end.

I saw a quote this week on Instagram from Christian author Meredith Ann Miller describing

the overall consumer's Christmas season we find ourselves in.

The descriptions of Christmas can easily be substituted for advent in our own context.

In it she says, Christmas is not here to offer a four week escape from the pain of the world

with a paper thin layer of twinkle lights.

It is not here to anesthesize us with bows and eggnog lattes.

Christmas is not offering us the chance to escape the ache of life through piles of presents.

Christmas is God saying, yes, this pain is too much.

Yes, it's too sad.

Yes, the ache is too great.

Hang on, I'll come carry it with you.

I think this perfectly encapsulates the promise God makes to us with the birth of Jesus.

It makes John's call to make straight the way of the Lord all that more important.

Jesus is on his way, friends, and from then on we will fret no more.

We need now only to make room in our hearts for him.

This wilderness we find ourselves in today might just last a lifetime, but it doesn't

end there, and by the grace of God we certainly don't have to make that journey of all.

One theme that stands out to me above all in Advent, over all the waiting and watching

and preparing, is that light which Christ brings once he enters the world.

Much like the well known saying that all the darkness in the world cannot extinguish the

light of a single candle, the light that Jesus brings us from his birth is one that will

never go out.

Once he came to live and walk among us, he delivered a promise that not even the darkness

of death can overcome the light he brings, and this is the good news.

Jesus hasn't come just to bring light to the world, but also to bring light to each and

every one of us individually.

All we have to do is be a willing vessel to carry that light everywhere we go.

The author, Elar Nost, was quoted as saying, don't be dismayed by the brokenness of the

world.

All things break and all things can be mended, not with time as they say, but with intention.

So go, love intentionally, extravagantly, unconditionally.

The broken world waits in darkness for the light that is you.

We each have the capacity to carry this light within us, just as Jesus promises to carry

the weight of our burdens alongside us.

We don't have to do any of this alone.

Beloved Jesus is coming soon, so make straight the way of the Lord in your own lives, for

yourselves and all those you may encounter outside these four walls.

This wilderness we find ourselves in today seems increasingly dark by the day.

I don't have to stand here and tell you to turn on a television or scroll a social media

type on for that reality to set in.

It's apparent enough to us as it is.

But the best medicine to combat the darkness of the world is the light that John first

testified to all those years ago.

It's a light that can be so radiant that all those encounter it will want to know the source

of it.

Jesus is, after all, the light of the world.

All we have to do is say yes to it.

Will you hide it under a bushel?

No.

I hope and pray you will let it shine.

Amen.