Today we lit the last of the advent candles. Our wait for the coming of the Lord is almost complete. Whether the One who came and is to come is with us on Christmas day and the days to follow depend on whether we see the light, the light in the window, the window of our hearts. We desperately need that light to guide and console us through the storms of life. We need the light of Christ to guide us on our way with hope.
Some years ago there was an article in Catholic Digest about a Native American on a reservation here in South Dakota remembering when during a winter blizzard he had to go out to get wood. He had tied ropes from the house to the wood pile, but the wind had blown them down. On his way back he stumbled away from the house toward the open prairie and likely death. Confused for direction, he turned in circles and then saw a light. His wife had placed a kerosene lamp in the only window of the house. He recalled: “It was hard to see through all the snow – kind of shimmering light that seemed to be dancing. The woman hung it there for me to see in case I got lost. It saved my life, that light. All that was between me and the big dark.”
When Advent begins, it is dark. Slowly one by one the candles are lighted, the light becomes brighter, and the Light of the World comes closer. God sent his Son, that light, for us, in case we get lost, to save us. But do we see it? There are blizzards in our lives, real ones – war, terror, violence, persecutions, natural disasters, sickness, loss of loved ones, and blizzards within us – doubt, guilt, fear, sin. To avoid falling out into the open and facing the big dark, we need to find that light in our window, our heart. It is represented by the lighted candle and the Christmas star. But to do so we must truly believe that Jesus is that light, the Son of God come into the world to save us, the love that came down at Christmas.
Is the Christmas story too nonsensical for us to really believe? Or has it become simply a memory or a story? Is it real to us? There once was on the Church calendar, December 18, the Feast of the Expectation of the Blessed Virgin Mary, a time for prayerful reflection on the reality she was experiencing in anticipating and bearing the Christ child. There is a beautiful song in this year’s Christmas at the Cathedral concert entitled Real (Nordeman/Stevens) in which one pondering an outdoor crèche offers these poetic reflections:
“Frozen statues in the cold washed in moonlight, blue and gold, Mary’s babe in plastic hay, quiet wonder on her face. Mary you look so serene, far too pretty, much too clean. We might think we know you well, but what stories would you tell? Of all the dirt and dust and shame, every burning labour pain? And as I turn to walk away, I hear you say: “I am real. Don’t turn me into memory or myth. Let me be real, and I’ll show you what it means to love like this.
“Shepherds bending to the ground Bethlehem is safe and sound. Joseph you look brave and true. Do we know what it was like to be you? How many sleepless nights awake found you desperate and afraid. And as I turn to walk away I hear you say: “I am real. Don’t turn me into memory or myth. Let me be real and I’ll show you what it means to love like this. . . More than a memory, more than a story.”
These last days of Advent we might ask ourselves: Is the birth in Bethlehem as the prophet Micah foretold real for us; are Mary, Joseph and Jesus a memory, a myth, a story or real to us?
There is a song that says Christmas is for children; it’s for children people say. Many in our culture declare that Christmas is only about make-believe, about fantasies, and so the decorations become ends in themselves. But as incredible as it sounds and seems, it is true; it is real. God intervened in the world in ways that we cannot explain, but for our good. Jesus was conceived by the power of the Holy Spirit to become the light of the world to guide us in the Father’s love. That same Holy Spirit has planted that light within each of us at our baptisms.
One of my favorite paintings is of a lighthouse on the coast of Maine, so stark in its simplicity. Among my favorite stories is that of an old man who sat watching the sea, the ebb and flow, the crash and splatter of the waves. He had spent most of his life as a lighthouse keeper. He would tell stories of the sea, of ships caught in storms, threatened by hidden rocks and more, stories in which the light of the house was always the hero. “You see,” he said, “my mother always left a light in the window. It was there when I was a boy in Maine coming home from school in wintertime and the snow was blowing almost horizontal. When I was away in service, fighting overseas, she kept it burning still, like some kind of altar light to show the way back home. Later, when my wife died so sudden, and I was thinking about walking out there into the sea and being taken to wherever she might be, the memory of that light stopped me. A person needs a light in the window, something to show that he’s still expected, that someone is waiting for him. Because not being expected is about the worst thing there is, being left by yourself in the storm. There’s got to be a light somewhere or you’re lost.”
Jesus is that light, the light of the world, the light in our window, the light that tells us we’re expected, we’re loved, we are not alone, we are not lost. Nowadays we have so much glare surrounding us in sight and sound and movement that the light of Christ can seem dim amidst all that glow. The truth is that other lights eventually lose their power and go out. The light of Christ always burns for us even when we do not notice, waiting for us to see him, see him as real and present not just in history but today.
As we enjoy the fun and festivities of the holiday, let it also be a true holy day. May we take a moment to focus on the truth of what we celebrate. If we forget or miss it, come December 26 we can become lost again in the storms of life. ”A person needs a light in the window, something to show that he’s still expected, that someone is waiting for him. There’s got to be a light somewhere or you’re lost.” Friday we celebrate the fact that God the Father has gifted us with that light: the love that came down at Christmas in the person of the Christ child who wants to light our way every day.
Merry Christmas to you all and those you love.