The newborn Jesus is proclaimed to be the Light of the World, and so He is.
As difficult as it can be to successfully navigate through physical darkness, spiritual darkness is even tougher because it penetrates our very being. Most everyone at some point needs that light of Jesus just to keep going.
A poem by Jan Richardson that hangs in my cubicle is called “A Blessing for Traveling in the Dark.” It notes that there are “different darks” that “have different tasks,” and that the shadows might hold good, or ill, for the person experiencing a dark time.
When we think of Jesus as light, we may think that His enlightenment of our minds, hearts and souls means we’ll have new understanding. That may or may not be true right away, although it probably will be eventually.
But saints, particularly the Carmelite saints John of the Cross and Teresa of Jesus (of Avila), note that the light of God is frequently so bright the eyes of our souls only see darkness. It is spiritually like what our physical eyes would experience if the light of the sun suddenly was close up, right in our faces. The intensity would overwhelm our eyes and blind them. The light would be dark for us.
God is overwhelming. The amazing sacrifice of His Son is beyond imagination. To enfold someone who is infinite into a tiny newborn child is more than we can grasp. The Son of the Almighty Father became totally dependent, and at the end of His life He submitted meekly to torture and death. Just once that we know of — at His Transfiguration — did a glimpse of Jesus’ true self shine out. And the three disciples with him fell down because that’s what anyone would do with such a glimpse.
St. Teresa of Calcutta kept going for many years bearing an inner darkness, and her letters tell how difficult it was. But her faith grew as did her witness to the compassion of Christ and His love for the poor, ill, and dying. We might surmise that God was like the light of the sun to her soul, sustaining her in ways she could not feel or enjoy.
The Father, Son and Holy Spirit are a mystery worth pondering. Hopefully during the rest of the Advent season, we’ll find or make some time to do so. If we are plodding through long-term difficult situations, sudden disasters, great inner loneliness, or are flirting with despair, it might be good to consider what God might wish to give us to help us in the darkness.
That’s good to ponder because we are fully capable of blocking His gifts. We can push Him away or welcome Him … and if we are afraid or unwilling to open the “door” when He knocks, we can talk to Him through the keyhole until we have the courage to open the door a crack. Jesus is patient and won’t push Himself in.
Most of us are good at hiding our darknesses, but God always knows. He’s the one to talk to at every moment because He does listen and does care. Picturing Jesus as a baby or little child might make it easier for us to talk with him if the idea of “God” is too much for us to address.
Jesus is fine with being with us as a child. He came once as a little child to St. Teresa in her convent. She introduced herself to this young boy as Teresa of Jesus, and He announced Himself as Jesus of Teresa. How sweet is that!
Jesus comes as light for us wherever we are and in whatever we are facing. May we celebrate Him at every age — newborn, little child, teenager, young man — whatever stage of life attracts us to Him right now. He is ready and happy to listen and just wants us to be with Him at Christmas and always.
Again to quote some of Richardson’s poem: “But this is what I can ask for you: That in the darkness there be a blessing. That in the shadows there be a welcome. That in the night you be encompassed by the Love that knows your name.”
May God bless your Advent season and Christmas with His light, His hope, and His love!
