“Light, Light, and More Light”
Big promises
Isaiah promises a lot, don’t you think?
In the Narrative Lectionary reading for this week, Isaiah writes:
But there will be no gloom for those who were in anguish. The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness—on them light has shined.
—Isaiah 9:1-2, NRSV
Then, in later verses, there are promises of joy, peace, justice.
Certainly, the people to whom Isaiah was writing had been through a lot. Way too many years of living as a conquered people. Way too much war and oppression. But, no more gloom? No more darkness?
Before I can even begin to wrap my head around what such promises might mean for me, I have to take a step back and explore some questions: What is my gloom, my darkness? What is my light?
What is my darkness?
Last week, I had one of those days. You know … a day when everything seems slightly “off.” Nothing seemed to go right. Small tasks felt like boulders. I forgot things, lost track of what I was trying to do. My mind wasn’t thinking very clearly. I said to a friend, “I’m just not myself today.”
These are small inconveniences, but they capture the essence of something much more significant: the times when I’m not living fully myself. When I bury who I really am in a mountain of meeting expectations. Or hide something about myself because I don’t think I’m “good enough.” Or live in the shadow of my God-given gifts and abilities rather than using them. When I am not fully myself, I would call this “darkness.”
Another kind of darkness for me is fear of the unknown. I’m now in my seventies, and questions about health and aging—Who will take care of me when I need it? Where will I turn when I need help?—have more urgency now than they did ten years ago. I don’t know what will happen, and it’s all too easy to get caught up in fear. When I get lost in my fear, I would call this “darkness.”
Then there are the times when I feel ashamed. When I start thinking about all the things that I could have/should have done better. (If you’re a perfectionist like me, you know what I’m talking about!)The times when I said something I wish I could take back. When I’ve let someone down because I’ve forgotten something important. And, even deeper, when I feel ashamed of some aspect of my being: my body, my ideas, my abilities. When I feel shame, I would call this “darkness.”
The list of darknesses—mine and yours—goes on:
Discouragement.
Despair.
Grief.
I’m sure you could add some of your own.
We each have our times of gloom, of anguish. But then there’s the promise: a promise of light. Even “great light”!
But where/how do we find this light? In Isaiah’s writing, light involved a new king. It also involved the promise of a child “born for us.” What does that mean for me, now?
What is my light?
A quick answer is to take a leap forward eight centuries or so from Isaiah to the birth of Christ and say, “Jesus is the light.” Yes! No argument there.
But when it comes down to a personal level, I have to ask, “Where do I see Jesus in my life? How do I experience this light?”
I’ll start with beauty. Sometimes when I’m listening to a symphony such as Mahler’s 2nd, known as the “Resurrection Symphony,” I get goose bumps. Deep shivers. A sense of touching the ethereal. I believe human expressions of beauty—whether music or painting, sculpture or poetry, weaving or pottery—are places where light shines bright. And don’t get me started about the immense beauty of the night sky when stars literally dazzle me with their light! When I encounter beauty, I would call this “light.”
Then there is the light of welcome. Are you old enough to remember the motel commercial, “We’ll leave the light on for you”? I think one of the reasons that line took hold is that people long to feel welcomed. To feel the comfort of a place where they can rest. To know someone is there for them.
I also think of the welcome of a close friend. My heart beats a little faster when I’m about to meet up with an old friend I haven’t seen in a long time. I know she’ll give me a giant hug, and we’ll sit and talk for hours, even if it’s been months or years since we’ve seen each other. That’s a heart-felt welcome. When I feel welcomed, I would call this “light.”
I can’t write about welcome without writing about connection. When I feel alone and someone says, “I’m with you,” that’s light. When I am discouraged and someone tells me, “I believe in you,” that’s light. When I’m worn out and someone says, “I’ll help,” that’s light.
These pinpoints of light give me hope, but then there are the beacons of light that blaze when we share connection with people who need our support. When we care for the broken. When we stand up the vulnerable. When we celebrate diversity. When I am connected, I would call this “light.”
It doesn’t stop there
If there’s one thing I take from this Isaiah passage, it’s that God’s light doesn’t end with one king. Or even with the birth of one miraculous child. The phrases “endless peace” and “from this time onward and forevermore” (Isaiah 9:7) suggest there is no end to this light. That God’s light will be with me, always.
Even as I write those words, I feel an immense reassurance. The Light is with me! And I am grateful beyond words. Or, to use the poetic words of Mary Oliver:
I will sing for what is behind the light—light, light, and more light.
—Mary Oliver,
Little Alleluias
Where do you see Light? I invite you to share your experience in the Comments.
—Marcia Broucek, graphic designer for Narrative Alive
I welcome your comments about my reflections. If you have anything you want to share about your journey, I invite you to share your experience in the Comments field below.
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All scripture quotations, unless otherwise noted, are from the New Revised Standard Version Updated Edition. Copyright © 2021 National Council of Churches of Christ in the United States of America. Used by permission. All rights reserved worldwide.
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