The darkness is advancing and the longest night of the year is coming.
But so, also, is the light.
I glance outside at the dark sky, and then at my watch. I am surprised to find it is already 7 a.m., for the skies are still inky dark.
The blackness is still growing longer, bleeding into the day and driving out the light as we trudge toward Winter Solstice, the longest night of the year.
It’s December 22nd this year, usually the 21st or 22nd, though on rare occasions solstice is even on December 20th (2080, for example) or December 23rd, though you’ll have to live until 2302 to experience that one!
Why the wobble in dates? Because solstice is technically the exact moment when the North Pole tilts the farthest away from the sun. It happens at the same moment for everyone on the planet, though we experience it in different time zones, and therefore see it at a different time by the clock.
The darkness is experienced differently based on how far north or south we are on the globe as well. In 2022, Washington D.C. had 9 hours and 26 minutes of sunlight on winter solstice, while Helsinki, Finland, had 5 hours and 49 minutes. Poor Utqiagvik, Alaska has no sunlight at all on that day—nor, in fact, on quite a few winter days. The closer you are to the North Pole, the less you are facing the light of the sun in winter.[1] And if you live near the South Pole, well, you’re enjoying days where the sun never sets, and you’re calling it Summer Solstice!
The word “solstice” (if you will allow me to nerd out for a moment) comes from two Latin words: “sol” (sun) and “sistere” (to stand still). The sun on both winter and summer solstice seems to pause at that limit before the shadows begin reversing direction.
Solstice, then is a change point. It marks the extremes—for us in December, extreme darkness. And it marks the beginning of something new:
Light begins to win over darkness.
. . . . . . . .
On my commute yesterday Christy Nockels sang to me her Advent Hymn[2]:
Christ whose glory fills the skies,
Christ the everlasting light,
Son of righteousness arise,
And triumph o’er these shades of night.
Oh, amen, sister!
I wish Christmas were just a few days sooner, not only because I’m eager for the feasting and family and fun (though there’s that), but because solstice, the day that light begins to advance and swallow up the darkness, feels like such a perfect metaphor for what happened when that tiny little baby came into a dark, silent world and slowly began pushing back the dark.
It must have been an especially dark season for the nation of Israel. 1725 years of Israel's history and God's divine interaction with this people group are well chronicled--the good, the bad, and the downright ugly--in the Old Testament. But after the book of Malachi, God goes radio silent.
I wonder what if felt like, to be holding instruction and hope and promises of a Redeemer, a better day.... And then nothing. Silence. No new revelations--at least nothing that is chronicled for us. FOR FOUR HUNDRED YEARS.
Silence that must have felt like darkness. Abandonment.
Where are you, Lord? Do you care? Are you even there?
“Is His loving devotion gone forever? Has His promise failed for all time?” says Psalm 77:8. I imagine those lines being whispered from time to time during The Long Silence.
"Why are you absent?"
But Isaiah, who promised the Messiah, also promised the darkness. The dark and the light converging:
“Arise, shine, for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord rises upon you! For behold, darkness covers the earth, and thick darkness is over the peoples.” (Isaiah 60:1-2)
Thick darkness.
Like the longest night of the year.
Or like a culture that feels oppressive.
Or maybe my own inner darkness.
. . . . . . . . .
You know how when it’s been dry for way too long and you’ve been promised rain, and you watch with anticipation as the skies grow dark, and the rain just isn’t falling and the dust lies thick at your feet, but you can smell it coming?
You know how there is that first “plop”, one divet in the dirt, and you wonder if you imagined it, but then there is another, and then, unmistakably, one more? And your heart leaps a little?
For those still waiting—dry, parched, wondering, maybe sometimes doubting or just plain angry—it must have been like that, after 400 years. Hope and doubt, mingled. And then… the smell of rain.
A word to Zechariah.
A word to Mary.
And Joseph.
A stirring.
Is it real? Is the drought over?
And then baby John miraculously comes to old Zechariah and Elizabeth and hearts leap.
It’s coming! Get the children inside! No, never mind--let’s get out there and dance in the rain!
Soon sweet, old Zecharias leans over his tiny son’s sweaty head and maybe begins his prayer/prophecy in a dry whisper, in a voice that has been silent for months:
“And you, child, will be called a prophet of the Most High; for you will go on before the Lord to prepare the way for Him…”
I imagine tears welling, his voice rising, as certainty floods in:
“…To give to His people the knowledge of salvation through the forgiveness of their sins, because of the tender mercy of our God…”
Yes, Lord, we believe! And then, in certainty and joy, his voice draws strength and he boldly declares,
“…By which the Dawn will visit us from on high, to shine on those who live in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the path of peace!”[3]
It gives me chills.
The Light is coming.
. . . . . . .
Just a few months later, Jesus arrives, in the most inconvenient and unlikely of places, but exactly where prophecy has placed the light: in a town called Bethlehem.
Come, thou long awaited one,
In the fullness of Your love,
And loose this heart bound up by shame,
And I will never be the same!
So here I wait in hope of You!
Oh, my soul's longing through and through.
Dayspring from on high be near,
And daystar in my heart appear!
John does grow up to pave the way for the Christ, announcing, inviting, declaring. And for his boldness he pays with his life.
Another John, one of Jesus’ closet friends, later talked about Jesus this way:
“In him was life, and the life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.”[4]
I shiver, but not with cold. The Light has come. And is slowly pushing back the darkness.
Wierdly, oddly, Jesus walked around in the midst of us all, slowly defying the darkness and offering us light of a kind that was not what anyone expected.
Humble, feisty, likely wearing well-worn sandals and smelling sometimes of fish, he invited the unworthy to draw near, and sometimes publicly called out those who thought they were God’s favorite. He confused everyone.
In John’s gospel account, as Jesus’ ministry grows, confusion continues to swirl and grow around him. Folks argue about who he is, suggesting everything from Satan’s minion to the Son of God.
The religious leaders are especially threatened. They begin publicly to criticize him, and the noose begins to tighten.
Trying to trap him, they bring an adulterous woman and dare Jesus to support them in their desire to stone her. Instead, he shames them and forgives her: “Neither do I condemn you; go, and from now on, sin no more,” he says.
And soon after that awkward, tense moment, in the crescendo of questioning and confusion, Jesus makes this profound announcement to anyone whose mind is open enough to receive it:
“I am the light of the world.”
Did it stun them? Shock them? Or did it blow by unnoticed?
“Whoever follows Me will never walk in the darkness, but will have the light of life.”[5]
It’s a message, an invitation, that is right for us, too, right now. “Follow me. I am the Light.”
Come, Lord Jesus! Chase away the shadows, unfreeze our souls. Banish the darkness in me.
. . . . . . . .
Well, I don’t get to design the calendar. December 22nd is not Christmas. And for a couple more weeks, it is still growing darker, nights longer, days shorter.
But wait. The sun is coming. Slowly pushing away the dark.
And the Light of the World is already here.
Dark and cheerless is the morn,
Until Your love in me is born,
And joyless is the evening sun,
Until Emmanuel has come.
So here I wait in hope of You!
Oh, my soul's longing through and through.
Dayspring from on high be near,
And daystar in my heart appear! [6]
“The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of the shadow of death, a light has dawned.
"…For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given, and the government will be upon His shoulders. And He will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.”
Isaiah 9:2 and 6
[2] Christy Nockels. "Advent Hymn". A Thrill of Hope, Amazon Music, 2016.
[3] Luke 1:76-79
[4] John 1:4-5, BSB
[5] John 8:12, BSB
[6] Click here to listen to Christy Nockels’ Advent Hymn.
Comments