Isaiah 9:2-7; Psalm 27: Luke 2:22-32; John 1:1-5, 14
May the peace of the Lord be with you always.
When was the last time you cried in the dark? Maybe even being asked that question brings tears to your eyes. There is something about the dark, the literal dark, that brings our vulnerabilities to the fore, that causes the walls we usually keep up around our hearts to come down, that even loosens our tongues. We cry out, quietly or loudly, hoping no one hears us, and yet, hoping Someone does.
There’s actually a long tradition in the Bible of people crying out in the darkness. It’s called Lament, and it’s a persistent although often overlooked theme. We hear it in the prophets like Isaiah, in several psalms, and even in the story of Jesus on the cross––when he cries out, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
In our story from the Gospel of Luke, I suspect such a cry is lingering in the back story of Simeon. Simeon, as we know, had lived a very long time, and God had promised him that he would not die until he saw the Messiah. As he got older, and then older still, as the years began to take their toll on his body, as he buried friends and family, how many times did Simeon return to the Temple, waiting for the arrival of the One anointed to rescue Israel from the cruelty of the Roman Empire? As the years, and decades passed, how often did Simeon lament, “How long, O God?”
It is a cry that many of us here are familiar with. Maybe it’s even the reason you are here tonight. All the jolly cheer building up this time of year can intensify feelings of lament, leaving us wondering how long before we can feel the light in the darkness that is proclaimed so often right now. Wondering if anyone “out there” even hears us.
You know, names in the Bible are not just names, they have particular meanings. Simeon’s name, which he shares with one of the sons of Leah and Jacob, in the Book of Genesis, means “God hears.” God hears. Intertwined with thread of Lament throughout the Bible, we also have the thread that God hears. God heard the cries of Leah when Jacob didn’t love her. God heard the cries of those who walked in the land of darkness, during Isaiah’s time, when the Assyrian army was preparing to invade northern Israel. God heard the lament of Simeon as he waited out his days for the Messiah. God heard the cries of that Messiah on the cross.
God hears your cries. Even in your darkness, when it seems as if everything is being swallowed up by the dark, God hears. God, who is everywhere, listens carefully to find those who are lonely, those who are bereaved, those who are sick. God pays attention to those who are on the outside looking in, to those whom the world ignores. God pays particular attention to those who feel like outsiders, to those who are weighed down by circumstances beyond their control. God hears them. God hears you.
God hears, and God responds. I say this because our Scripture is also clear on this point––that God does not just listen. God also responds. I know that sometimes all we need is a sympathetic ear, someone who can hear and share what we’re going through. But sometimes, we need more. Sometimes it’s not enough just to have someone sitting in the darkness with us, sometimes we actually need someone to bring us some light. We need someone to respond to our cries. Which God does.
But a word of caution, or perhaps this is a word of comfort: God does not always respond the way we expect. What I mean is that God does not always respond in ways that are clear and evident to everyone. While yes, in the book of Isaiah the Assyrian Empire was overthrown and the people of Israel returned to the land, God does not always, even in the Bible, respond to lament in such obvious ways.
Take, for example, Jesus’ birth. A baby born in the middle of the night, in a nowhere village, to an unremarkable couple, who were not noble Romans but lowly Judeans. This baby was born to a people ruled by a foreign Emperor, who handpicked not only their governor, but their high priests in Jerusalem, as well. Jesus was born much like any baby born in a village in China, or India, or El Salvador––to parents who no doubt loved him very much, but were not even so much as a blip on the radar of the earthly powers-that-be. If Jesus was the light shining in the darkness, it was the smallest light in the vastest darkness, nothing to compare to the light of Caesar Augustus, who styled himself as the Sun blazing in the sky. If Jesus was God’s response to the cries of people like Simeon, then it was a response that began in a very un-obvious way.
That Simeon recognized this tiny baby as the Messiah then, is a miracle in and of itself, possible only because, as the Gospel tells us, God’s Spirit led him to see it. Through the power of God Simeon came to know that this tiny baby, unassuming, unexceptional, was, actually, truly exceptional and truly the light of the entire world. Through the power of God, Simeon came to recognize that this baby was love sent into a loveless world, that this baby was the light sent into the darkness that the darkness would not overcome. Through the power of God Simeon saw that this baby would grow to become the one whose death––another darkness––would pave the way for new life for the world, a light that shines forever. It took the power of God to see these things because, on the day that Simeon encountered Jesus, he was not a blazing sun, or the light of a thousand candles. Not yet. He was still one small baby in a very big world.
And yet Jesus became God’s definitive and very visible response to the lament of God’s people. It would come to pass that millions, over the centuries, would come to see that this small baby was indeed the light of the world. But not quite yet.
Tonight, we are in that time of the not quite yet. We are in the time of Simeon, when God has heard our lament, and God is responding, but we are in need of God’s Spirit to point it out to us. But to be clear––God is always responding. God is always sending light into the darkness, even if it is in quiet, unassuming ways. Sometimes the light God sends is a soft light, a single flame rather than the blaze of the sun. In truth, this is the way God more often responds to our cries. We often refer to Jesus at this time of year as the son/sun of righteousness, but I wonder if we might also think of him as a single candle, flickering but undaunted, small but present, God’s response of steady and tender love.
Lament and response, two thousands years ago and today. God hears our laments, and this evening, God responds and sends you God’s Spirit through two means. The first is through the lighting of the candles when we sing Silent Night. As each small candle is lit, the Spirit of God reminds us of the birth in the darkness of that small unassuming baby who became light for the world. And as the small lights grow in number, we are shown how these small individual lights, how these small blessings of God, become brighter when brought together. God’s Spirit helps us to see how God’s light, given to each of you, as small as it might be, becomes light for those around you when you turn to share the flame with them. We see how the ‘not quite yet’ becomes ‘now.’
The second way in which God will respond to your lament tonight is through touch. I have no doubt that as Simeon held the baby in his arms, he felt healing. Holding babies will do that to you. We are created with bodies that are meant to be touched, whether through a handshake or a warm embrace. And so, a little bit later in the service, you will be invited to receive a laying on of hands, as a blessing to you in your darkness. And then––and this is different from the last few years––you will be invited to be a blessing to others, to be yourself an instrument of God’s Spirit––an incarnation of God’s response to someone else’s lament by laying your hands on the person next to you, and blessing them with the blessing you yourself will receive, as they, in turn, will do for the person beside them.
As we sit in darkness, as we cry out, know that God hears and God responds. God has done so in the past, and God does so even today. Not necessarily with a blazing light, but God does. In fact, as you share God’s light with others this evening, and as you share God’s love as you lay your hands on your neighbour and bless them, know that God is using you to be the small but very real light to someone else in their darkness, to be God’s response to their cries, as they are God’s response to yours. This is the glory of the Incarnation, this is the gift of Jesus, this is the light and love of God come into the world, in the past and also today. Thanks be to God. Amen.
Blessing: God bless you and keep you in the light of Christ. + Amen.
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