Darkness and light, blindness and sight. It seems like we are a bit more in the time of Advent than Lent, watching the world get darker around us, needing the light to shine in the darkness. Our psalm for today says, though I walk through the darkest valley, and we are just at the beginning of that walk. In all likelihood, we will be walking through this valley for the better part of a year, if not longer, and it will get darker before we are through.
But we are not the first to live in times like these. There have been others before us who have also faced a darkening world. Some of us have family members who lived through the end of World War II, who have shared stories of struggle and survival in unimaginable circumstances. We read the words from five hundred years ago of those who endured the bubonic plague, including Martin Luther whose faith was honed in the loss of his baby girl. Even our Scripture readings for today were written by people whose lives were as threatened as ours. The letter to the Ephesians was written during the time of Emperor Nero, who persecuted Christians, including the apostle Paul. They, too, lived under a kind of quarantine, never daring to leave their houses as Christians, lest they be arrested and fed to the lions. And the Gospel of John was written a bit later, by a group of Christians who were rejected by their Jewish communities, who themselves had just experienced the destruction of the Temple and the complete burning down of the city of Jerusalem by Rome. We are not the first of God’s children to stand at the entrance to the darkest valley and to know that the only way through is just that, through.
I share the background of our Scripture readings because sometimes we forget that the people who wrote them were living in times of great crisis. The writings are so full of hope, that it seems like they must have been written during good times, when everything was bright and sunny. It can be tempting to dismiss them as not applying to our modern world, and our current situation, whatever that might be. One of the things that happens in times of crises is that we get overly-focused, we get sucked into the emergency at hand, and we lose the larger perspective. This is a normal reaction, of course, we do need to assess our own situations. But we can’t get stuck in them. Eventually, we have to look beyond ourselves to others. And when we do, we realize that people throughout history have experienced what we are experiencing, and that they have words of light, and words of wisdom to share with us.
This morning, that wisdom comes to us from the letter to the Ephesians. In a moment of great crisis, when Nero was jailing and killing people like the apostle Paul, and all the early Christians, we have these verses, “for once you were darkness, but now in the Lord you are light. Live as children of light––for the fruit of the light is found in all that is good and right and true. ... Take no part in the unfruitful works of darkness.”
So what does that mean, to live as children of light and not take part in the works of darkness? Well, the works of darkness right now are pretty clear - profiteering, hoarding, taking way more than we can use at the moment in case we might need it later. Taking advantage of people’s need for something to sell it to them at outrageous prices. We’ve seen stories in the news of people doing this, buying up and then selling toilet paper, N95 masks, other protective gear. These are works of darkness.
The works of darkness also include ignoring the restrictions that the government has put in place to keep our neighbours healthy. It includes going out to the store, even though you’ve been told to stay home. It includes lying about your health to get into the hospital to visit a loved one. And believe me, I know the temptation of that one. It includes playing down the seriousness of this situation, something we see happening in other countries around the world.
These things are what we, as Christians, do not take part in. Because, as Ephesians reminds us, we are no longer living in darkness, now we are in the Lord, and so we are in the light. And so we live as children of light. Which means we live knowing that yes, we might die––we all will, eventually––but that before that happens, we are called to bring Christ’s light and love to the world. We stay home in order to protect the most vulnerable in our midst. We rearrange our entire lives so that, as a country, we might all get through this. We live with generosity of spirit, with openness of heart, towards those around us. We extend compassion to those who are short-tempered, who are struggling, who are still stuck in darkness. We extend compassion to ourselves when we are feeling those things. We open our eyes, we see the needs of those around us, and help in any way we can, especially in taking time to pray. Prayer costs us nothing but time, something we are beginning to have more of than we wanted. In these ways, even though the valley ahead is dark, we shine Christ’s light for others.
First, though, as children of the light, we take the time to remember that we ourselves have received light. You see, what the letter to the Ephesians asks us to do, what Christ calls us to do, to turn away from darkness and to walk as children of light, is impossible if we are not ourselves filled with Christ’s light. Please know that what we are called to do is not meant to overwhelm us. Living as a child of the light is not meant to drive us further into darkness. It is not meant to be a burden. Jesus says in the Gospel of Matthew, “my yoke is easy and my burden light.” (Matthew 11:30)
No, living as a child of the light is what we do after we ourselves have been filled with Christ’s light, and it is our psalm that fills us with words of light this morning, as it reminds us that even though we walk through the darkest valley, our great shepherd, Jesus Christ, walks with us and takes care of us. Jesus, who himself walked through that valley all the way to the cross, who was rejected and isolated from his his friends and family, who was alone when he died, he is the one who walks with you now, and with your loved ones who are in isolation. Jesus, the good shepherd, will never leave a single one of his sheep, he will never leave your side, he will not lose any one of those whom God has entrusted to him. Not you, not your family, not your loved ones, whether they are here or far away.
And our psalm reminds us that in the midst of our enemies––viruses, isolation, financial loss––the goodness and mercy of God are following us, pursuing us the Hebrew says, chasing us down until they overcome us. God’s blessings are being prepared to fill us with overflowing, as we see already in the dedication of medical professionals, in the thoughtfulness and consideration of government leaders, in the support of our province’s teachers for our students, in the work of grocery store clerks, and delivery drivers. These people and many others are beacons of God’s light for us, as Ephesians says, “the fruit of the light is found in all that is good and right and true.” God’s goodness is with us through these people and through others.
In this time to come, as we walk through this valley together, as it gets darker, know that when you reach out your hand in blindness, Jesus will grasp it and hold you firm. He will bring peace to your heart, and he will comfort you. He will send beacons of light to you when you least expect it, and you, in turn, will be a beacon of his light for others. By the grace of God, in the light of Christ, we will walk this valley together. Thanks be to God. Amen.
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