It feels as though everything that could go wrong this year has. The grief, anger, and exhaustion in our world feel palpable — like if I stuck my fingers out the window, I could touch it. Yesterday, I received an anonymous and angry note from a neighbour of mine, taped to my apartment door. They were upset over something small, and my immediate reaction — instead of loving them or seeing where they were coming from — was anger, pride, indignation.
If love is intentionally willing the good of another over myself, then I certainly was not loving. I did not reciprocate, but I’ve been offended for hours. I couldn’t help but think, “The world is such an awful place to be.”
And yet today, as I sit alone in my apartment, I am struck by gratitude for the simplest of things: a cup of coffee with a glug of eggnog, a lit-up Christmas tree in the corner, a homemade wreath on my wall, church on my laptop, my Advent candles sitting on my coffee table waiting with anticipation to be lit this evening as my heart begins preparing for the coming of our King.
I can feel the tension of darkness and light wrestling within me — I want the light to win, but there are moments, hours, and days, where I feel far more darkness than light. I consider the times when I feel scared, discouraged, hopeless, and deeply alone.
I need Advent this year more than any. The Light of the World to uncover the darkness.
And yet I know — the Light of the World came in the midst of a dark night, and in the midst of a dark moment in culture. The only way light is effective is if it shines in darkness.
As I light my first purple Advent candle this evening, I will be ushering in the Light I love.
And yet Jesus, the Light of the World, said, “You are the light of the world, a city on a hill that cannot be hidden… let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven.”
It is a paradox that the Light I am anticipating these next four weeks of Advent, already lives within me.
I could give into the darkness. I could give into my pride, my disappointment, my frustration. I could give into the false narrative that my life is wholly about me and my wants. I could turn a blind eye to the needs of people around me, and think only about myself.
Or I could light a match.
And you could too.
And together with the Light of the World living inside us — alongside the Jesus we love — we could become a city on a hill that cannot be hidden.
Like shining glory in a clay pot, like a kind invitation to come in from the cold, like the candles on my coffee table, perhaps we could slowly slowly slowly add a little bit of fire, a little bit of warmth, be a little bit of light in the darkness.
Through tangible kindness, through willing the good of another above ourselves, through blessing someone instead of cursing them (perhaps even if that includes an angry neighour), we could usher in the Light of the World.