When All the Lights are Out

Notes from the first Sunday of Advent.

When Jesus spoke again to the people, he said,"I am the light of the world. 
Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life." 
- John 8:12

I entered church, and I immediately saw that all the lights were out. The usher who greeted me said there was a power issue. What a strange, and I thought enlightening, way to begin the first Sunday of Advent in a quiet, dark sanctuary. Like an Advent tiding to pay attention to, and dwell in. Light came into the space by way of the stained glass windows, and it was hauntingly beautiful. Other than having some trouble hearing the speaker at some moments in that large space, I didn't mind the darkness. It encouraged a universal quiet that everyone took part in, and a stillness settled in over the pews. We all had to pay closer attention and listen attentively to let the sounds travel into our hearts. Nobody left the service or shifted in frustration. We were there to meditate and focus on God's word, with or without the modern convenience of electricity.

Sitting there in the grand space, it all looked a bit different. Shadows lingered in recesses and the front alter was darker than the congregation pews. I imagined what it must have been like in the enormous cathedrals before electricity; before microphones were amplifying the sound. They must have been so hushed in order to hear all the nuances of the music and the words reverberating through the open space. It must have felt like today, with light only present through candles lit, and stained glass windows filtering it. Soft lighting, in my mind, causes us to become more introspective and reflective.

In the modern age of today, we fully take for granted the fact that our lights and power always work (or should, 99.9% of the time). It is expected that we have all the light we need, but in church on Sunday, we were transported back a hundred years. And in fact, even that morning we had all the light we needed, in Jesus. May we not miss such moments of grace and His ever present light, so that in the darkest times, we can know that we are taken care of, we are loved, and God is with us.

It is more difficult to see the light when we are always present in bright light. Sometimes we need to sit in some darkness, as in the very timely dark service of the morning this Sunday, and imagine ourselves in the time just before the Incarnation and ponder it in our hearts as Mary and Joseph would have pondered. Did they feel like they were in darkness for while? Did they have any idea what their legacy would be? Could they even imagine what God's plans would include for Jesus? A myth becoming fact before their eyes, entering history, and restoring to us the greatest of all, hope.