One of my favorite things about the Advent/Christmas season is listening to Handel’s Messiah. Though we all enjoy a good hearty singalong to the Hallelujah Chorus, I think the arias are greatly under-appreciated. Among my favorites is a magnificent bass aria to the text of Isaiah 9:
The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light
During Advent, we remember the nation of Israel, walking in darkness, waiting for the Messiah. We reflect on how God was faithful to his promises, and came to save his people. We also look forward to the Second Coming, when Christ will come again in glory.
But it’s easy to get complacent about Advent. We know how the story goes—we know that the people in darkness will see a great light. We know that at Christmas, our Lord will come to Earth, fully man and fully God.
Somehow, our corrupt human nature makes it possible for this to seem like old news. Truth be told, Advent spirituality has a tendency to be, well, kind of lame. In your typical Sunday homily or daily reflection, rather than mature theological insight befitting reasonably educated adults, you’re likely to encounter strained attempts to connect John the Baptist’s “voice crying in the wilderness” to banal, supposedly relevant advice like “take time out of your busy schedule to think about God.”
This just doesn’t fly. The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light—but it’s abundantly clear that there are still so many people who are walking in darkness, who have not yet seen the great light.
Christmas is about the light, but Advent is about the darkness: the darkness in our hearts, the darkness we encounter around us, but most especially the people who, today, are walking in darkness.
You probably know some of those people who are walking in darkness. They might be coworkers, friends, or family members. In a season that’s supposed to be about anticipating the joy of the Incarnation, it’s painful to see so many people who are walking in darkness, who don’t know God or don’t believe He exists. You might get ticked off by people who don’t care for “the real meaning of Christmas” or who relentlessly commercialize “our” holiday. But if you believe that Christ came for all, then your heart must ache for those who are still walking in darkness. This is a time of year to think about them.
This Advent, I’m offering my prayers and sacrifices in a special way for those walking in darkness. I want to walk with them, toward Christ’s light. Through prayer and though acts of love, I want to enter into the darkness of Advent, an Advent that for many seems to never end. This might be through seasonal activities like toy drives and Christmas cards, or more personally through a stronger commitment to prayer. I may not be able to dispel the darkness, but I can speak with Someone who can. I’m making a special effort this year to shed the stifling Victorian aquatint rosy-cheeked piety that seems to view centuries of messianic longing as roughly on par with a lingering cold, and instead to really encounter the suffering Body of Christ, those for whom Christmas doesn’t seem to be the answer to any prayers.
Ultimately, there is reason for hope, even for those walking in darkness, and that, to me, is the point of Advent:
The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; Upon those who lived in a land of gloom a light has shone.
I’m not afraid of the dark.
