John 1:1-18
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.
There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. He came as a witness to testify to the light, so that all might believe through him. He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light. The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world.
He was in the world, and the world came into being through him; yet the world did not know him. He came to what was his own, and his own people did not accept him. But to all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God, who were born, not of blood or of the will of the flesh or of the will of man, but of God.
And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth. (John testified to him and cried out, ‘This was he of whom I said, “He who comes after me ranks ahead of me because he was before me.” ’) From his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace. The law indeed was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ. No one has ever seen God. It is God the only Son, who is close to the Father’s heart, who has made him known.
Everything is in crisis now. Or at least that's how it feels. And I don’t mean that flippantly. As we look back on 2024, there were and still are crises that touch nearly every aspect of life and corner of the world. There’s the climate crisis, with 2024 being called the hottest year on record. All last year we heard about the crisis of democracy leading up to the election. There’s the immigration crisis, the housing crisis, and humanitarian crises too many to count.
Last month, we talked about the communication crisis—our inability to talk and see one another—which is connected to the social media crisis, the loneliness crisis, and the mental health crisis, especially among teens.
Not to mention the crisis of the church, with a new report from Gallup just a few days ago saying that communal worship is at an all-time low. Undoubtedly, there are more that come to your mind. And when you think of all these crises, the world seems like a dark, dark place.
It’s easy to think that by calling something a crisis, everyone else will understand it as such. We assume they’ll drop everything and urgently do all they can to address the problem. Nat Kendall-Taylor, a communications specialist, put it this way in a recent New York Times article,
“There’s this expectation that, ‘if only people knew how bad the problem was, they would trip over themselves, running to support my initiative.’” But is that how it works?
All around us, people are yelling about another crisis and how terrible things are. Then there’s a command: “Do this, or the world—or people—be damned.” And while they may be right, people don’t like being told what to do. If anything, all the noise wears us out. As Kendall-Taylor put it, “We tire very quickly of being told that everything is on fire,” because it makes the world seem beyond repair and convinces us that nothing we do will make a difference. Naming crises without more leaves us feeling like, well, how the law makes us feel.
“The law indeed was given through Moses,” writes John. The law is all the commands and rules given to not only the Israelites but to us too, so that we live as God’s holy people—set apart from everyone else, yet a blessing to them at the same time. Think of the 10 commandments, or the command to love God and love your neighbor, or the commands for justice.
For generations, the Israelites tried to keep the law and do all the commands, but they never did. It was always God forgiving, renewing, and upholding their relationship. We know what that’s like. We try to do all those things and fail just the same. The law though was never meant to be the ladder by which people climbed out of their darkness to God. It was the thing that showed our need for God to come down into our darkness. If all we had was the law, we’d be left in despair, knowing we can’t keep it, that we are helpless when left to ourselves.
That’s how I feel about all these crises, too! They point out how bad things are and give commands, but leave us feeling in despair; like the darkness is not only all around, but has made its way into our hearts too; because not only can we do nothing to stop the crisis, nothing and no one can help us either.
Yet there is something that can help our fatalism, and the world’s too. Rather than simply alerting everyone to a crisis, Kendall-Taylor suggests, “A far better strategy for instilling urgency and inspiring action toward a problem is to show people that real solutions lie at the ready.”
Give a solution to the darkness. Share a story that inspires action! In other words, after the law, tell the good news.
Nativity at Night by Geertgen tot Sint Jans
And the good news for us and for all the world is that God couldn’t leave us to a darkness of our own making. So God entered our darkness to give us light. “The law indeed was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ.” Grace always follows the law because grace is what saves us. So often, we think of grace as a thing, but it’s not. Grace is a person. And grace comes to us as a baby in a manger, giving not just us but all of creation life and light.
It is the light of Jesus that dispels all the darkness. Not even the darkness of death could stop it from shining.
But in the manger, the light doesn’t look all that bright. If you look at many of the masterpiece paintings of the nativity, like this one by Geertgen tot Sint Jans, you see small rays of light coming from the manger. Everything else around it is dark, illumined only by how close it is to the manger. That captures the truth of what God’s coming into the world means for us and the darkness all around.
We are not the light of the world. Our job is not to expel all the darkness in the world. We can’t even get rid of the darkness in our hearts, let alone someone else’s. No, our job is to get as close to the manger as we can. And by doing that, we reflect the light of Jesus Christ in the darkest of places.That’s the story we have to share: one of light coming into our darkness, of abundant grace when it’s least deserved, of a loving God who would not and will not leave us to face our crises alone.
Our job is to reflect the light, to come close to the manger, to share the grace and truth we have seen and received through Jesus Christ. And I see that light reflected here, like in your generosity as you helped our grace quest kids hit their fundraising goal and in just one month you gave nearly $9,000 to help people quite literally living in darkness recover. I hear about the light shining through the service of our agape ministry, in the meals served and relationships formed. I witnessed it when our young families gathered together in Advent, growing in community and staving off loneliness.
These small acts may not solve all the crises of the world, but they shine Christ’s light in powerful ways.
That’s why at baptisms, we give just a small candle with a single wick. We don’t give out spotlights saying, “so let your light shine before others.” No, the light of Christ is passed on by a single, small flame, reminding us that just a little light scatters so much darkness.
As you look back on this year, where have you seen the light of Christ reflected in the world?
For me, I can’t help but think of Jimmy Carter, who became a beacon of light after his presidency. Through the Carter Center and Habitat for Humanity, he brought dignity to lives overshadowed by poverty and illuminated paths to peace and justice in some of the world’s darkest corners. Even in the twilight of his life, you could find Jimmy Carter nearly every Sunday sitting under fluorescents in a sanctuary in Plains, Georgia, leading Bible study. He knew that he himself was not the light but lived as close to the light as he could, reflecting the grace and truth of Jesus in all that he did.
As we enter 2025, we will face crises old and new, but we do not face them alone. The light that began in the manger still shines, calling us to draw near, reflect its grace, and share its truth.
The darkness is undeniable, but it is not final. So as we step into this new year, let’s keep reflecting the light — through our generosity, our service, and our care for one another and the world around us — believing that light shines in the darkness, and the darkness will not overcome. Amen
