There is a phenomenon common to pedants and puritans – the desire to rob others of Christmas joy. And by that I mean a persistent need, perhaps born from a sense of intellectual superiority, to sober us from our champaign-tinged Christmas reverie. They remind us that evergreens probably didn’t surround the stable, that we really don’t know the calendar date of Christ’s birth, and that it was probably not exactly a “bleak midwinter.” And among the pedants in particular are those pseudo-intellectual activist atheists who still lob the tired accusation that the observation of December 25 is merely the appropriation of Saturnalia, a claim made despite the early church’s emphasis on the Annunciation-Crucifixion parallel for March 25 and from there the setting of the Nativity nine months later.
There is one detail of the story, however, that neither the pedant nor the puritan can attempt to rob from Christians – Christ’s birth, his entrance into this world of darkness, happens at night. It is at night that the angels appear to the shepherds in the fields singing their gloria and proclaiming that the Messiah, the seed of David and the light of the world, has been born. The story happens in the darkness. It is at night that the light of our salvation draws near, and this setting is not incidental. The great doors designed in 1998 as a memorial for Meister Eckhart at Erfurt’s Predigerkirche have carved on them that Gospel hope from John’s prologue, a mystery that is embedded in the whole arcing story of God’s word.
There is a thread in scripture, a recurring theme in the unfolding story of God’s providence, of salvation coming at night. And each point along that thread the story points us to Christ – the light of the world, the one whose epiphany to the Gentiles marks him out as the hope of all people who walk in darkness.
In the Genesis creation narrative, the days are ordered night to day; it was evening and it was morning. For this reason the Biblical, Jewish, and Christian liturgical reckoning of a day begins at night. This is the rationale for vigil liturgies, but it also marks the order of salvation. Night gives way to dawn. Darkness leads to light, not the other way around. Our lives and that of creation itself are not bound for decay and desolation, but for salvation. Christ is that dawning light.
It was at night that God led Father Abraham out into the darkness, and there under a great canopy of stars God promised Abraham that his seed would be like the stars of heaven, a great multitude. These descendants would share, God tells Abraham, in divine blessing. As Paul explains, this promise is fulfilled in all those who have faith in the living God as Abraham did (Rom. 4; Gal. 3). Christ, the dawning light, makes this inheritance a reality.
It was at night that Abraham’s grandson, Jacob, dreamed of the ladder which connected heaven to earth and earth to heaven – a vision of Christ, the one who holds together all that is of God and all that is of humanity. It was at night also that Jacob wrestled with God and was renamed Israel, the one who bears with God and sees God face to face. Christ reveals the face of God, a face that was in previous times hidden in the darkness (John 10, 14; Col. 1; 2 Cor. 4).
It was at night that the people of Israel, those who bear with God, were released from their captivity. It was at night that God’s people were freed from the bondage and darkness of Egypt. At night God took them by the hand and led them in a pillar of fire, a brilliant light, out of the Egyptian grave. This pivotal story is, to use Karl Barth’s language, the very blueprint of the paschal mystery of Christ. It was in the darkness, in the small hours of the morning, that the stone was rolled away and the new Exodus was achieved.
It was at night that the prophet Daniel had his vision of the nations and rulers of this world bowing and breaking before the Son of Man who is presented before the Ancient of Days. Here then is Christ the high priest, the one who has ascended to the throne room of God. Here is Christ, one of us yet also the Son of God. Here is Christ who intercedes for us – we who sit in darkness – before the brilliant light of Almighty God (Heb. 7).
Behold, the people who walked in darkness have seen a great light. The light shines in darkness, but the darkness has not overcome it. Christ Jesus is the true light that enlightens all nations, leads us out of graves, reconciles us with the Father, and in whom all things have their being.
On Epiphany, a question looms before us. Turning from the sputtering candles and the wilting poinsettias, from the now browning Christmas trees and the chipped eggnog cups, we ought to ask: do we know that we are in darkness? Are we aware of the sins, not only out in the world, but in our own hearts? It turns out that the night is not all that romantic after all.
Certainly creation is wounded with violence; the earth is filled with blood. Certainly the world’s toxic politics, our society’s gross consumerism, and our culture’s inability to honor the image of God in our very bodies, degrade us more every day. But Christ Jesus, the light in the darkness, locates sin not somewhere “out there,” but rather in your heart and in mine (Matt 15; Mark 7). Until we can grasp that there is darkness within us, the light of Christ will only be a glimmer. It will only be the stuff of Christmas cards that we so quickly clear out and cast away now that January has arrived.
To grasp with the Magi the hope of the nations, to receive with those eastern sages the light of world, one has to first recognize the darkness. You and I are sinners and we cry with Paul, who will save us from this body of death? The Gospel, though, is this Good News: the light shines in the darkness, yours and mine, and the darkness does not overcome it.
The Rev. Calvin Lane, PhD is the Editor of Covenant: The Online Journal of The Living Church. The author of two books on the Reformation, he was elected a Fellow of the Royal Historical Society in 2013 . In addition to serving as associate rector of St. George's Episcopal Church, Dayton, Ohio, Dr. Lane has taught for various seminaries and colleges, including as Affiliate Professor at Nashotah House. His service to the church includes a term on the General Board of Examining Chaplains (2018-2024).
