It’s often said that religious people are looking for some sort of comfort. It can be said either with a sneer or else wistfully. To its critics the Christian religion is akin to a comforting fairy story something we tell to escape from reality and so avoid the rational pursuit of the uncomfortable truth. To the reluctant agnostics Christianity is something they would like to believe but can’t quite bring themselves to do so “I wish I had your faith it must be such a comfort.” So is this a night for comfort or for truth? That is the question that could confront us as once again we gather to celebrate the feast of Christmas.
We might of course have various needs of comforting tonight. We might look to be comforted by the repetition of a familiar ritual, familiar stories and hymns, the beauty of the music and the building, a time for reflection after the hectic rush of preparing for Christmas. We might be looking for a deeper comfort after a year that has brought ever more disturbing news of political turmoil, violence and terrorism, and predictions of environmental catastrophe. We might be looking for a more personal comforting after a year that has known illness or bereavement.
So what does this most holy night say to us can it be both comforting and truthful? It is an ancient tradition that rather than hear the story of Bethlehem, and the child in the manger and the visit of the shepherds, we should tonight hear this more mysterious gospel reading about the word, life, light, and glory. St John has in mind the story of creation at the opening of the book of Genesis. There we hear God speaking creation into life, Let there be light’ – and there was light’. The author imagines God’s creative word bringing life into being. And the first thing he creates is light, a light that pierces darkness and chaos.
In London we rarely know real darkness. It is hard for us to grasp the motive which led the church to baptise the old pagan rituals of the winter solstice. At the darkest time of the year the feast of Christmas was intended to illuminate this night with the light of the stable and the star, the light of Christ. Light now comes to us in many forms. We find it hard to see the stars because of light pollution. There is the steady artificial light that comes at the flick of a switch in windowless rooms; or the flash light of the camera that leaves its victims goggled eyed, hands raised to ward off the intrusion; or there is the fragile light of the candle in a window on a dark night. That we may assume is the sort of light John was thinking of a fragile but a brave light the light that shineth in darkness and the darkness comprehended it not.
More modern translations say that the darkness did not overcome’ the light, but the word in the original is hard to translate. It can variously mean that the darkness did not understand, or accept or defeat or absorb the light. In other words we may or may not welcome what this light has to show us. Light shining in darkness may show the way but it can also reveal things that would be rather kept hidden. Light can reveal but it can also blind us. And the light of God does all these things. God is that dazzling mystery that challenges us to seek the truth that in the end we know we can never fully grasp. God is that shining truth which through thought and experience leads us to enlightenment. God is that burning truth about ourselves which we might fear but which once known and accepted can make us more alive. God is that courageous light which gives us the trust to move forward slowly but confidently when all seems uncertain and obscure.
So tonight our faith can be both truthful and comforting only if we look steadily at the light shining in the darkness. The first Christmas story is one of exclusion, misunderstanding, crowds, dirt and massacres. A birth is always both painful and joyful. Christmas does not leave out the tears in things. The light doesn’t dispel the darkness; it shines in the darkness. We shall find real comfort only if we can keep our eyes open to the truth of the world’s tragedies however painful. It is we might say the power of this light to transform tragedy into pregnancy. In this light something may unexpectedly be found in the darkness which could bring forth a new truth. When we sing those words, O holy child of Bethlehem be born in us today’ what could be born in us, is a greater trust, a deeper hope, a stronger determination to come into the light of truth. Tonight we might, (in the words of that great modern poet of Christmas, U A Fanthorpe) walk with the shepherds and the wise men, haphazard by starlight straight into the kingdom of heaven.’
Stephen Tucker