Rev. Tom Sorenson, Pastor
January 23, 2005

Scripture:

Let us pray: May the words of my mouth and the meditations of all of our hearts be acceptable in your sight, O God, our strength and our redeemer. Amen.

These are dark days. I mean that statement both literally and figuratively. Literally speaking, it is the dead of winter. The days are short. It gets light late and dark early, and although we do get sun breaks from time to time, for the most part the daytime skies are overcast and gloomy. I suppose that’s why the radio ad I heard last week for an nursery selling houseplants was pushing plants that, as the ad said, aren’t afraid of the dark. Figuratively speaking, these are dark days for our nation and our planet. We are stuck in a quagmire in Iraq with no way out anywhere in sight. The world struggles to make sense out of a massive natural disaster in south Asia and to provide effective assistance to the surviving victims. Figuratively speaking, these are dark says for our state. Depending on your point of view, either our electoral process failed us in the recent gubernatorial election or that system is under unwarranted attack by politicians who will not accept a very close adverse albeit legally valid result.

Figuratively speaking, these are dark days for many of us in our personal lives as well. For me, although I’ve never actually been diagnosed with Seasonal Affective Disorder, I sure have felt like I’ve got a good case of it this month. I’ve just been dragging, feeling a real lack of energy and motivation. I think I still get done what needs to be done, but it has been something of a struggle; and I’ve spoken with quite a few other people lately who have been feeling the same way. I could go on and on about things that I think make these figuratively dark days; but the point, I hope, is made. On many levels, these are indeed dark days.

Darkness has long been a metaphor for trouble. It has long been a metaphor for being lost too, and for being clueless. Someone who is "in the dark" is unaware of what’s going on around him. She has insufficient information to make informed decisions. I want to talk about this metaphorical meaning of darkness this morning, but before I do, I need to acknowledge that some hyper-politically correct types, like the compilers of our black hymnal, the New Century Hymnal, don’t like the darkness metaphor because they think it smacks of racism, of putting down people with dark skin. I trust that you understand that I mean no such thing by it.

Be that as it may, it is clear that darkness as a metaphor has a strong Biblical heritage. The New Strong’s Concordance of the King James Version of the Bible, for example, has by my count 158 entries for the word "darkness." Not all of those texts are metaphorical I suppose, but a lot of them are. The corresponding metaphor of light also has a strong Biblical heritage, which only makes sense. The two images go together. One has no meaning without the other. In fact, Strong’s has even more entries for "light" than it does for "darkness." I counted close to 200 before I gave up. Again, not all of those texts are metaphors, but a lot of them are; and we have three of those texts in our readings this morning.

We first read one of them in our Call to Worship, which comes from Psalm 27. It begins: "The Lord is my light and my salvation, whom shall I fear?" The Psalm is saying that God-that’s what it means by Lord, the Hebrew original here being Yahweh-is our light. Now, the metaphor light can mean various things. Here, the Psalmist ties it to freedom from fear. The connection may not be immediately apparent, but it shouldn’t be too strange to us. At least when we were children, we’ve probably all felt fear of the dark. Most fear is fear of the unknown, and darkness makes our surroundings unknown. We can’t tell what’s there. Dangers lurk in the dark, unseen and unknown. There are monsters under the bed, and we are afraid. The Psalmist says that with God we can fear not because God is our light. With God, it is as if there were nothing lurking unknown and threatening. It is as if all were light, because God is our light. With God, we need not fear the unknown.

Then we come to our Hebrew Scripture reading from Isaiah. It too uses a light metaphor. After a somewhat obscure reference to a couple of ancient Assyrian provinces-Zebulun and Naphtali, better known to us as part of Galilee-Isaiah says: "The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness-on them light has shined." Isaiah 9:2 Now, when we hear these familiar lines, we probably immediately think that they are talking about Jesus, or at least about God; but if you actually look just at the lines themselves, they don’t actually refer to God. They certainly don’t refer to Jesus, having been written something over 700 years before Jesus came along. My study Bible says that this passage actually was originally "an oracle for the coronation of a Judean king, probably Hezekiah." On one level at least, this passage is a hymn of praise to a secular king, envisioned as a great liberator and champion of the people.

Now, if that’s all this passage were, It would mean nothing to us. I mean, Hezekiah, who was king of Judah from 715 to 687 BCE, was apparently, by the standards of the time, a pretty good guy. He undertook religious reforms and strengthened the political position of the Kingdom of Judah. He build an underground tunnel to bring water into Jerusalem. Still, I doubt that it sounds like very good news to you that Hezekiah was king of Judah in the eighth and seventh centuries BCE. I know it sure doesn’t to me.

But is that all this passage from Isaiah is about? The author of the Gospel of Matthew didn’t think so. In the first part of the passage we just heard, Matthew cites our Isaiah passage more or less directly. He tells us that Jesus removed from Nazareth, his presumed home town, to the town of Capernaum, on the shore of the Sea of Galilee to the northeast of Nazareth. Capernaum is in the area Isaiah mentions, Zebulun and Naphtali, Galilee of the Gentiles. Matthew tells us that Jesus moved there to fulfill Isaiah’s prophesy about a great light coming to that area.

Now, on the surface that doesn’t make much sense. After all, the Isaiah passage really isn’t a prophesy about something that was going to happen 750 years in the future. It is written in the past tense not the future: The people "walked" in darkness, and on them light "has shined." So what’s to be fulfilled, as Matthew says this Isaiah passage is in Jesus? What’s going on here?

I think that what’s going on here is that Matthew is just trying to appropriate Isaiah’s light image as a way of telling us who Jesus is. For Matthew, Isaiah’s meaning wasn’t limited to its original meaning as a paean to King Hezekiah, and it doesn’t have to be for us either. Matthew is saying: Jesus is the light in our darkness. He is the great light that we have seen. He is the light that shines in our darkness. That insight into who Jesus is, of course, is not limited to the Evangelist Matthew. It has been the experience of Christians for nearly 2,000 years now. Let’s take a look at what that might mean for us.

Darkness is a metaphor for being lost. In the dark we can’t find our way. Now, Jesus isn’t Mapquest. He won’t help you navigate unknown roads in a literal, geographical sense; but I’m sure we’ve all had times in our lives when we’ve felt lost in a figurative, spiritual, or moral sense. We can’t sort out the choices that lie before us. We don’t know what we are supposed to be doing with our lives. We don’t know how to mend a broken relationship. We might know where we are physically, but we’ve truly lost our way nonetheless. If we will turn to Jesus in prayer and study of the Scriptures, he will show us the way. As Christians, our way is always his way. Our way is always his way of service to the poor and the marginalized, to those who are despised and rejected by worldly society. Our way is always his way of creative, assertive, but always nonviolent opposition to evil. Our way is always his way of reaching out to others who are lost, his way of reconciliation and gracious welcome to all. Like a light in our darkness, Jesus can help us find our way.

As I remarked earlier, darkness is a metaphor for not having a clue too, for not knowing what’s going on around us. Someone who’s in the dark just doesn’t get it, maybe because they’re dense but maybe also just because no one has clued them in. Here Jesus can be a light too. If we will just trust him and seek to follow him, we’ll have all the information we need.

Darkness is a metaphor for fear. We saw that in our Psalm this morning. It is also a powerful metaphor for despair, as in the phrase "the dark night of the soul" which holds such a prominent place in Christian spirituality. This is a particularly powerful place where Jesus can be a light in our darkness. Jesus brought me through a time of fear and despair in my life. I don’t know how I would have done it without him. I know Jesus is at work in the lives of some of you in this room right now, bringing you through times of fear and maybe even despair. When things are darkest in our lives, Jesus’ light can and does shine the brightest.

Of course, Jesus can only be that light if we let him. We can turn him off as easily-maybe even more easily-than we can flip the wall switch and turn off the electric light. We turn off Jesus’ light when we harden our hearts to others. We turn off Jesus’ light when we give in to fear or despair, when we give up and lose hope. Most of all, we turn off Jesus’ light when we do not take our being lost, our fear, our despair to him in prayer. Jesus is always just outside the door, lantern in hand, waiting to light our way, relieve our fear, give us hope in the midst of despair. All we have to do is open the door and let him in. Amen.