Gathering Light
“Lord, you light my lamp; my God illuminates my darkness.” - Psalm 18:28
Each Advent season, wreaths are displayed on tables. Four or five candles are set in place, and week by week, we light one. The candle of hope, then, love, then joy, then peace. And often in the center, a Christmas candle.
Until very recently, I had not celebrated Advent with this light-focused practice. We had lots of fun and significant ways of anticipating Christ's birth, but we were not bringing new light into the home each week. And though this is just one way to practice Advent, I believe that the gradual lighting of candles is especially helpful in preparing our hearts for Christmas.
The Scriptures, especially texts we read during the Advent season, use light motifs often. The light that drives out darkness, light that guides our steps, light that reflects the goodness of God. Even with all these mentions of light, walking towards Christmas feels bittersweet. I would dare to say that many of us carry a mixture of heaviness and hope these days. And often, the heaviness, the darkness, threatens goodness and joy.
As we light these candles, as we sing songs of Christmas hope, how can we truly see and know a way out of the darkness of our current days? Consider how we practice the lighting of the Advent candles. Each week, we light a new candle, adding to the already lit pillars around the wreath. We are building light, gathering light. The culmination of this ritual is a fully illuminated centerpiece. One candle produces good light, but the fullness of the candlelight at Christmas is significantly more effective.
There is something intense and powerful about gathered light. Like the small flame of a match that eventually turns into a hefty campfire, there is relief, comfort, even hope that arises from us when we see the building light. The beauty of the Advent season is the process of anticipation. The slow increase of light over the weeks brings our hearts along the journey, waiting for the long-expected Jesus.
As we live in the Kingdom that is both here and not yet, we wait. We wait in dark days, but we know that the darkness does not overcome the light. So, we gather light.
We read about light in Scripture and literature.
Isaiah 9:2 * John 1 * Psalm 18:28 * Job 12:22
“Stories are light. Light is precious in a world so dark. Begin at the beginning. Tell Gregory a story. Make some light.”
― Kate DiCamillo, The Tale of Despereaux
“Among the tales of sorrow and of ruin that came down to us from the darkness of those days there are yet some in which amid weeping there is joy and under the shadow of death light that endures. And of these histories most fair still in the ears of the Elves is the tale of Beren and Lúthien”
― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion
We listen to music that reminds us of light and truth.
Shadow and Light Advent Playlist
The Brilliance Advent Collection
We find time to be with people who speak words of hope and peace and joy into our lives.
We lament and name the darkness. Expose it; let the light make it visible.
“Walk as children of light— for the fruit of the light consists of all goodness, righteousness, and truth— testing what is pleasing to the Lord. Don’t participate in the fruitless works of darkness, but instead expose them.” Eph. 5:8b-11
We gather the light. For the benefit of our souls and the souls of our neighbors.
We extend goodness and care to others, expanding and building the light beyond ourselves.
My prayer is that each of us would find the light that is Christ. I pray that we would find beauty and joy and peace in these coming days, and I pray that the light would guide us home - into the care and kindness of Immanuel. May you find the Light; gather it, share it, and revel in it.
Lament
Over the past several weeks, I’ve been uncomfortably confronted with the practice of lament.
While reading Beyond Colorblind by Sarah Shin with a group of colleagues, we discussed the process of lament over the racial injustice in our communities.
After the death of a student on our campus, our university collectively walked through a season of grief and lament. We’re still there in some ways, navigating the aftermath of such tragedy and loss.
Last week, I hiked a portion of the Appalachian Trail with a group of young women. We carried heavy packs, summited steep mountains, and lamented over our great limitations and weaknesses.
And today, after receiving the news of yet another mass shooting, I found myself returning to the words of the Psalmist: "How long, O Lord?”
Lament is deeply formational. Our honest cries, complaints, and requests connect us to the God who intimately knows suffering and sorrow. When we are honest about our frustration and confusion, we enter into an ancient, sacred practice. Like fathers and mothers of the Christian faith - Job, David, Mary, C.S. Lewis, Soong-Chan Rah, and others - we are transformed by the process of lament.
I honestly don’t know what else to do in these heavy moments. Of course, there is great need for action and reform. But in the midst of such sorrow, in the days of grief and pain, we are meant to lament and mourn. It’s uncomfortable; it’s unfamiliar. And yet, it is the way forward. Today, let us grieve and lament what is not as it should be. Let us cry out to God for his care and justice and guidance.
Below are some resources for studying and practicing lament. Feel free to save and use these images!
