December 17, 2023, Afraid of the Dark?, John 1:1-28 – Mtr. Kathryn Boswell
To listen to this sermon, click the link above. The text of the sermon is given below.
John tells the Christmas story a little bit different from the other gospels. He writes: “The true light, which gives light to everyone, was coming into the world.” Instead of telling us the story about Mary and Joseph and the baby in the manger, and the shepherds, and the angel choirs, and the wicked King, and the wise men from the east – instead of all that, John gives us a picture, the image of a brilliant light shining out in the darkness, like a super-nova blazing out in the utter blackness of outer space. And the reason John gives us that image is not because he wants to be all philosophical and theological and intellectual instead of using the plain old language of storytelling. No, it’s exactly the opposite. John uses this image of light and darkness because it’s something every single human being can understand, from the smallest child to the oldest and wisest grownup, and everybody in between.
Jesus himself used it: “I am the light of the world,” he said, “Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.” The image works – because who doesn’t know what it’s like to walk in the dark? Someone asked Madeleine L’Engle once if she knew why people tend to get so cranky and restless late in the day. And she said, “It’s because we’re all afraid of the dark.” When we were kids, most of us were afraid of the dark. We were scared of the dark space under the bed. We were afraid of the shadows in the bedroom closet. And most of us imagine we have outgrown those childhood fears. But even now, now that we are all grown up, we still associate darkness with fear.
If we have a power outage, and suddenly the lights just go completely out, all at once we feel unsure of the space around us. We have to grope around to feel our way; we stumble over things, even when we know they are there. Walking outdoors at night, the unevenness of the ground feels so much more uneven in the dark. The little ridges on the path trip us up, the hollows catch our feet and twist our ankles.
When we have to walk in the dark, the unseen things around us feel dangerous. Carroll and I used to live in St. Louis, in a part of the city where it actually was dangerous to walk alone at night. If you were foolish enough to walk alone in the dark in our old neighborhood, you were likely to get robbed or worse. But then we moved to our farm in Norfolk, and even though we knew there weren’t any strangers lurking in alleys, when we had to walk alone through the woods at night, we still felt scared sometimes, grownups though we were. We’d get startled by all those small, unseen rustlings and shiftings around us in the shadows. In the dark our imaginations would run a little wild. In the dark it’s easy to miss the path. Without light, it’s very easy to lose your way. It was always such a joy and relief, coming up through the woods at night, when I could see the lamplight in the windows of the house, and know that I was home.
We use darkness as a metaphor all the time – we talk about being “in the dark” when we don’t understand something, when we feel left out, or confused. We speak of living in “dark times” when the world around us is a scary place – it seems like I’ve used that expression a lot lately – when cruelty and inhumanity seem to have gotten the upper hand, and reason and kindness seem to be in short supply. People have designated a part of the internet as the “dark web” because it’s the place where things are hidden, where criminal activity is concealed, where safety is not guaranteed. We watch “dark comedies,” and we laugh at things that – if we are truthful – actually frighten or disturb us.
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“I am the light of the world,” Jesus tells us. “Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.” The light came into the world so that we can live lives that are not shadowed by fear.
“The people who walked in darkness
have seen a great light;
those who dwelt in a land of deep darkness,
on them has light shone.
For to us a child is born,
to us a son is given.
When the angel came to Mary to tell her that she was going to be the mother of the holy Child, the first thing the angel said to her after he greeted her was this: “Don’t be afraid.” When the angelic hosts lit up the sky over the hills outside of Bethlehem to announce the birth of Jesus to the shepherds, the first words the angel spoke were the same, “Fear not!” Because the Christ was born into the world to dispel fear, just like the shining of a bright light banishes every trace of darkness.
Just imagine a door. On one side of the door is a bright room, sunlight pouring in through the windows. On the other side of the door is a dark, windowless cupboard, with not the slightest crack or crevice to let in the light. But what happens if you open the door? You know what will happen. The instant the door is opened, the cupboard is filled with light, not a trace of shadow left. There isn’t a chance in the world that that deep darkness will ever stream out and banish the sunshine. It can’t happen. We know that. Light always, always wins over darkness.
And that is what happened when Mary’s child was born into this shadowed world, this land of deep darkness. “The light shines in the darkness,” John wrote, “And the darkness has not overcome it.” There was never a chance in the world that the darkness could quench the light. Because light always, always wins over darkness. Even the Cross – even death itself – even the absolute darkness of the tomb, was not able to prevail against the light.
And whoever follows him will not walk in darkness and fear, but will have the light of life.
St. Philip's Episcopal Church 