A Light Has Dawned

Isaiah 9:2 (NIV)

The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of deep darkness a light has dawned.

CONSIDER THIS

If a verse like this doesn’t give you goosebumps, I don’t know what will. 

Isaiah spends chapter after chapter documenting and describing the (often rocky) relationship between God and his people, their current dysfunction, and their overwhelming darkness. Yet, he keeps breaking in with the hope-filled light of prophecy with the dawning of a life-changing light. With the promise of divine covenant, Isaiah keeps pointing forward to what’s beyond the darkness. 

Though our passage today falls chronologically before where we’ve lingered this week, it’s another reminder of Isaiah’s certainty that darkness can’t cover forever and that night won’t last. A new day is dawning in the coming Christ. As Isaiah reminded us in chapter 60, he points forward to a day when all sorrow and sighing will flee away, and for those living in deep darkness, no more gloom for those in distress. And much like the reminders we found in the opening of the Gospel of John, Isaiah preps us for the promise of what’s coming before it actually arrives, so we can hold onto its hope to see us through any darkness. Much like the hope of a coming dawn before the night is over. 

The season of Advent asks us to linger in the darkness so the light that’s coming might be more powerful, even brighter, and share the joy only dawn can bring. Historically, the scriptures that define the liturgical season of Advent are based in the Old Testament prophets. The season of Christmas, and the story of Christ’s announcement and birth, aren’t told in our liturgy until we’re right upon Christmas because the season of Advent (the four weeks prior to Christmas Day) invites us to prepare our hearts for his in-breaking presence, much like the season of Lent asks us to prepare for the joy of Easter. The history of Advent invites us to linger in the Old Testament stories of darkness and division, hopelessness and despair, so the light of Christmas might shine more powerfully after our preparation for it. 

See, light is brighter in the dark. 

When you’re cozied up in the dark, under the blankets, all the lights off, and someone walks in, flipping on a switch, you’re blinded by it. The power of the light is amplified in the dark. We’re suddenly more aware of its power and brilliance when light breaks into overwhelming darkness. That’s why Advent begins in the dark; it reminds us of the covering of darkness and invites us not to push it away too quickly because the sweetness of Christ’s arrival is made sweeter when we’re hungry for his arrival. And there’s nothing like the pain and frustration of isolation, division, despair, and grief to make you rejoice in the appearance of the light. 

Over many years of my life as a pastor and pastor’s kid, I’ve witnessed ministry unfold in so many places. I’ve observed some ministry in areas of affluence, where every need is met by what people can provide for themselves. I’ve observed ministry in other places where people deeply struggle with the basics of life, living open-handedly, and trusting every need to be met only by God’s provision. Sometimes, where people can provide everything for themselves, it can be harder to look to the Lord to supply their needs. What need do they have for Jesus if they have everything they need?

If a person is unaware of their sin, it’s harder to hunger for a Savior to forgive them. Recognizing our need, our desperation, our brokenness, and our inability to rescue ourselves is the beginning posture for the glad arrival of a Savior. And there’s nothing like desperation to cause us to hunger for the relief light brings.  

Advent asks us to linger in the darkness so when the earth begins to rotate toward the light of a new day; we might more deeply rejoice in its coming. 

Isaiah helps move us from desperation to hope-filled delight, a sense that the night is coming to an end, and joy that dawn is breaking in. He invited us to recognize the cover of darkness so Christ’s entry into it might shine all the brighter for us – he recognizes the significance of the night but firmly plants one foot in the coming light. 

Today, I’ll leave you with this. 

“On those walking in a land of deep darkness, a light has dawned.”

Darkness begins to fade.
The light is dawning.

THE PRAYER

Good Father, we are so very thankful that the night doesn’t linger forever. We need the light and hope of your in-breaking dawn. We are desperate for it. For the darkness reminds us at every turn how much we need you. We desperately need the light, hope, and salvation Christ brings. As we inch closer to the light of Christmas morning, help us turn the corner from the cover of darkness to the light of dawn. And may our constant awareness of the darkness that tries to linger make your light more spectacular as it dawns on us. In Jesus’s name, amen.

THE QUESTION

Where is darkness in your life making you hunger for light? Are you desperate for Jesus to break in? Like, open-handed, every need dependent on him? How has our walk through darkness reminded you of your need for a Savior? Can you see the dawn starting to break on the horizon? Are you eager for it? If so, we’re exactly where we need to be. 

THE HYMN

If you’d like, let’s sing together one of the quiet, peaceful Christmas hymns to lead us to Bethlehem and remind us that Christmas breaks into the quiet of night with his presence. “O Little Town of Bethlehem,” page 192 in Our Great Redeemer’s Praise.

For the Awakening,
Sarah Wanck

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