AtomIn the Darkness of Fear - Joy
Psalm 139:7-12; Luke 2:8-12
I remember the call so clearly. I had been to the hospital earlier in the day. But now he was asking me to come back. He needed to talk. So I went and we did and the conversation was much different than the one we had had in the light of day. As darkness had come to the hospital and the halls had become quiet and the air still, his anxiety had begun to rise. He had begun to think about life and death and what next and his mind was running over and over his worries for his future – for his health, for his family, for his relationship with his God.
You know how it is…how in the dark, sometime after the lights go down and the house becomes still your deepest fears force their way into your consciousness. Sometimes you can keep them at bay by keeping the lights or TV on or music playing in the background until exhausted you fall asleep. But other times you can’t force the fears from your head…the “what-ifs?” and the “hows?” What if she doesn’t get better? What if I lose my job? How am I going to pay the bills this month? How can I be sure my kids will be safe – even in the shopping mall I can’t be sure? Or, on the personal level: “Why can’t I ever seem to fit in with the others? Why don’t I have a special friend? What’s wrong with me? Or even in our relationship with our God, “Why can’t I just trust and move on? What must God think of this mess I have made of my life? How can I ever get it right? How can God ever forgive me for this?”
Night time does that to us…darkness…fears creep in. Little squeaks and thumps become fearsome giants. Verbal slights and putdowns become reasons for giving up. All of our fears and inadequacies and failings loom so much bigger in the darkness.
I thought about that even as I read this so familiar story in the gospel of Luke this week. We all know how it goes, this part of the story about the shepherds. They were out in their fields with their sheep, doing what shepherds do. It all sounds so romantic, handsome shepherds strolling through peaceful green pastures, tending sweet tempered, wooly sheep. But the truth is that shepherding is not a romantic profession in any stretch of the imagination. And sheep are anything but sweet tempered. Shepherding is a lowly profession even in the light of day. It wasn’t usually the first job that folks aspired to when planning their futures. It was what fell to your lot when nothing else was working out. It was entry level and tedious. And it was dangerous. There were wild animals and thieves and violent storms. Shepherding was probably also a cover for some folks who had made bad choices in life and who thought the isolation of the sheep pasture was a good way to escape the notice of law enforcement.
So I kind of imagined shepherds as struggling in the dark with some of those fears that plague us in our own darkness …tossing and turning, unable to sleep, listening for a snapping twig or to the voices in their heads: “What a dead end job this is! I’ll never make enough shepherding to take care of my family. Or, I wonder if I’ll ever have home and family? Or, for the ones on the run, from the authorities or their families, or even from themselves, “What if they find me out here? What then? Will I go to jail? Will I have to run again? And what must God think of me? I’ve made such a mess of my life.”
And dog-tired and having just dozed off, suddenly there is a blinding light around them and a voice calling out to them. Surely they must have thought the end of the world had come for them. God had found them and that couldn’t be good. I like the way Garrison Keillor tells the story. “They were sore afraid (that’s the old English word) Truth be told, they were terrified! They hid their bottles. They fell on their faces and they whimpered and cried out, “No, no…don’t. We didn’t mean it. We tried to change, but we couldn’t…No…”
And God speaks a word through the voice of an angel to all those living in fear of the future and of the present: “Fear not…for to you is born this day in the city of David, a savior who is Christ the Lord. Fear not…” God has heard; God has not abandoned you. God will help. You may not be able to see your way through the darkness ahead, but God can and God will guide you and God will help you. What seems dark to us is not dark to God. In the words of the Psalmist, “Even the darkness is light to Him.”
I first became aware of that promise of God some 18 years ago. When our children were born, light visited our house in a new way. There were night lights where there had never been night lights before. And there was music, lullaby tapes playing softly to encourage sleep. And our favorite…I’ll bet it played for five years in Kelsey’s room…was a tape by Michael Card and on that tape was this song, “Even the darkness is light to him, the night is as bright as the day.” Of course we meant it to comfort our children as they went to sleep in dark rooms. They were not alone. Jesus was with them. Even the darkness is light to him. I thought afterward, however, that the promise is really meant for grown-ups making their way through dark times. When the way seems darkest – whether you are shepherd caring for not so bright animals in lonely fields in a tiny captive country in the Middle East, or whether you are a twentieth century mom or dad trying to make ends meet for your family, or a senior member of our community wondering how you and your spouse are going to make it through your latest health crisis, or whether you are just wondering how you are going to make it through the night and into the next day – the One who visited the shepherds in the dark fields near Bethlehem comes to whatever darkness you are dwelling in and says, “I have good news for you. There is a Savior and his name is Jesus. And he is for you.”
Now many of us know the spiritual side of the promise: Peace with God; guidance from God. But I also believe it is a promise of real, tangible help from God. It’s like the old story of the child who is being put down for the night and they are afraid and Mom says, “But you don’t have to worry, Jesus is here with you.” “I know,” says the child, “But I need someone with skin on.” Jesus knows we need His Spirit’s presence, but he knows we need someone with skin on, too. And so he comes to us with skin on…though we may sometimes miss his coming.
I’m reminded of an old illustration of the help and guidance Jesus sends. You may know it in one version, but let me update it a little bit for the season:
There is a violent storm coming to western North Dakota. Weather stations are encouraging folks to make sure they have enough food and fuel for some days of isolation or else to make their way into town. One particular old codger decides to weather the storm on his own, so he checks the heat and the refrigerator and is sure that he is going to be fine. Well, the storm begins with freezing rain and its not to long and the power goes out. Not to worry, he has a back-up generator, but just as he fires it up there is a knock on the door. It’s a neighbor, his four-wheel-drive pickup parked and running twenty feet from the door. “Hey, he says, “it sounds like we are going to be without power for several days. We’re headed to town, Come with us.” “Nah,” says the old codger. “I’ll be fine. I’ve got food and fuel and the Lord will provide.” “Okay,” says the neighbor and off they go. The storm rages on. Two feet of snow fall. The wind drifts in all the roads. Again there is a knock on the door. It’s the sheriff and behind him, just beyond the snow-filled porch is a big snowmobile idling powerfully. “Come with me,” says the sheriff. This is going to be a bad one. It may be several more days before we can get to you.” Again, the fellow waves him off. I’ll be fine. Jesus will take care of me.” Two more days pass the snow continues to pile up and he is running low on fuel for the generator. Again there is a knock on the door. This time it is the National Guard with a big tracked snow machine that has plowed its way to the door. “Come with me,” says the guardsman. “No, I’ll be fine. Jesus won’t let me down.” Well, you know what happens. He runs out of fuel. The heat goes off. The pipes freeze up and eventually he dies. He goes to heaven and when he gets there, he asks Jesus, “What happened. I trusted you to take are of me. Where were you when I needed you?” “What do you mean?” says Jesus. “I sent a four-wheel drive, a snowmobile, and the National Guard to get you. What more could I have done?”
“Fear not,” says the angel. “Unto you is born a savior. God has heard and come.” Even the darkness is light to him.” God sends help in our darkness. It may not be a four-wheel drive or a snowmobile or a National Guard Weasel. It may rather be a neighbor who keeps knocking wondering if they can be of service. It may be a counselor at the job service who can help us refine our skills and make the move to a new position. It may be the doctor with the skills to relieve your pain. It may be Mom or Dad whom God has placed in your life to be a sounding board and guide. It may be a grown up child just trying to give back what you gave when they were in need of help and nurture. It may be the very Spirit of God that assures us once again in the darkness – whatever darkness that may be – that there is no sin that cannot be forgiven, that there is no problem that cannot be worked through, that there is no death that is forever.
God sees. God knows. God comes. “For unto you is born this day a Savior, who is Christ the Lord” and “even the darkness – your darkness – is light to him.” Thanks be to God…let’s pray…
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