One of my favourite features of Christmas services is the candlelight. I love how its soft glow enhances the warmth and mystery of our gathering, illuminates your faces, and highlights each person’s features. As we pass it from one person to another, it reminds me of the power of human connection. Light, invisible as it travels, becomes visible only when it touches a surface—just as we perceive God primarily through His/Her effects on us. Similarly, our best qualities find expression mainly when they touch the lives of others. We simply cannot know if we are generous, compassionate, loving, truthful, or loyal until we apply these qualities in relationships—until we give a little of ourselves for others! Just as light particles absorb into matter to give us all the colours, our best qualities shine through self-giving, which Jesus epitomized. 

Yet at Christmastime, we avoid thinking about the entire trajectory of Jesus’ life, which began in Bethlehem but ended in Jerusalem. Likewise, when we gaze at the face of any newborn baby, we suppress our thoughts of the difficulties s/he will inevitably face. Yes, on nights such as this, it is tempting to enjoy the glow of candles, sing, “all is calm, all is bright,” and tell ourselves that darkness cannot overcome the light. But of course, each of us has come here carrying our own burdens: illness, grief, family tensions, unanswered prayers. This underscores the truth that light shines most clearly where darkness exists, just as candlelight has its greatest impact in the dark.

And yes, this season’s focus on birth and nativity can weigh heavily on those who couldn’t have children, have lost them, or have strained relationships. That is why I appreciate that not every text we read on Christmas Eve centres on a baby in a manger. Earlier this afternoon, the children did help us retell the nativity story from Luke, but now we turn to the Gospel of John. Written later than other accounts of Jesus’ life, it does not describe his birth but offers a mystical, hymn-like opening with two images: Word and Light. It begins with “In the beginning was the Word” and concludes with “The Word became flesh and lived among us,” blending the philosophy of the time with the beliefs of his ancestors. For the Greeks, the Word—or Logos—was the inherent, organizing principle of the world that prevented it from devolving into chaos. In the Jewish tradition, God creates by speaking and sustains the world through Wisdom, described as “she appeared on earth and lived with humankind” (Baruch 3:37). It was also natural for John to connect the idea of God’s dwelling among humanity with the image of light because since its early days, Judaism symbolized God’s presence with the light of oil lamps in Iron Age shrines, and later in the Jerusalem Temple. John makes a profound theological connection: just as invisible light becomes visible when it reflects off a surface, the Word took on human form to reveal God’s glory. And I personally believe that this glory is continually born anew – in the body of every child.

You’d think that in the sunny Mediterranean climate, light would be a less prominent image than in the “bleak midwinters” of Toronto. Here, the cold and darkness leading up to the solstice amplify personal struggles. Like our northern-European predecessors in faith, over the coming months, we will rely on nature to remind us that darkness does not overcome the light. Yet tomorrow is not only Christmas Day, but it is also the first day of Hanukkah—a festival of lights. This coincidence is rare, and the two celebrations are unrelated, but they do share a parallel: Christmas celebrates God’s indwelling in the human body, while Hanukkah recalls the rededication of the Temple as the dwelling place of God, symbolized by the light of oil lamps.

The story of Hanukkah takes us to the 2nd century BC, when the Seleucid Empire—one remnant of Alexander the Great’s empire—controlled the region of Israel. A small band called the Maccabees rebelled against the imperial suppression of Jewish worship and culture and, against all odds, captured Jerusalem and reclaimed their sacred space. To rededicate the space for worship, they sought to light the Temple’s menorah. They intended to replicate the eight-day dedication of the original Solomon’s Temple (957BC) but found only enough oil for one day. Yet, miraculously, the oil burned for the full eight days, allowing time to prepare more oil for future rituals and giving Hanukkah its enduring length. To me, the best ancient stories point to the self-sacrificing love that sustains God’s light; as seen here in the bravery of the Maccabees, or in the gospels —in Mary’s “Yes” to God, and ultimately, in Jesus’ self-giving on the cross.

Three centuries after Jesus’ life, the imagery of hope and life as light entered the Nicene Creed, recited by Christians around the world: “Light from Light, true God from true God.” Later, these words inspired the 18th-century carol “O Come, All Ye Faithful,”  without which Christmas services in the English-speaking world simply wouldn’t feel complete. Its Latin title and the opening line, “Adeste Fideles,” more literally translates as “Be present faithfully”—an imperative to remain present to God’s light, not just tonight but throughout the year.

How do we stay present to God’s light? I believe we do so by slowing down. Time stops at the speed of light and slows as we approach it. For our loved ones now present with God in heaven, time has ceased. For God, who is light, time never existed. Once we slow down our busy minds, we might be able to release the expectations we impose on ourselves and others, and shift our attention away from the self, and towards maintaining connections with other people. In doing so, we may come into God’s presence. And as we enjoy the light of our candles tonight, let it remind us: light is not meant to remain hidden. It must shine, reflected and shared. Just as light slowly returns to the world after the solstice, even the smallest acts of love, justice, and service can grow into something powerful, illuminating the path for ourselves and others—tonight and always.

Thanks be to God. Merry Christmas!