Date:Epiphany 3a 1999
Text:Isaiah 9:1-4
Theme:Living In The Light

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

My friend tells of the night that his three year old daughter woke him from a deep, sound sleep. "Daddy," she said. That voice was coming from another world; the awakened world and my friend wanted to stay in his slumber world.

But his daughter would not let him. "Daddy," she repeated. As he opened his eyes, she stood at the edge of the bed, inches from his face. "Daddy, I'm scared."
"What's wrong, honey?"
"I need a flashlight in my room."
"What?"
"I need a flashlight in my room."
"Why?"
"Because it's dark and I'm scared."

My friend told her that the lights were on; she had a night light and the bathroom light was always on.
"But Daddy," she objected, "what if I open my eyes and can't see anything?"

My friend didn't like having his sleep interrupted by deep theological questions and was about to tell her that this wasn't the time to discuss afflictions and blindness and such things and to wait until the morning. Just as he was about to speak, his wife interrupted and explained that there was a power failure around midnight and that Katie must have awakened in the dark. No night light; no bathroom light with its warm, reassuring glow. She had opened her eyes and had been unable to see anything. Just darkness.

My friend says that even in his sleep deprived state, he wasn't hard hearted enough not to be touched by the thought of his little darling waking up in the middle of a darkness so black that she couldn't find her way out of her bedroom. So he climbed out of bed, picked Katie up, and went to the kitchen drawer with all the junk in it, fished around, and took out a flashlight. He showed Katie that it worked and brought her to bed. There he reassured her that mommy and daddy loved her and were there. He then gave her a kiss and tucked her into bed. Even in the darkness, the deep darkness that frightened her, that was enough for Katie as she closed her eyes and quietly and peacefully drifted off to sleep. (from Max Lucado The Applause of Heaven)

Darkness. We don't understand that concept the way the people in Isaiah's day did. We don't understand it because we don't live in the days, or nights, of deep darkness. And I am talking about physical darkness--not spiritual. The truth is, even at night, we live in a light filled world. The lights of our cities and towns--and airport-- fill the night; the light shines high into the sky and reflects off of clouds and bounces back down. And our nights just aren't as dark as they used to be.

The other night Ala and I took an evening walk. As we walked I told her that the next time we went out we would take a flashlight with us. We would take the flashlight, not to light our way, the street lights were doing an admirable job at that, but to let the cars see us--or at least see our flashlight gleaming in the darkness as we walked along.

The people of Isaiah's day did not enjoy that luxury. They did not have the luxury of flicking on a wall switch and flooding their rooms with light; they did not have the luxury of flicking a switch and having a flashlight illumine their way. Oh yes, they had lamps and candles; but lamps and candles do not give off an immense amount of light--that's why we have cozy, intimate, close to you, candle lit dinners.

The people in Isaiah's day understood his illustration and allusion in the Old Testament lesson. For, if the moon were hidden behind the clouds, their nights were deep, dark, and long. You wandered around in the inky blackness; you stumbled around in the gloom. Like little Katie, they knew what it was to live in a land of deep darkness.

It didn't take much for them to make the jump from the physical darkness to the spiritual darkness of which Isaiah spoke. For Isaiah lived in tumultuous times; his ministry spanned forty years. It was only 19 years after his call into the prophetic ministry that Isaiah and all of Israel witnessed the final destruction of the northern kingdom of Israel in 721 B.C.

Isaiah lived in a terrible and turbulent time. Foreign kings invaded the holy land and sent the people off into exile--ethnic cleansing before the term became popular. Zebulun and Naphtali were part of that northern kingdom; they were among the first to go into exile; they were among the first to be ethnically cleansed; they were conquered and depopulated long before the final destruction of Samaria, the capital of the northern kingdom. Deep darkness indeed fell over the land, a deep spiritual darkness permeated the people.

The darkness deepened as the people abandoned the Lord. They turned their backs upon the Lord and worshiped other gods, false gods, along with him. Some of the kings abandoned the worship of the Lord altogether. According to Jewish tradition, Isaiah was sawn in two during the reign of the wicked king Manasseh. Such was the depth of the darkness in the land.

But God would not leave his people in their darkness; God would not leave his people in their sin. Isaiah looked forward to the day when God would send his Son, his Savior, into the land of Zebulun and Naphtali and there proclaim his word of love, his word of forgiveness, his word of restoration, his word of hope to the people, to the people living in the deep darkness. Matthew tells us that Jesus fulfilled that prophecy. The people living in darkness have seen a great light.

In the depth of sin and degradation God would not keep silent; he sent his Son into the sin stained world to reveal his love, his concern, his forgiveness for his people. Look at what Isaiah tells us. He tells us that the people walking in darkness have seen a GREAT light; the same words and word order that the Lord uses to describe his creation of the sun and the moon in Genesis, chapter 1. God's great light brings light and joy and life and salvation to the people, to the people dwelling in deep darkness.

In the midst of hurt and despair our Lord comes to his people and binds up their wounds. Our Lord comes to his people and picks them up and restores them. Our Lord comes to his people and comforts them in their hurt. Our Lord comes to his people; he comes to his people and reminds them and reassures them of his great love for them.

Our Lord comes to his people and he is the great light; he is the great light who shines in their lives and shows the emptiness and hollowness and terror they face without him. He shines in their lives and fills their lives, allaying their fears.

Johann Wolfgang von Goethe, the great German poet and philosopher, lived in this emptiness and fear. Goethe was an agnostic, not an atheist. He just wasn't sure whether or not God existed. He considered himself an enemy of Christianity but Goethe was continually plagued by fear throughout his life. Goethe feared the future. Goethe feared the present. And, most of all, Goethe feared his death. As he lay on his deathbed, as death reached out his cold, clammy hand to claim him, as Goethe entered that valley of the shadow of death, the old man aroused himself and cried out, "More light!" His servants scurried around the room, throwing back the drapes, opening the curtains, letting light shine into the room. As daylight flooded the room, Goethe again called out, "More light, more light."

As the darkness of death enveloped him, as his life slipped away, as death rapidly approached, breathing down his neck, Goethe craved light, real light, light to shine in his darkness. Goethe walked in the darkness of unbelief his whole life. And now, as he lay dying, he craved light, the great light, but all he had, as he lay at death's door, was fear--and darkness--deep darkness. "Light, more light."

As Pastor Paul Stokes lay on his deathbed, he turned to his wife and said, "I'm going through the valley of the shadow of death right now. Turn off the light so I can go to our two children in heaven while you stay with the other two down here."

Thirty years before his own death, Pastor Stokes' son, Paul Jr., and daughter, Becky, died in a doubly tragic auto accident. The children and two friends were returning home from Paul Jr's birthday party. As they drove through the dark night, something terrible happened. Their car went off the unguarded highway, careened down a steep embankment, landing in a canal that ran parallel to the highway.

The car rapidly sank in the deep water. But something happened as the car sank. Paul Jr. was able to kick out the car's windshield. Paul and his two friends escaped the submerged car and swam to the surface. In the deep darkness of the night the young people called out to each other. Paul Jr. had escaped the watery tomb but he realized that his sister Becky was still in the car.

Without hesitation Paul took long, deep gulps of air into his lungs and dove back down to the sunken car to rescue his sister. Meanwhile, the other two young people quickly swam for shore. They waited in the darkness for the sound of surfacing swimmers. Time crawled as they agonized over the struggle that was going on beneath the surface, in the total darkness of the black, murky water. Finally, after long minutes of waiting, they knew that both brother and sister perished in the tragedy.

The whole truth of the ordeal would not come to light for several more hours. Paul Jr. was a senior lifeguard and an excellent swimmer. Even in the darkness, against the odds, he found the submerged automobile; he found his way to the windshield in order to get back into the automobile. Later, when the rescue workers found Paul and Becky in the car, he had his arm around his sister's neck in the classic life saving position. In that position he was frozen in death. Paul could have saved himself but chose to go back for his sister.

But, even later, it was learned that Becky did not drown. She had no water in her lungs. She was dead before she even entered the water, either by a broken neck or a severe blow to the head in the course of the accident. Her brother died trying to rescue his already dead sister--that added to the tragedy.

The children's death shocked their community and church. Hundreds of mourners already crowded the funeral home as Pastor and Mrs. Stokes arrived. Many people wondered what they would do; they wondered how they would react. The pastor and his wife walked to the two caskets and silently stood looking at their two beloved children. Tear filled their eyes and rolled down their cheeks; their grief was obviousl; this family was real; what they felt was real; they were no plaster saints.

In the midst of his grief, his hurt, his breaking heart, Pastor Stokes repeated the words of another man who lost his sons and daughters in a freak tragedy; Pastor Stokes repeated the words of Job, "The Lord has given; the Lord has taken away. Blessed be the name of the Lord." With that he fell silent and sat down--but it was at that moment that he revealed his supreme faith in God. This man of God, stricken in the heart, filled with pain and grief, experiencing the ultimate tragedy, did not curse his fate, nor did he curse his God. Instead, he and his faithful wife cast themselves and their dead children into the hands of their loving Lord.

Goethe lived in the darkness of unbelief. And as he passed he called for "light, more light." Paul Stokes lived in the light of faith, he lived in the light of Christ, and, as he lay dying, he could peacefully say, "turn out the light so I can go to our children who are in heaven."

The people walking in darkness have seen a great light. They have seen the light of God's love, the light of God's forgiveness, the light of God's grace, the light of God's comfort. We have seen the light; we walk in the light; we live in the light; and that light is Christ our Lord. Amen.

And may the peace of God which far surpasses all human understanding keep your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus our Lord. Amen.

(Paul Stokes story adapted from Chicken Soup For the Christian Soul)