A Child in the Lime Light
a sermon based on Isaiah 9:2-7
by Rev. Randy L. Quinn
 

The prophets often used the metaphor of darkness to describe the world as they knew it and offered hope in the metaphor of God’s light that would transcend and dispel the darkness.

It wasn’t until several years ago, however, that I fully understood the metaphor.

Like most of you, I grew up after Thomas Alva Edison invented the incandescent light bulb. Electric lights have been in every home I’ve ever lived in. I have rarely known times when light was no more than a flip of the switch away from the darkness. Even on camping trips, I’ve carried a flashlight.

Even those of you who grew up before electricity was commonplace knew that light was only as far away as a gas or oil lamp. A strike of the match, and there would be light on any day of the year and any hour of the night.

The prophets, on the other hand, relied upon fire to light up the night. Someone stood watch to keep the embers burning or they faced the task of starting a fresh fire the hard way. And in the winter months, the fire going out not only made it dark, it became cold as well.

Someone had to stand the watch to keep the fire burning.

And I suspect the prophets had all taken their turns at keeping the watch over the fire. From those long nights of waiting for daylight to relieve them of their task, the prophets created the metaphor that has become so important to our worship service tonight. There was a longing that we don’t fully understand. In the effort to fight off sleep there was a vigilance that is rarely experienced today by anyone who has not stood guard in the military.

The closest most of us have come to experiencing that kind of longing is on those rare occasions when we are visiting a relative and the power goes out and we happen to be walking through as strange house. We don’t know where things are so we trip over the furniture and bang our heads into walls.

It happened to me on the ship one night. The lights were out and I was in a strange room that was pitching to and fro. There was no way to know which way to turn. And the clues of a night light or outdoor lights shining through the windows were not available.

It was then that I began to understand Isaiah’s metaphor.

Isaiah portrays his world as a world in darkness awaiting the dawn of a new day. In that new day, Isaiah foresees God’s light shining in and through a new King, a King yet to be born.

I suspect that every new King that was born was looked at with hope and wonder after Isaiah’s message was heard. Every time an heir to the throne was born, someone was watching to see if this would be the one who would dispel the darkness.

And every child born in that setting would have the eyes of the world upon him. He would be in the lime light until he reached adulthood – or until he took the throne, whichever came first.

But children in the lime light don’t always benefit from that kind of scrutiny.

I don’t remember where I read it – or maybe it was a documentary on television – but I remember a discussion about the difficulty child actors have when they become adult actors. Not many make the transition successfully.

One exception is Ron Howard, I suppose. But I know some people still stand in awe and surprise at how little “Opie” has grown up before our eyes. We still see him as a child who has grown up.

Jesus is born and the eyes of the world are upon him. The shepherds come. The magi come. In the temple Anna and Simeon come. There is a longing in their eyes and in their hearts, a longing not unlike the longing of those who stand watch over the fire. It is a longing for the child to bring the dawn of a new day.

Henri Nouwen tells the story a story about a rabbi exploring the moment when darkness ends and daylight begins. In one of their discussions, a student suggested that the night watch would end when there was enough light to distinguish between a sheep and a dog.

The rabbi was not convinced.

Another student offered the suggestion that it happened when you could distinguish between a fig tree and a grape vine.

But that did not satisfy the rabbi either.

Finally, one student offered an answer that everyone found to be true. The dawn begins when you can look into the face of a human being and have enough light to recognize them as your brother or sister. Until then, it is still night.

I am convinced there is far more truth in that discussion than even they understood. For until we can look into the face of every human being and recognize them as our brother or sister, then we have not had the light of Christ in us and we are still in darkness.

“In 1942, the darkness of war blanketed the world. In March, the Japanese occupied the Dutch East Indies and with a policy of “Asia for the Asian” interred all non-Asians. Conditions in the internment camps were grim. Cockroaches, rats, bedbugs, and lice infested everything. Food was scarce, and more than half of the internees did not survive.

“A Presbyterian missionary, Margaret Dryburgh, and Norah Chambers, a graduate of London’s Royal Academy of Music numbered among the prisoners. They were determined to offer their music to the camp, but they had no musical scores and no instruments. The two women painstakingly recreated four-voice arrangements of works by Schubert, Dvorak, and Chopin from their memory. Prisoners’ voices substituted for instruments. Just after Christmas sixty years ago the “vocal orchestra” presented its first concert.

“In the midst of that dark night of the soul, amid hatred and violence, the prisoners sang. They sang because it lifted sagging spirits and brought hope to weary souls. They sang to bring a ray of beauty to brighten their bleak world. They sang to proclaim their confidence in the presence of a Spirit that the darkness could not stop. They sang to praise God.”

(Luchs, Arvin R. “The Gift: December 22 – 28.” The Upper Room Disciplines 2003 (A Book of Daily Devotions Based on the Lectionary). Nashville: Upper Room Books, 2002, p 371).

They understood the metaphor of darkness as Isaiah understood it. And they proclaimed the presence of God’s light in the midst of the darkness, whether the world around them confirmed their belief or not.

Our service tonight will end with us carrying light. The light is not intended to illuminate our faces nor is it simply intended to light the page from which you will be singing, but rather to illuminate the darkness as in the metaphor of Isaiah. It only becomes the light of Christ when we use that light to illuminate our neighbor and see them as beloved children of God. Isaiah’s prophecy is fulfilled when we help our neighbors experience the fulfillment of their longings, as the light dawns with the coming new day.

On the first Christmas, that new day began with the birth of Jesus.

In the Jewish understanding of the day, that new day began at sunset; we still await the dawning of that new day. Tonight we proclaim our belief that the light of the world has come and rest in the knowledge and hope that with the dawn Christ will reign – in our hearts and throughout the world.

Our longings and our hopes, along with the longings and hopes of our neighbors can only be fulfilled when the light of Christ shines through us and we can see Christ on the face of each other.