Isaiah 9:2-7

We have a cottage in northwestern Lower Michigan, far from the nearest town and its streetlights.  The sun doesn't set in summer till ten o'clock, and when the night falls it's usually well-lit by the moon hanging over the lake or a sea of generous stars.  But on overcast nights, the unlit two-rut road that leads to our place is darker than dark.  When we walk to a neighboring cottage for an evening, we carry a flashlight for the midnight walk back.  But occasionally we've forgotten that flashlight or discovered its batteries gone when we flipped it on.  This, then, is what it is to "walk in darkness.  This, for a moment, is what it is to live in a "land of deep darkness."  It's utterly disorienting.  Perception of distance and sense of direction dissolve.  You feel your way slowly with tiny, cautious steps.  My wife and I always hold hands.  She quips that we do this so that if one of us stumbles, we'll both be sure to fall down.  Actually, it's vaguely frightening.  But then we round a twist in the road, and the porch light we left burning flickers through the trees.  It's still very dark, but now there's a point of reference, a destination, and you can see, just enough.  Suddenly we're oriented again.  We step faster, fearlessly.  A light has shined on us, and it's home. 

Tune our eyes to the Advent dim, O God, that we may see even the faintest glimmers of your light in the darkness around us.  May we step boldly toward you, our destination, our home, our light.  Fill us with wisdom, Wonderful Counselor. empower us, Mighty God. save us, Everlasting Father.  Grant us peace, Prince of Peace. Amen.

Michael L.  Lindvall

Austin Seminary Ambassador and Trustee

Senior Pastor, The Brick Presbyterian church in 

the cit of New York, New York