He ain't heavy (and the gospel is light)
Advent isn't just about dispelling darkness, writes George Pitcher
To wait for the coming of light during this Advent season seems preposterous. It also seems somewhat impertinent, given what has unfolded in the region we’re still pleased to call the holy lands since the unspeakable acts of 7th October.
I feel far from alone in identifying a Christian complacency, rather than hope, in awaiting the coming of the light at Christmas this year. A friend at a central London church tells me that corporate organisers of a number of carol concerts have asked for “O come, O come Emmanuel” to be taken off the playlist. They can’t bring themselves to sing the words “and ransom captive Israel, that mourns in lonely exile here.”
And it’s not just the war in Gaza, piled upon the protracted horrors of the now almost overlooked conflict in Ukraine. The West appears broken and futile, with the implausible resilience of Trumpian nationalism in the US and similarly frightening political developments in Europe.
In the UK, a principal intra-governmental debate is about how best to dodge international law to send our refugees to Rwanda. This occurs against the seasonal backdrop of the founding Christian story of a holy family driven into Egypt under threat of death. The irony of Israel bombing Palestinian families into Egypt today is almost too painful to witness.
Radiant beam or guttering candle?
So what does our coming of the light look like? A radiant beam of righteousness and justice, or a guttering candle in this world’s cold winter night?
I’d want to offer a couple of re-adjusted interpretations of the coming of light this Advent. The first arises from one of those domestic anecdotes with which priests are fond of opening sermons.
Struggling in the kitchen the other day to think of what I might say on this subject in a broadcast slot, I could hear family endeavouring to get the dining room ready for Christmas. Something was called out to me. My internal reaction was “Ssh, I’m trying to think.”
It turned out that the wall-bracket lights in the dining room would only come up dimly. My son explained the science (so I adopted the brace position). I’d thought we had energy-efficient LED bulbs, but actually they’re the older Compact Fluorescent Lamps (CFL). The dimmer switch is designed for older filament bulbs that use more current, so it needs at least one of those in the circuit to bring the current up to an operating level.
Human hope in darkness
That strikes me as a metaphor for the light of human hope in darkness. The point of light in darkness is not for its own illumination to be admired, but to ignite light in others. Not unlike the way hundreds of candles are lit from a single source at the start of one of those carol services.
Furthermore, the Christmas story is old, in human terms. Even, we might say, “old-fashioned”. It’s like an old light bulb that we need to bring up the current to light the newer ones. To stretch the metaphor to breaking point, the process is energy-efficient at a time when we feel drained and lacking in energy.
The second aspect of light that I’m finding helpful is to switch to its alternative meaning away from illumination altogether: Light, as in lack of weight. The gospel promise of the light of the world that, when followed, will always illumine the world for the pilgrimage through it, tends to obscure (or even hide in the dark) this other lightness of touch.
Burden of faith is light
The Christian injunction is that the burden of faith is a light one. In short, it isn’t actually meant to be burdensome. It follows that we’re called to tread softly, travel lightly. Indeed, what is called the Great Commission specifically instructs disciples to be light on their feet: “Take nothing with you for the journey.”
This can be read any number of ways. Not least, for the environmentalist, it can re-affirm the Native American injunction to “leave only footprints” (though probably not of the carbon variety). But, for our purposes here, it must mean that Christian mission is to tread lightly in the world. It’s not to feel like a burden, or it’s surely not something that anyone would want to carry.
The hope – there’s that word again – must be that what Christmas brings is both light that illumines human darkness and light in that it’s easy to bear. Because the world isn’t easy to bear at the moment or, to be honest, at any time.
For the individual, that’s burden-lifting too. We can’t save the world on our own. But each light, like those candles, can light another one – it’s in the nature of flames to spread, so light, like fire, is catching. And, while it’s incumbent on anyone of virtue never to give up trying, we shouldn’t make the job tiresome or exhausting. At Christmas, after all, we celebrate that the heavy-lifting has been done already.
George Pitcher is a visiting fellow at the LSE and an Anglican priest