Advent Begins in Darkness

Advent begins in darkness.

The light of Advent reminds us of how dark the dark truly is. Over time our eyes have grown accustomed to the dark. This is another way of saying that darkness blinds us to the glory of light, to thickness of color, to surprise of beauty. We’re not totally blind. “We live in the age of glare,” according to the poet Rod Jellema. The “age of glare” blinds us to the dazzling whiteness of white in the face of our Savior.

To enter into the story, the movement, the rhythm of Advent, we go by way of story. We rehearse the story of a people forsaken by God in the dark waters of Babylon. We lean into the words of the prophets. In the mouth of these witnesses, we hear the terrible drumbeat of a world gone wrong, of mountains crumbling into the sea, of nation after nation falling to the beast of Babylon. Where is God when our world comes to an end?

Sitting by the waters of Babylon, Israel cannot voice her songs. Blinded by the glare of lesser gods, Israel stumbles into darkness. The Lord turns his back as the evil empire crushes and consumes the apple of His eye. The smoke of a burning Temple eclipses the light of Zion. Who can sing praise in the place of the dead?

Jeremiah gives voice to the Lamentations of God’s people dispersed into the four the winds, driven into exile, left to wither on foreign soil. He moans,

I am the man who has seen affliction
under the rod of his wrath;
he has driven and brought me
into darkness without any light;
surely against me he turns his hand
again and again the whole day long. (Lamentations 3:1-3, ESV)

The anguished cry of God’s prophet still resounds today. Deep darkness smothers our world: Over one million Syrian refugees are dying to find a place of safety. Thousands Eriteans flee the unthinkable conditions of their own land only to be kidnapped and suffer unimaginable torment by traffickers seeking money. Countless people struggle in a perpetual state of war. By some estimates over 30 million people live in slavery throughout the world (with about 60,000 in the United States). The undoing of sin infects and affects every human on this planet.

We cannot even fully bear the darkness of sin. It would kill us. It did kill Jesus. He entered into this darkness with the only Light this world will ever truly behold. He is the luminous darkness. During Advent, we face this luminous darkness: remembering the exile of Israel and the coming redeemer.

We behold the place of exile where God’s people and God’s planet grieve in exile. In this exile, we face our own desperate need for the Light of God. We remember Jeremiah’s hope in the midst of Lamentation,

The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases;
his mercies never come to an end;
they are new every morning;
great is your faithfulness.
“The Lord is my portion,” says my soul,
“therefore I will hope in him.” (Lamentations 3:22-24, ESV)

The light of God penetrates our dark smog and opens our eyes both to his glory and our desperate need. The true hope of Advent strips away the false promises, false delights and false hopes that distract our age. There is no hope outside of the love of God in Christ. We cling to that hope, longing for justice, for healing, for redemption, longing for the true Light that gives light to everyone coming into the world (John 1:9).