Sermon at the First Eucharist of Christmas 2016

Picture, if you will, a fertile windswept landscape of low hills and large horizons.  The land is farmed - arable mainly, with some beef cattle and sheep.  Two fresh water lochs stretch off to the west, reflecting the gold and red rays of the setting sun.  It is the midwinter solstice, about 2.45 in the afternoon, and you are in the centre of the Mainland of Orkney twenty miles or so north of John O’Groats.

In front of you is a large mound, known as Maeshowe.  Its origns are a mystery.  It was built, we think, about 5000 years ago – possibly at around the time of the building of the great stone circle of Brodgar a couple of miles away between the lochs.  Maeshowe was also built of great flags of stone, layer upon layer set one on top of the other, gradually building inwards until it could be capped with a single stone on top.  The whole mound was then covered in turf, all bar the entrance tunnel, 15 feet long and formed of four massive flagstones.  You have to go down on all fours to enter Maeshowe – there is no other entrance for proud warriors standing tall – for Maeshowe is a place for those who have been humbled, for the dead and those who mourn them.

But the remarkable thing about Maeshowe is what happens on a clear afternoon at the time of the winter solstice.  For on that day only the setting sun’s rays are directly in line with the tunnel entrance to the tomb, so that bright light pierces the darkness and travels slowly across the back wall of the tomb, coming to rest momentarily under the tomb shelf built into that wall.  And then, as the sun sets, all is dark once more within….. Whoever designed Maeshowe was not only a fine astronomer and architect, but had a profound sense of the dramatic and an understanding of the human spirit which longs for light and hope in the midst of darkness and fear.

There is something about the dark that holds an almost elemental fear for us.  It represents and can feed our deepest fears, our vulnerabilities, our mortality, death itself, and the vast realms of unknowing that lie beyond us and our experience.  The darkness of a deep winter’s night stirs the elemental within us.  We long for signs of hope, of light, of life beyond the deaths we encounter.  Places like Maeshowe were designed to do just that – to show in the most dramatic way that even in our very darkest hour, light can and will come as a sign of hope and the possibility of new life.

By the time most of us reach even middle age, there are plenty of darknesses which we’ve had to face:  the darkness of physical illness perhaps, either of ourselves or of loved ones; the darkness of bereavement or loss; the darkness of hidden suffering, of hopes dashed, of disappointments, shame, guilt, and frustrations.

We adults try to hide our fears and be clever about them. But these fears and darknesses can be just as powerful for us as they are for a frightened four year old in the middle of the night.

So what does it mean when we are told in the Gospel of John that ‘the light shines in the darkness and the darkness does not engulf it’?  What sense are we to make of that extraordinary statement, in the midst of our own fears and doubts?

Somewhere at the heart of the Christmas story lies a very important truth that’s easily doubted or dismissed.  The truth is this: that God’s love for you and I cannot be defeated by anything – no darkness, no fear, not death, nothing can stop God’s love from holding us if we’ll let him.  The birth of the God-man Jesus Christ is a guarantee that God’s love and care for each of us is permanent and unshakable.  In coming amongst us a tiny child, God risked everything for you and I.  He is that light that pierces any darkness, for ever.  Nothing can stop or negate God’s love for you.

You may not feel that God cares very much for you – we’re all good at putting ourselves down, believing that we’re not very lovable.  And when bad things happen to us – when the darkness seems to overwhelm us – God can seem to be a very long way away.  But the promise of Christmas is that whatever darkness we may be experiencing, God is there in the middle of it with us.  Bereavement, loneliness, illness, abuse, rejection, even in death … God is there – a light no darkness can quench.  At Christmas we’re reminded that God’s love is so utterly persistent that it has reached out to us in the form of a young child.

I thought I would tell you a short story to end with.  It’s one which I read to my young nephews when they were small … and it’s about a little bear who is afraid of the dark and the big bear who looks after him.  You may know the story…

Big bear and little bear had had a good day roaming in the forest, and got back to their cave as evening fell.  After some supper, big bear put little bear to bed, and went over to the fireside to read his Bear Book.  But little bear couldn’t get to sleep.  ‘Can’t you sleep, little bear?’ asked big bear.  ‘No’ he replied, ‘I’m scared of the dark.  Can I have a light, please?’  So big bear went to the cupboard and found a tiny nightlight which he lit and put by little bear’s bed.  Big bear went back to his book.  But soon little bear was up again.  ‘Can’t you sleep, little bear?’ asked big bear.  ‘No’ said little bear, ‘there’s still lots of dark in the room’.  ‘But you have a nightlight,’ said big bear.  ‘Yes, but it’s not big enough’ said little bear.  So big bear went back to the cupboard and found a larger lamp, which he lit and put beside the nightlight by little bear’s bed. … Well, you can imagine the next part of the story.… When finally, big bear had hung the very largest lamp in the cave above little bear’s bed, still little bear couldn’t sleep.  ‘You see, it’s very dark everywhere out there,’ said little bear, pointing to the dark forest at the entrance to the cave.  Big bear thought long and hard.  Finally he took little bear by the paw.  ‘Come with me’ he said as they walked out of the cave and into the big black forest.  Little bear was terrified, and clung on to big bear’s paw for all he was worth, until suddenly they came into a clearing.  ‘There’, said big bear.  And little bear looked up, astounded, at all the twinkling stars and the big, big yellow moon shining brightly.  ‘I’ve brought you the moon and all the stars, ‘said big bear.  But little bear didn’t reply.  He’d climbed into big bear’s arms and had fallen sound asleep.

Any of us may have to face some terrifying experiences of darkness in our lives.  The promise given us in the child Jesus at Christmas is that we need never face that darkness alone.  In Christ Jesus we have a light that shines in the darkness, and the darkness will never overcome it.