We are living in a townhome in this season while we wait and hope for a less intense housing market. A few weeks ago I set up a pre-lit Christmas tree from Home Depot in our family room, and it brings me much happiness every day when I see it or sit next to it’s soft glow. It’s not perfectly full and it doesn’t smell like a balsam fir, but when I step on the little button at the base of the tree the lights come on like magic. A few years ago in the height of my “we will only have a live Christmas tree” phase, we had a tree problem. I still think of our 2019 tree saga every time I turn the lights on.
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After much debate about where to get one and how large it should be, we set up a live tree in the front room of our house. It leans a little and sheds a lot, but it smells divine and has a fullness to it that makes up for our Charlie Brown tree of Christmas 2018. The problem with this year’s tree, though, is it won’t stay lit. On any given day I walk into the front room excited to flip the switch that makes magic happen, and this is what I discover:
Each day a different section goes out. It’s as if the lights take turns playing this game with me on purpose. Sometimes I can fix the issue by unplugging and reworking things here or there, but it isn’t without some cussing and fussing as I rummage through dry needles looking for the latest source of our tree troubles.
In a most maddening way, this tree points to one of the most important truths of the Christmas season:
It’s hard to keep the lights on.
Amidst our inflatable Santas and ceramic snow villages, it’s easy to forget the connection between our commercial Christmas celebrations and the Advent season. I forget every morning until I see our half-lit tree. It’s not about the gifts and the food, the parties or the programs. Christmas wouldn’t mean anything without light.
For years I thought Advent was mostly a time of waiting and a good opportunity to eat an extra piece of chocolate for 25 straight days. There is truth in the notion that it’s an expectant time, but I learned this week that the word literally means “coming.” Advent reminds us to look back at the coming of Jesus as a prophecy fulfilled, and at the same time, to look forward to the second coming of Jesus when all will be made right.
After 400 years of silence, Jesus—our promised light—entered the world. His work here won’t be finished and all is not well until he comes again. But his light didn’t leave when he ascended. We are the chosen bearers of it.
Maybe that’s what this season primarily asks of us: that we keep working to keep the lights on, to keep our trees lit up… looking for light and finding ways to pierce dark places with hopeful flickers of it.
There is no shortage of darkness around us: lonely people, dead-end jobs, miserable marriages, broken families, diseased bodies, empty wombs, and abandoned rooms. There are places and seasons where the darkness is so heavy, so pervasive that it takes our breath away. It’s naive at best and negligent at worst to pretend that darkness is not an ever-present reality even in our hearts and our homes. Our world is full of hurts and horrors, sin and sadness.
BUT, Jesus.
The people who walk in darkness
will see a great light.
For those who live in a land of deep darkness,
a light will shine.
Isaiah 9:2
Surely we have an opportunity to dispel some of the darkness when we keep working to light up our own corners of the world. Sending cards to people who are grieving or discouraged. Hanging a wreath on the door of our office. Buying a coffee for the weary commuter in the car behind us. Sponsoring Christmas gifts for a child or a senior in need. Donating or delivering food to the hungry. Scheduling a counseling session for a troubled marriage. Calling an estranged family member. Taking snacks to the lobby of the local cancer center. Speaking encouragement over a struggling child. Listening to someone tell a story that matters to them. Offering our patience and a smile to a busy store clerk.
Our leaning tree is living proof of the difference even a few lights can make. Every little bulb on each individual strand counts. And when all the lights are on, the darkness is pushed back making the room and the world a little brighter.
Every day of this busy season, this dreary winter, and this coming year we have a choice. We can be people who let the darkness take hold, or we can be people who continue trying—hard as it may be—to keep the lights on. We are living in the shadows, but as hopeful light-bearers of the Light itself.
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