Creekside Church Sermon of December 12, 1999 "Awaiting Further Light" John 1:6-8, 19-28	Rev. David Bibbee
Send this sermon to a friend

I have a definite bias toward the old school of outdoor Christmas illumination. One color-two at most, either blue or green. No blinkers. For window treatment I like the old candles, either singles, triples, or seven in the menorah pattern---you remember...the candles with the orange bulbs. Just replace the orange ones with blue or green to match the outdoor lights. And while we're on the subject, I like real Christmas trees, preferably Douglas Fir, although there is a sentimental spot in my heart for those old aluminum trees with the color wheels.

My preferences were formed early in life when my family, like most of yours, piled into the car and drove through town for the Christmas light tour. I remember how beautiful they appeared to me as a child. Part of the reason was because most homes didn't have outdoor lights, which made those that did all the more lovely. I also remember Christmas during the oil embargo in 1973, and the accompanying energy crisis when everyone was urged to turn down the thermostats to conserve electricity. There were few lights that year.

How different it is today. House after house illumined with lights by the thousands that make neighborhoods look like the main drag through Las Vegas. Is it just me, or does anyone else think the Christmas light displays have gone overboard? Why all the lights?

It might sound like a stretch, but I think there is a connection between all the illumination and the times in which we live. The world today is so unlike the one into which Jesus first came, yet in many ways it is no different. It was dark then, and it is dark now. A poet painted a word picture of conditions at the time of Jesus' first advent:

It was a sordid world...of poverty contrasted with opulence, of people literally used as fish food while their masters considered themselves aristocracy, of women degraded, of social strife and hatred.

Sounds like the headlines from the evening paper. Ours is a dark time...an anxious, uncertain, hungering time. The darker it becomes, the more frightened we become. The lights are an indicator of fear -- security lights on long December nights. Those who hang the lights may not come to church, or give Christ a passing thought. Perhaps it's their version of church-an unconscious desire for a little illumination in a cold, dark world. Others will be a little more aware of their need and will come to church, if only on Christmas Eve, looking for something secure and tangible to hang on to.

There was a man sent from God whose name was John. He came to bear witness to the light. He was not the light, but came to bear witness to the light. This was John the Baptist's ministry. As I said last week, John ministered outside...out in the middle of nowhere, outside the proper religious channels. He baptized people in preparation for Someone who had not yet appeared. Word got back to Jerusalem that some upstart prophet was drawing crowds in the next county, so a committee was sent to check him out.

John's father Zachriah was a priest. The only way one could become a priest was by descent, so John could therefore be considered a priest. But the committee reported that John didn't look nor act like any priest they had ever seen. They interrogated him, but left frustrated because they couldn't get a single, simple, satisfactory answer from him. "Who are you? Where are you from? What's your religious affiliation? How big is your congregation? Where can we get your doctrinal statement? Give us some information so we can categorize you."

"I am not the Christ," he said. That is not what they asked him. In Greek, the word "I" is stressed to make it clear that the focus was not upon John. "Okay...you're not the Christ. Are you Elijah?" It was believed that when Elijah appeared it would herald the Messiah's arrival. John dressed like Elijah but said, "No, I'm not him, either." "Are you the prophet?" Every Jew knew Deuteronomy 18: 15-"The Lord God will raise up a prophet like me from among you and him you shall heed." "Are you the prophet Moses spoke of?" "No." "We know who you aren't. We just want to know who you are. We have to file a report." "Then tell them I'm not the Christ. I'm not Elijah or a prophet. I am a voice crying in the wilderness. I'm just a voice. I'm a screaming siren warning people to pull of the road because someone great is on the way."

Whoever John was, he made it clear that all he said and did was not about him. John would have been a great Toastmaster. One of the cardinal rules taught in the Toastmaster's club is that when you are introducing a speaker, you say what is necessary and never, never say anything to upstage the main speaker. Stand up. Introduce. Sit down. "I'm a voice introducing someone else. Nothing is about me. It's all about him. It's about someone who stands in your midst you do not know or expect, and I am not even fit to take his shoes off."

The committee returned to Jerusalem frustrated. John didn't fit the categories of the religious establishment. They were supposed to be the experts about God. They were supposed to know his deeds and ways, but John had them scratching their heads, and if they couldn't handle John, they certainly weren't going to know what to do with the Light that was far more than the religion they had settled for.

Christmas is a problem for preachers. Every year we are faced with the task of telling a familiar story a new way and distilling its meaning for now. I prepare by reminding myself there is much about the Light that I do not know, and what I do know has been given as a gift of grace. It may sound a little strange, but this is where I take comfort from John's testimony. There was so much he didn't know about the Light to which he bore witness, either. He wasn't sure who he was looking for. If he was, he might well have missed him.

There are implications here for us. We act like we know what we are doing each Christmas. We know the story and the songs and we take comfort from repeating all the rich traditions. But we can't confine the Light to December. We can't put it on a Christmas card, or fit it into some special service, no matter how inspiring. If God fits neatly into our framework of beliefs; if we think we have a handle on the holy, and there's no room for surprises, then the God we have got is not one worth having.

I don't want to bah humbug Christmas lights. They are overdone, but there's a reason. It's because at some deep level people know they need something more from Christmas and much more from life.

Do you know what for me is the most moving part of the Christmas Eve service? It's when the lights are turned off and the sanctuary is dark. It reminds me that darkness describes the world we live in. Darkness is what preoccupies people's thinking. The dark is what we are afraid of. Darkness is what we find ourselves in without Him. While the world tries to hold the dark back with artificial lights, Christians are in no rush.

We can see by the light that only a few beheld in Bethlehem. We are willing to wait in the dark with only the light coming from the candles of an advent wreath.

There was a frustrated executive who hired and fired four personal secretaries in two years. He related his frustration to his mother who listened closely and asked, "Did you interview all these people yourself?" "Yes." "And did you ask any of them to sort your mail?" she continued. "Why would I do that?" "Because, my boy, it's the best way to determine priorities. If they put all the bulk mail on top, they don't realize the value of your time. If the fancy labeled stuff is on top, it's an indication that power is more important than people. But when you find the one who puts personal items above all else, you've got the kind of help you need."

I like that. It makes me think of how God came to us. Not in a bulk mailing...not imprinted with some flashy logo, not with lights or tinsel. He came personally, in a stable to peasant parents.

The great British preacher Leslie Weatherhead had a drawer in his desk which had the letters AFL on it. When questions came for which he had no answer or when he was looking for an answer to prayer; when wrestling with a thick theological issue he couldn't resolve; or when an idea came to mind which wasn't fully developed, he would write it on a slip of paper and deposit it in the AFL drawer. He visited the drawer from time to time and mused over his reflections to see if any new insights had come. And what did AFL mean? Awaiting further light. This is the image I will leave with you...awaiting further light. God's coming to us in Jesus is a profound mystery which can't be contained in any church, creed, or religion. We cannot hold Him, but we can be held by Him. And especially in this season of anticipation, we can worship Him, and in so doing have all the light we will ever need.

All of the sermons that have appeared in text form on our Web Site since August 1996 are available here in the On-Line version. Use the search engine below to find the sermon you want. You may search by date, sermon title, or content. The sermons are full-text searchable.

Sermon Search:



Exact phrase    All words (AND)    Any word (OR)