Creekside Church Sermon of December 15, 2002 "Who's Afraid of the Dark?" John 1:6-8, 19-28	Rev. David Bibbee
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What is it about darkness which brings out the fear in us? I remember going through a "afraid of the dark" phase. During the daytime my bedroom was a secure place. But when I crawled into bed and the lights went out, it turned into a spook house. Strange sounds were heard…creaks, squeaks, cracks, thumps. Most came from under my bed. My imagination created worst-case scenarios…a rat as big as a raccoon, a poisonous snake, a nest of black widow spiders, the creature from the Black Lagoon. I shook under the sheets until I reached my fear threshold, ran down the hallway and jumped in between my mom and dad for protection.

"What's the matter?" "There's something in my room!" Mom would escort me back, look under the bed and in the closet and as always, found nothing. But moments after the lights were turned out, the sounds were back and down the hall I ran. "This time there really is something in my room," then my mother, like millions of other mothers said, "There's nothing to be afraid of." What I couldn't understand was why, if there was nothing to be afraid of, I was afraid.

In the late nineteenth century someone wrote a children's bedtime poem that began, "The dark is kind and cozy, the dark is soft and deep; the dark will pat my pillow, and love me as I sleep." Had this been read to me before I went to bed as a child, I would have said, "Yeah…right!"

There were moments during my solo stay in the Ontario Wilderness when I felt like a little boy again. The pristine landscape that was so breathtakingly beautiful during the day had an eerie, ominous feeling after dark, and mom and dad's room wasn't just down the hall. One evening I stayed out fishing later than I should, and it was dark before I reached the cabin. Fortunately, I had a bright headlamp and was able to follow the shoreline back. That night I had a new appreciation of the calming effect of a lit match and the glow of a kerosene lantern keeping the darkness at bay.

Darkness can inspire other reactions. An old pastor told me a story that happened in a Methodist church in North Webster back in the 1930's. The Methodist Bishop was preaching at an evening service. During worship a tremendous thunderstorm blew in and knocked out the electricity. The packed sanctuary was plunged into darkness, so the bishop stopped and told everyone to sit quietly and he would resume once the power was back on. Before the lights went out, one of the old brothers fell asleep, and he woke up during the blackout. He thought he had slept through the service and that they had left him there as a joke. He was not amused. He shot off a string of expletives that would have made a merchant marine blush. "Those blankety, blank, blank left me in this blankety, blank, blank church!" Just then the power came back on and he found himself surrounded by both shocked and amused faithful. I guess the moral is, "See who is around before you curse the darkness."

I won't ask for a show of hands, but I am curious…how many of you are afraid of the dark? You probably don't fear it in the same way you did when you were children. Instead we have a grown-up version. Darkness is an apt description of the time in which we live. If darkness is taken to mean living in a world where there seems to be no understanding of who we are or where we are headed; if it suggests no alternative to the mess things are in; if it means living in a world that is hell-bent on war as a solution to conflict; if darkness describes the growing threat the world faces from terrorism; it describes the ever widening gulf between the ranks of the rich and the teeming masses of the poor, then we know all about darkness and fear.

The news is about darkness. Entertainment is about darkness. "How low can you go" television executives defend the sewage they produce by saying, "We're only giving the American public what it wants." The idea we are entitled to whatever we want, regardless of how it affects others is darkness. Someone said, "If we are people who pray, darkness is apt to be a lot of what our prayers are about. If we are people who do not pray, it is apt to be darkness in one form or another that has stopped our mouths."

The world into which Jesus was born was described this way by an anonymous writer:

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

But upon those who dwelt in this land and time of deep darkness, a light would shine. In the wilderness was a voice shouting. The voice belonged to John the Baptist. John appears in all the gospels, but in the Gospel of John we know little more than nothing about him. No mention about his wardrobe or diet like last week's lesson from Mark. John's gospel wants us to know that the Baptist was sent by God to announce the light that was coming into the world. People were flocking to hear John, and to avoid any misunderstandings, he let it be known that he wasn't the light they were waiting for. John was the preview of the coming attraction.

In the Toastmaster's Club there is a cardinal rule for those responsible to introduce a featured speaker. "Don't do anything to upstage the one you are introducing." It's your job to prepare the audience to receive the one with the message. This was John's assignment…to ready Israel for illumination.

Envoys from Jerusalem came to see what the commotion was all about. "Who are you?" they asked John. "I'm not the Messiah, if that's what you're thinking." "Are you Elijah?" "Nope." "Are you the Prophet?" "Nope." "Alright then, who are you?" "I'm the voice." "Well, Mr. Voice, if you are no one important, why are you baptizing all these people?" "Among you is one you do not know. I'm paving the road for him and I am not even fit to untie his shoelaces."

For someone with as important a job as John, he didn't know very much. He wasn't given Jesus' name, rank, or serial number. John didn't know if a flight of stairs from heaven would fold open and the Messiah would march down to a trumpet fanfare. He didn't know if he would arrive on a white stallion. John didn't know if Jesus' face would shine like the sun, or if he would look like just another face in the crowd. After the resurrection, Jesus only appeared to those who believed him. For all John the Baptist knew, maybe the only ones who would recognize him were those who were looking for him. "Can you tell us when to expect him?" the crowds asked. John had waited for him all his life. He had waited in the dark like everyone else, and all he could say was, "He'll get here when he gets here, and when he does, you'll know."

At Advent, the church hears what it needs to hear but doesn't like to hear. "WAIT." It seems like all we get done doing is waiting. There are things we wait for that never come. Sometimes the things we wait for do come, but do not come on time. At other times things we have never asked for or waited for are dropped into our laps.

Soon, we will be singing, "Christ the Savior is born." But we also sang, "O Come, O Come Immanuel." "The Word became flesh and dwelt among us full of grace and truth," John's gospel says. But we are still waiting. We've been waiting a couple thousand years now. We have the fact of his birth. We have faith in his resurrection. We have evidence of his presence, but we do not have Christ at his fullness. We know him only in part. The light shines in the darkness, but we still wait in the dark.

We don't know much more than John the Baptist while he waited for Jesus. We don't know when or how he will come despite what those who claim to know such things tell us. What we do know as we wait in the darkness at the close of 2002 is that we must hope in him and do what he told us to do, shining this little light of yours and mine into the dark places until he comes in his resplendent light to banish all darkness.

We're dealing with mystery here…something our minds cannot grasp, but something we can live into. Two weeks ago, Ginny Haney asked us a question. "What are we waiting for?" Have you decided yet? Are you waiting for a sign indicating a direction your life should take? Are you waiting to get out of debt? Maybe you're sick and tired of being sick and tired worrying about the direction your son's or daughter's life has taken. Maybe it's the healing of a broken relationship. Perhaps it's a simple assurance that you are a beloved child of God. Could it be an outpouring of the Holy Spirit upon this church to get our rears into gear?

What about an end to terrorism by declaring war on the injustices that breed it instead of responding with greater terror? What about the reconciliation of the races? Are you waiting for light at the end of the tunnel, just enough to find your way through the dark? Maybe you can't name what you're waiting for…you just know that it is something more than the world's present arrangements have to offer.

For years I wanted a chocolate Labrador Retriever. Last Christmas, Santa Twig gave me one. Over the past year, I've cleaned up many messes, lost three pairs of shoes, and a suit coat to her chewing instinct…Libby's, not Twig's. I've learned a lot about dogs. One thing I've learned is this-dogs know when they are hungry and they will let you know. In this respect dog's are brighter than many people who are hungry for something and don't even know it.

"Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the Kingdom of Heaven," Jesus said. This is a way of saying how fortunate people are who know they must rely upon God to fulfill their deepest longings.

"Who did you say you are?" they croaked at John the Baptist. "I am the voice. I've come to clear the clutter off the road to make way for the Messiah to do his work."

There are many stories about Jesus which never made it into the Bible because they were of questionable value. But some of them are in harmony with the spirit of Jesus' teaching. In one such story, a seeker met Jesus on a road. "Lord," he asked, "After all the people had been fed with the bread and fish, you told your disciples; 'gather up the fragments left over, so that nothing may be lost.' What were the fragments that had to be gathered?" Jesus gazed at him a long moment and said, "The fragments are your fears, which multiply like loaves and fishes and fill more baskets than you can carry by yourself. These must not be lost, but brought to me so that I may bear them with you."

No matter how dark the days may become, we can help each other pick up our fragmented fears and give them to him who came, who comes, and is coming. Let's take to heart the words the angel said to Zechariah, Mary, and shepherds at Jesus' birth, the same words which were spoken to the women who discovered Jesus' empty tomb-the words of Jesus which the gospels quote more than any other…"Don't be afraid. Fear not. I have overcome the world."

And the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.

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