by John Howard.
‘The light shines in the darkness and the darkness did not overcome it.’ (John 1:5 NRSV.) In most churches this verse, from the prologue of John’s Gospel, will be read during the Christmas period. Light and darkness features across the birth narrative. The shepherds are out in their fields in the darkness of night and suddenly with the angelic appearance the darkness is overcome (Luke 2:8-14). The Maji (or Wise Men) are led to the birth of Jesus by a star shining in the sky. (Matthew 2 :1, 9 & 10).
Most clear of all is the witness of John the Baptist in his testimony about Jesus, quoting again from the prologue of John’s Gospel ‘He came as a witness to testify to the light, so that all might believe through him. He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light. The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world.” (John 1 :7-8).
How do we view these images of light and dark in the context of the killings on October 7th and the subsequent slaughter of Palestinians in Gaza. Even more is the wider question of the multiple conflicts across the world of today, the ongoing threat of nuclear war and the climate crisis. We live in dark days. Where can we see the light of the Christ Child?
I recently came across a quote which I have not been able to source, but during recent months found helpful. It is “it is on the darkest nights that the stars shine brightest.” This is of course very true. Living in the Pennine countryside I am able to admire the dark sky and appreciate the many stars because I am away from the lights of the city. Taking the theological ideas of light and darkness I can identify that it can be equally true of theological light and dark. In places of violence and where terrible deeds are being done, we often seem to find the most saintly of people. The darkness of evil is convicted by the star shining out in the person of the individual showing compassion and mercy in the face of tyrany. I saw this first for myself when I visited Rwanda less than ten years after the genocide. The scars of that most terrible war were still very evident all around, but the wonderful peace building efforts of many individual and organisations were inspiring. The quality of their loving amid poverty and loss shone out and I have never forgotten it.
Is that true also of the land we call Holy, today? My two periods of service as a human rights observer, my two years living there serving in the Jerusalem Liaison Office, my continuing relationship with that land makes me suggest, even amid the fog of war, that the light will be shining out. I have met so many people, Palestinian and Israeli, who despite the years of unjust occupation, of the abuse of power, of injustice and blatant descrimination, have exemplified a different way, bringing people together across the divide, despite the walls being erected. I have seen seen Jewish Israelis abused by the Israeli Army for their willingness to stand by Palestinians as they attempt to gather harvest from their own trees. Yet these Jewish Israelis have stood by and not abandoned their Palestinian brothers and sisters. I have seen Palestinians steadfast despite huge intimidation showing a calm dignity. I have no doubt that in Gaza this Christmas this kind of light will be shining amid the darkness of the war.
The question is asked where is God in this slaughter? Where is the Christ Child born this Christmas? The light that shines amid the darkness cries out that he is under the rubble of the bombed out city streets of Gaza with the 7,000 Palestinians missing and believed to be under the rubble.
The dust and dirt of the conflict create a fog of war in which it is often difficult to see any light amidst the darkness, however, the tiny spark of the starlight light that led the maji to the birth, is lighting up the way for us today. The darkness of Hamas won’t triumph in the end. The darkness of Israel’s revenge won’t be the end of the story, the darkness of ethnic cleansing won’t be history’s conclusion about the war. At present we cannot see it for there in the darkness there is very dark. However, a star will shine out, I do believe that, for that is what our faith is all about.
Theology Everywhere 
Thank you for this thoughtful post, and for telling us what you have seen, humanity seems to have huge capacity for compassion in the face of horror, and sadly also a kind of bling hatred when others are made the enemy and not seen as fellow human beings.
My favorite quote is from Barbara Brown Taylor: New life begins in the dark, be it a seed in the ground, a babe in the womb, or Jesus in the tomb, new life begins in the dark. I guess in this case we have to look for sparks of light in the darkness and fan them into flame where possible, there will be hope of course, we must be those who seek the light, but in doing so I guess we have to face the reality of the darkness.
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Agree that “The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world.” (John 1 :7-8)”, but have this nagging thought that “everyone” must surely include those who lived BC. Or is it that the true light is always coming?
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All I know is that when I recently met my new neighbour – she is Muslim and Palestinian – we instinctively held each other in a warm hug almost before we had exchanged names. Our views of what life is all about were so close as to be indistinguishable from each other.
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Josie. We can never predict where a conversation will go! When I read about your meeting with the Muslim, Palestinian woman it resonated with similar events in my experience. Recently, a good friend of my wife died and I met for the first time the bereaved husband. We instinctively held each other in a warm hug, with tears in our eyes. I am convinced that there is something of theological significance here. The fact that the response is instinctive means it is beyond sympathy or empathy. We are unintentionally affected as if nothing else matters than the moment. How do we know this is the right thing to do? Why do have this feeling that such moments bring up our ultimate concerns in life? Why do I/we sense the presence of God in the event? For me being unintentionally affected by events like this have become a fairly regular occurrence – even to smiles exchanged between passing strangers. I conclude that God becomes present to us as we relate to each other, sharing our human frailty and need, sharing our love for each other.
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On Christmas Day, our minister took advantage of the visits of people who don’t normally come to church to preach a conversion sermon in which we were told that, because of Jesus’ birth, if we believed the right things, we would go to Heaven but, if we didn’t respond, then we would end up being tortured eternally in the lake of fire. The current violence in the Middle East was taken as a sign that the final judgement is due at any moment.
I find it rather strange that, while most Christians appear to condemn the violence in the Middle East as excessive and in some respects even morally reprehensible, many Christians have no hesitation in suggesting that God will take a far more ferocious approach to non-believers. A 1998 survey reported that 80 percent of evangelical churches believed that all non-Christians are condemned to Hell. John Wesley wrote in 1756: ‘If there be no unquenchable fire, no everlasting burn¬ings, there is no dependence on those writings wherein they are so expressly asserted.’ If the revenge exacted by Israeli forces is excessive, the retribution Wesley expected God to exact for sin is not only off the scale of severity but has no ending and no means of mitigation. Certainly, the threats shouted to me by a street evangelist the other evening about my eternal destiny were clear that no punishment could be too severe for non-believers. How do images of and beliefs in God’s capacity for violence and vengeance affect the capacity of religious people to indulge in violence themselves?
In a world where there is so much violence and where power is often associated with military might, it’s not surprising that, for many, their vision of the kingdom of their God is one of physical power, including the Christian expectation that Jesus will return with irresistible power, destroy evil and set up the perfect world. It’s an image which postulates that the solution to our problems is for God to use force to defend us, to punish those who don’t believe our version of the truth and to reward us for our faithfulness by setting up a world which is perfect for us but excludes anyone who is not like us. But, if we only respond to God, because we are afraid of the consequences if we don’t or because we want to be rewarded, what kind of relationship is that?
If you wield overwhelming power, you might force people to obey you and achieve outward change by using force, but you can’t win hearts and minds like that. You can’t make people love you by threatening them with dire punishment or destruction if they don’t. Love doesn’t work like that. You can only truly transform a person or a society from the inside. It has to be a matter of invitation rather than compulsion, of empowerment rather than conquest, of love rather than force. This can be a long, slow and sometimes painful process. That’s why we needed the incarnation.
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Thank you Pavel for posting this. Hope you do not mind but I have posted it on to Pesky Methodists because it is apposite to a conversation taking place there. Also considering posting it on UK Methodists. Unsure what the protocol is in this situation, but hope administrators would understand the importance of the message, irrespective of where it first appeared.
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