A Little Light

In an ordinary year, by the weekend after Thanksgiving, my house is adorned with fairy lights along the roofline, lights in the bushes, large inflatables at each end of the driveway, a spotlighted manger scene on the front island, green and red lights lining the drive, candles in the window, nearly a dozen Nutcrackers, a huge Christmas village on top of the piano, fresh greens and more lights on the mantelpiece, several tabletop Nativity scenes, wreaths on every vertical surface, and of course our birds-and-icicles-themed Christmas tree.

This year, no one in the family quite has the heart or the energy to go all out. I managed to put up one of the inflatables, which promptly blew over and disconnected itself, prevented from racing down the street only by one of the four stakes which held on plus the fact it tangled on the nearby fire hydrant. I put up both tabletop Nativity scenes, three or four wreaths, the set of Nutcrackers, and a bunch of lights on the mantel. Very few things are in their "usual" spot, but they're up. And the tree is up. It's pre-lighted, and I remembered to attach the star before putting the top section on. But then I ran out of steam. So it has no decorations other than the star and some twinkling lights. And the kids and I have agreed that maybe it will stay that way this year. 

When you're grieving, sometimes a little bit of light shining through the darkness is what it takes to get you through a hard moment. I was listening to Handel's "Messiah" recently and it inspired me to read the whole passage from Isaiah 9:2-7 (emphasis mine - well, and Handel's):

The people walking in darkness have seen a great light;
on those living in the land of deep darkness a light has dawned.
You have enlarged the nation and increased their joy;
they rejoice before you as people rejoice at the harvest,
as warriors rejoice when dividing the plunder.
For as in the day of Midian’s defeat,
you have shattered the yoke that burdens them,
the bar across their shoulders, the rod of their oppressor.
Every warrior’s boot used in battle and every garment rolled in blood
will be destined for burning, will be fuel for the fire.
For to us a child is born, to us a son is given,
and the government will be on his shoulders.
And he will be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
Of the greatness of his government and peace there will be no end.
He will reign on David’s throne and over his kingdom,
establishing and upholding it with justice and righteousness
from that time on and forever.
The zeal of the Lord Almighty will accomplish this. 

I've probably read this passage a hundred times, and listened to The Messiah a hundred more. But I somehow never made the connection that verse 2, "The people walking in darkness have seen a great light," and verse 6, "For to us a child is born," are basically bookends of a single passage. Even Handel himself separated the two verses, not only putting them into two different pieces, but setting them in completely different styles. "The people that walked in darkness" is a haunting melody sung by a bass soloist, accompanied by a simple violin line, the melody wandering almost aimlessly from high to low and back again, sometimes with a rather sinister feel. It feels barren, and lonely, and lost, and, well, dark. But the next piece has a completely different feel. "For unto us a Child is born" opens with the full orchestra playing a bright, joyful, dance-like melody. The choir joins in a canon with moving lines reminiscent of laughter underlining each new voice as it enters. Then the voices all come together in a powerful united list of the names of the Messiah: "Wonderful Counselor, the Mighty God, the Everlasting Father, the Prince of Peace." 

What a difference light makes! The people walked in darkness, wandering aimlessly, lost and alone, until the arrival of the Light of the World, and then they danced together with joy. 

All because of a little Light.