The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. John 1:5

I was born on the day before the winter solstice here in Canada, and therefore it is one of the very darkest days of the year in this corner of the world. Because of the relative privilege of my life, this darkness has rarely felt frightening or negative, because I associate it with snowy hikes followed by hot chocolate or cozy nights watching movies with my kids.

But without the easy access to warmth and light that have always been a part of my life, that same darkness would be foreboding, filled with threats both known and unknown. Which is why darkness across many different languages and cultures has come to symbolize what we fear. Barbara Brown Taylor writes that darkness becomes “shorthand for anything that scares me, that I want no part of, either because I am sure that I do not have the resources to survive it or because I do not want to find out.” All the things we are afraid will destroy us, both outside us and deep in our inner worlds, we imagine as threats lurking in the darkness.

Taylor reminds us that darkness, and learning to walk in it, is an important part of being human. Our society, which seeks to banish literal darkness with constant electric light and inner darkness with self-help hacks, has little wisdom to offer us in this regard. Moreover, “darkness” is not banished so easily. Today, the darkness in our world and in our own souls is on display as clearly as ever. The more we avoid, deny, or fight against it, the more powerful it seems to grow. And the people for whom the threat of darkness is most real are those who have the least power and resources to protect themselves.

For those trying to survive outside in our community, the darkness that descends in December is accompanied by a cold that gets in your bones and seeps through the clothing and sleeping bags you wrap yourself in. It means there are fewer people strolling outside to notice you or offer a kind word or some spare change when you need it. Occasionally, when greeting friends who have passed a cold night outside, I see the remnants of a little fire they lit to keep themselves warm enough to get through until morning.

The prophet Isaiah promised long ago that “on those living in the land of deep darkness a light has dawned,” and John referred to the coming of Jesus as a light shining in the darkness that the darkness, despite its best attempts, had not overcome. These words might seem like scant comfort to those daily undergoing the worst that darkness has to throw at us, but maybe, just maybe, they can also offer a flicker of hope in a world where the powers of darkness seem to run the show.

Once my sister painted me a picture based on those words from Isaiah. It was the silhouette of a figure hunched over on the ground, head in hands, surrounded by shadows. The only light in the picture is sneaking up behind the person, seemingly about to tap them on the shoulder, but they can’t see it yet. The caption read, “a light has dawned.”

This image has returned to my mind many times when I feel overwhelmed by the suffering around me or that I read about in the news. It reminds me that the story I’ve always believed about the coming of God in love to save this world was never a triumphant superhero-style story. It was always the story of a tiny light being lit in the middle of what mostly looks like darkness.

This light is both a hope and a calling, hope for the coming dawn and a calling to spark that light of hope for others while we trudge through the dark in the meantime. A friend and longtime community member was recently telling our little Bible study group about the spirit name she received from her grandmother, Oh-Ghee-Naa-Naas in Swampy Cree, which literally means “the light before the light.” She told me later that “similar to the Inuit people who have many different words for snow, we have many, many different words for light. The first light in my name is different than the second light, and so my name translates roughly to ‘even in the darkness there’s light.’ I was born at 4:30 in the morning before any of the dawn light. My mom told me that my life has the purpose to carry a message and remind people that the light is coming again, because it always does. Dawn comes after the dark of night.”

As this calling has shaped her life, may it also shape our lives together. This season, we remember the coming of the light, and we long for it to shine brighter and clearer. And we learn to light flames of warmth and light for each other in the ways that we can, as we learn what it means to walk through the darkness together.