-Invocation from the Glenstal Prayer book

This is the time of year when most Advent sermons, given on a lectern graced with holly, pine, and an Advent wreath, hint at the darkness of the world. A friend recently commented to me that with all this hinting at darkness in the world most Christians feel obliged to curl up next to the consuming fire of Christ, read a good book, and wait around for the Second Coming. Light is indeed a beautiful thing. But aren't we supposed to share it? And why don't we, who have so much light from Christ, never take the lampshades of our hearts and heads?

I thinkit happens because we have created artificial light through a reliance on machines and technology to program a utopia of communication and work that needs no effort. We pour billions of dollars and aid into Africa and Latin America but no change happens until there is relational and local change, when light can shine in the darkness through people and not massive electrical networks. (I truly don't think this is a mixed metaphor, but that in our loss of the pastoral and natural we have synthesized our world---J.R.R. Tolkien called this phenomenon of sin ''Magic or the Machine''---where there are more machines there is less magic. We have turned away from superstition of black cats and broken mirrors and into a superstition that Facebook actually makes us popular and I actually ''communicate'' by talking on the cell phone while driving).

Having so much artificial light lessens our perceived need for the true light of Christ, a light that shines offensively, not defensively. The problem is not saying the world is dark, it is; the problem is saying that we need to sit by the light, lock the doors, and keep ourselves safe. N.T. Wright makes the critical and absolutely necessary interpretation of Jesus' words ''the gates of hell cannot stand against it'' as the ultimate offensive statement. We should not be hoarding the light, the light of Christ---the light of the Kingdom is marching against the gates of hell, putting them under seige, and destroying hell on earth (and under the earth, possibly, I believe we are not supposed to know). The light is going to trample the darkness whether you like it or not. Christ will go forward, the light will go forward whether we want it to or not.

Back to the pastoral metaphor, it is an important difference that Evangelicals/Protestants look to light in abstract terms where Roman Catholics look to light in natural terms. The daily hours in Roman Catholicism see the light of Christ in the dawn of the day, and the evening prayer always praises Christ, that though the sun has set and physical darkness is on the land, the light of Christ is never trampelled by darkness, but just like the sun, it shines forevermore.

Let this always be.