“A man named John was sent from God.
He came… to testify to the light…”

John came to testify to the light. Do you?

Everything in our scripture, in our faith tradition, and in our shared history is about… the light. The light of a loving creator God who entered into a darkened world. The stories, the prophesies, the teachings, the parables, the disciples, the miracles, Advent and Christmas, and the Church that Christ himself established are all… about the light.

But taken from another angle, you could say that it’s also about… us. About the created and how we reacted to the light that came to us.

Now you might think that an all powerful God who made us would come and relate to us in some sort of superior-to-inferior sort of way. The way a king would relate to his subjects, perhaps. It’s no wonder that in the build up to the light coming into the world, those who were waiting were expecting a benevolent but mighty warrior who would conquer. It’s no wonder that the desperate would see hope in the light, the downtrodden… relief, the occupied… freedom, and the despairing… redemption. The light would be good and it would be unmistakable and it would be just what they needed most of all. So, they waited and waited and waited for that light to finally arrive!

Yet, let’s look at how the light actually came.

And let’s look at Mary, the first person who encountered that light.

Mary’s appearances and words in this story are brief and fleeting, but profound. We initially meet her when an angel of God approached and asked for her participation. Her reaction and her first words were: “How can this be?” She experienced disbelief, probably more than a little shock, and a very understandable sense that what she was being asked to do was impossible. The mighty warrior king brought light into our world by asking a poor maiden girl if she would be willing to help.

And then, using words that would dramatically change the course of human history, she said: “May it be done to me according to your word.” She said yes. This was her yes and thus the created agreed to let the creator come into the world. And then, the created allowed that light to grow inside of her. And to be born of her. She held it as a helpless infant. She protected it. She brought it to a far away land to keep it safe. And she raised, defended, and loved the light so that all of us too could come to experience it ourselves.

And then, at the very end of her son’s life, when he was taking his last breaths and feeling abandoned by his Father, he looked upon her, his mother, and sought comfort. The last time we see Mary in this story was when a creator God looked upon his created for comfort.

That is how Mary testified to the light. And this was her yes.

It seems kind of weird though, doesn’t it… the mighty conquering creator God coming to us in this manner?

A few months ago, I had the amazing experience of walking the Camino de Santiago – which is a very, very long hike – with my son and which I am still processing, to be honest. At around the halfway point, I started experiencing severe knee, leg, and hip pain and became convinced that I was not going to be able to finish. I had my own reasons for walking the Camino and though the world would not have stopped turning if I had to take a bus to the end for the last 70 miles instead of finishing on foot, I felt the harsh sting of that possibility very deeply. And very emotionally. So, I prayed that somehow I might find a way to continue. The story of how I was able to finish is one for another day; as I said, I’m still processing it all.

My son and I had agreed in advance that it would be ok for us to occasionally hike at different paces and so on one particular day, when I was mostly alone, I experienced some pretty intense pain. Basically, I struggled greatly to walk. As I proceeded along the path, limping, I prayed. I prayed for help. For accompaniment. And because I have a vivid imagination, I imagined that Christ was right there beside me, holding me up, giving me relief and strength. Why? Because this is what the light is supposed to do. This is how a mighty warrior God can come to us, help us in our struggles, and be everything we need him to be.

I remember at one point, descending down a very rocky and steep part of the trail and imagining that Jesus was hiking up about 15 feet ahead of me. I envisioned that I was following behind him. The thought then crossed my mind: is he abandoning me? Is he going on up ahead and I will be left behind, alone, unable to even walk? What then would I do?

And then it happened. It was in the flash of an instant and I wondered if my mind was playing tricks on me. But it happened. I saw it as clear as day: Jesus stumbled and fell. Hard. Onto the ground. So I then saw myself rushing forward and lifting him up. Me helping him. Me, the wounded and lowly, helping him, the divine and mighty.

At that point, at the midway of my Camino de Santiago, I started to wonder… is this how I might be able to cooperate with grace, how I might find my very own yes… by focusing not on how he can help me on my hike but rather how I can help him on his?

Was that the point of my pain? Was that why I was even there on that path in the first place? To see this visual… of Christ falling hard on the trail? Was there a clue for me somewhere in there on what testifying to the light could possibly mean… for me?

Do you have a sense of what testifying to the light might possibly mean… for you?