Last week I wrote a column about the Prologue to John, pretending I understood some of the deepest mysteries about it, and assuming I remembered the lessons learned while researching these verses for a college paper forty years ago. I asked the reader to imagine a light breaking forth in eternal darkness at the beginning of time, the birth of the Christ. I've been thinking about that this week and realize I made an egregious error.
As the days darken and we prepare for new light to break forth, the truth is abundantly clear, and in the words of Christ, "He who has ears to hear, let him hear." But it can take a little time to think it through. Time spent meditating on the light shining in darkness can definitely be time well spent. It feels good to be attuned to nature!
Ancient stone monuments around the globe are arranged to align with the new light from the particular angle where it will appear at solstice. In England, Egypt, South America, ancient people made efforts to acknowledge and channel and honor the solstice. How can this be? How long did it take, how many lifetimes, to observe the celestial patterns and to plan and execute such monuments with precision? What kinds of brains did people have back then? Does modern man have such impulses?
We do, with our diminished minds, in our own humble ways. We have built our own monuments to the breaking light- shopping malls surging with energy at this season to prepare for the light breaking forth in darkness- Santa Claus rolling out of that dark chimney, bright white and red with his ho-ho-ho and his sack of bounty. It's a version of the light breaking out of the darkness. We're in tune with nature despite ourselves!
For those more subdued, the focus of the season may be the lighting of the Hanukkah candles or the thought of the radiant Christchild aglow in the manger. Festivals of new life and light occur over and over throughout the world's traditions. Still and always, light.
But the mistake I made was to ask you to imagine the light breaking forth in the eternal darkness. Suddenly. New.
If you truly think about it, you can mystically remember or realize that the holy light has been shining forever and ever. It's not that it suddenly breaks forth. It's that we become aware of it having been there all along, cycling through nature, renewed again and again throughout eternity in countless ways. We partake of it and, like in the Michelangelo fresco, receive the spark from the finger of God, and share in this life and in life eternal. We Christians say it over and over in the Creed and in our prayers, scarcely realizing what we are avowing, what some dim part of our most ancient collective brain still knows: that the light is always shining and has always shone in the darkness, that we are in a world without end. Forever and ever. Amen.
Showing posts with label Prologue to John. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Prologue to John. Show all posts
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
Wednesday, December 5, 2007
Advent: The Immanence of Light, and the Prologue to John
I have a friend who loves the light. For twenty years she has marked our planet’s changing light by announcing the solstices over the loudspeaker in the elementary school where she works. When she was still young, before Seasonal Affective Disorder was a buzzword, she recognized an annually recurring attack of malaise as the days shortened, and a restoration of well-being as they lengthened. We've laughed often about our Druidic tendencies and our SAD.
As we raised our families and took long walks along the nearby shore, we talked about many things, and had memorable conversations about duty, responsibility, obligation, disappointment, and love. We skipped the small talk. But almost always through the years, our conversations lead to an observation or two about the setting sun, the rising sun, the sunlight in our children’s hair, the sparkling water, luminescence, phosphorescence, radiance. On a winter’s day we’d sit in chairs by a window and take care to allow each other generous portions of the sun, glancing with grateful hearts at the warming light on our arms or faces, or the light rippling through a tree or along a cat. We’ve basically always sought the light in our lives.
We were both single mothers with fairly limited means who raised wonderful children, some of whom attended prestigious schools. As proud as we were of that, however, these schools were not our chief goal or concern. I think I can speak for both of us when I say that we were probably more concerned that our children grow up to be honest and happy and sensitive to the beauties of learning, language, music and light. In life I probably placed the highest premium on laughter. I would say she has valued dignity and integrity above all. But for both of us, light has prevailed. And our children have truly been the light of our lives.
We have been soul mates in this regard, and in others too. We are both of Scandinavian descent. We were born within a week of each other, in different states. We have gained and lost weight in similar trajectories throughout the years. We can laugh at the ironies of life, and especially when the joke’s on us. We are both long-time members of the Episcopal church in the towns where we live, and have given much thoughtful consideration to the liturgy in the Book of Common Prayer. We prefer Rite One. We like the old stuff and the finer language, in any realm of endeavor. We were in our glory a few years back when my son and his partner hosted several Shakespeare readings, and we joined the group to read through Hamlet one night and MacBeth another night, taking turns switching up the roles, semi-costumed with scepters and crowns. My friend is far more cultured than I, having attended numerous opera and symphony performances over the last few years in New York and Europe. She knows what she’s listening to and has been fortunate to share this love of music with her recent partner, a man who appreciates it all as much as she does.
Now my friend is seriously ill and in the hospital. We talk on the phone. Still we laugh. Last night she asked me to read the “Advent Gospel” to her, the Prologue to John. Of course we have talked about these verses many times in the last thirty years.
Last night I started off reading from the Revised Standard Version Bible that was close at hand, but we both knew that would never do. It had to be the King James Version, the beautiful words that should never have been changed for any edition, ever. So I ran and got it and started again. Afraid that she was weary, I nearly stopped after ten verses but she urged me on, and recited it with me until we finished verse fourteen, “full of grace and truth”. She is so grateful to hear these words at Advent, and said “It’s always worth waiting a year to hear it read in church at the right time, with the seasons. But the churches don’t always read it at Advent anymore.”
In my sophomore year of college I wrote a lengthy paper on the Prologue to John, and am forever grateful that I did so, because having an inkling of the mysteries of it has enriched my life again and again. My humble collegiate research way back then covered theories and evidence that parts of the Prologue to John are an ancient text, older than other parts of the Bible, that the verses pre-existed Christ and set apart distinctly from the rest of the Gospel. When reading the Prologue, it helps to try to imagine a silent moment at the beginning of our universe, when all of a sudden in a deep darkness before eternity, there was a quickening, and a light started to shine for the first time. The Christ.
In either hemisphere, we are moving towards the fulcrum of light. Every one of us should read the mystical words from John at this most mystical time of waning and waxing light, and just try to ponder them in our hearts. Here in the north, the nights are long. Very soon the miracle of life, the holy light, will shine forth from the darkness once again, part of the eternal cycle that began when the first light broke through at the beginning of time. That’s what this is about. Take heart. Right here, right now, light and life are immanent in every molecule of our darkening days.
John 1:1-14 (King James Version)
1In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.
2The same was in the beginning with God.
3All things were made by him; and without him was not any thing made that was made.
4In him was life; and the life was the light of men.
5And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not.
6There was a man sent from God, whose name was John.
7The same came for a witness, to bear witness of the Light, that all men through him might believe.
8He was not that Light, but was sent to bear witness of that Light.
9That was the true Light, which lighteth every man that cometh into the world.
10He was in the world, and the world was made by him, and the world knew him not.
11He came unto his own, and his own received him not.
12But as many as received him, to them gave he power to become the sons of God, even to them that believe on his name:
13Which were born, not of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of God.
14And the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us, (and we beheld his glory, the glory as of the only begotten of the Father,) full of grace and truth.
As we raised our families and took long walks along the nearby shore, we talked about many things, and had memorable conversations about duty, responsibility, obligation, disappointment, and love. We skipped the small talk. But almost always through the years, our conversations lead to an observation or two about the setting sun, the rising sun, the sunlight in our children’s hair, the sparkling water, luminescence, phosphorescence, radiance. On a winter’s day we’d sit in chairs by a window and take care to allow each other generous portions of the sun, glancing with grateful hearts at the warming light on our arms or faces, or the light rippling through a tree or along a cat. We’ve basically always sought the light in our lives.
We were both single mothers with fairly limited means who raised wonderful children, some of whom attended prestigious schools. As proud as we were of that, however, these schools were not our chief goal or concern. I think I can speak for both of us when I say that we were probably more concerned that our children grow up to be honest and happy and sensitive to the beauties of learning, language, music and light. In life I probably placed the highest premium on laughter. I would say she has valued dignity and integrity above all. But for both of us, light has prevailed. And our children have truly been the light of our lives.
We have been soul mates in this regard, and in others too. We are both of Scandinavian descent. We were born within a week of each other, in different states. We have gained and lost weight in similar trajectories throughout the years. We can laugh at the ironies of life, and especially when the joke’s on us. We are both long-time members of the Episcopal church in the towns where we live, and have given much thoughtful consideration to the liturgy in the Book of Common Prayer. We prefer Rite One. We like the old stuff and the finer language, in any realm of endeavor. We were in our glory a few years back when my son and his partner hosted several Shakespeare readings, and we joined the group to read through Hamlet one night and MacBeth another night, taking turns switching up the roles, semi-costumed with scepters and crowns. My friend is far more cultured than I, having attended numerous opera and symphony performances over the last few years in New York and Europe. She knows what she’s listening to and has been fortunate to share this love of music with her recent partner, a man who appreciates it all as much as she does.
Now my friend is seriously ill and in the hospital. We talk on the phone. Still we laugh. Last night she asked me to read the “Advent Gospel” to her, the Prologue to John. Of course we have talked about these verses many times in the last thirty years.
Last night I started off reading from the Revised Standard Version Bible that was close at hand, but we both knew that would never do. It had to be the King James Version, the beautiful words that should never have been changed for any edition, ever. So I ran and got it and started again. Afraid that she was weary, I nearly stopped after ten verses but she urged me on, and recited it with me until we finished verse fourteen, “full of grace and truth”. She is so grateful to hear these words at Advent, and said “It’s always worth waiting a year to hear it read in church at the right time, with the seasons. But the churches don’t always read it at Advent anymore.”
In my sophomore year of college I wrote a lengthy paper on the Prologue to John, and am forever grateful that I did so, because having an inkling of the mysteries of it has enriched my life again and again. My humble collegiate research way back then covered theories and evidence that parts of the Prologue to John are an ancient text, older than other parts of the Bible, that the verses pre-existed Christ and set apart distinctly from the rest of the Gospel. When reading the Prologue, it helps to try to imagine a silent moment at the beginning of our universe, when all of a sudden in a deep darkness before eternity, there was a quickening, and a light started to shine for the first time. The Christ.
In either hemisphere, we are moving towards the fulcrum of light. Every one of us should read the mystical words from John at this most mystical time of waning and waxing light, and just try to ponder them in our hearts. Here in the north, the nights are long. Very soon the miracle of life, the holy light, will shine forth from the darkness once again, part of the eternal cycle that began when the first light broke through at the beginning of time. That’s what this is about. Take heart. Right here, right now, light and life are immanent in every molecule of our darkening days.
John 1:1-14 (King James Version)
1In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.
2The same was in the beginning with God.
3All things were made by him; and without him was not any thing made that was made.
4In him was life; and the life was the light of men.
5And the light shineth in darkness; and the darkness comprehended it not.
6There was a man sent from God, whose name was John.
7The same came for a witness, to bear witness of the Light, that all men through him might believe.
8He was not that Light, but was sent to bear witness of that Light.
9That was the true Light, which lighteth every man that cometh into the world.
10He was in the world, and the world was made by him, and the world knew him not.
11He came unto his own, and his own received him not.
12But as many as received him, to them gave he power to become the sons of God, even to them that believe on his name:
13Which were born, not of blood, nor of the will of the flesh, nor of the will of man, but of God.
14And the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us, (and we beheld his glory, the glory as of the only begotten of the Father,) full of grace and truth.
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