Midweek Echo

Rejoicing in Light - Resisting Darkness

 

Isaiah 60:1–6; John 1:1–9; Matthew 5:14–16

 

In the winter of 2022, as the war in Ukraine dragged on, a series of photographs quietly circulated. They did not show tanks or explosions, nor political leaders or front lines. Instead, they showed small groups of people gathered underground—in subway tunnels, basements, bomb shelters. Concrete walls. Low ceilings. Faces unevenly lit by candlelight. Above them, air-raid sirens were sounding.

 

It was Christmas Eve.

 

Electricity was unreliable. Cities were under constant threat. Families had been displaced, and many had already buried loved ones. And yet, people gathered anyway. They stood close together, holding small candles. They sang hymns quietly—not to be heard beyond the room, but simply to sing them at all. They prayed, not as an escape from reality, but from within it.

 

The war did not pause. The danger did not lift. When the services ended, people returned to uncertainty and long nights of waiting. Nothing about the situation suggested resolution. And still, for a brief time, light existed where it should not have.

 

Scripture speaks to moments like that. It does not begin by pretending darkness isn’t real. Isaiah names it honestly: “See, darkness covers the earth and thick darkness is over the peoples.” This is not passing gloom, but a world shaped by fear, injustice, and disorientation. Scripture assumes a world already wounded—not one waiting politely for God, but one already bent and resistant.

 

And it is into that world that the light comes.

 

John tells us that the Word existed before the darkness it enters. “In him was life, and that life was the light of all mankind.” The light is not a reaction or a last-minute solution. Jesus precedes the darkness—and yet chooses to enter it. “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” Not after the darkness clears. Not outside of it. But within it.

 

The incarnation is not God avoiding the world’s brokenness. It is God dwelling inside it. The Word becomes flesh and takes up residence—not visiting briefly, but remaining. The presence of light does not mean suffering disappears; it means suffering is no longer the deepest truth.

 

This is why Isaiah can say, “Arise, shine, for your light has come,” even though the darkness remains. God’s light settles somewhere particular. It abides among a people. And where Christ reigns, that light becomes visible.

 

Jesus presses this even further when he says to his disciples, “You are the light of the world.” Not because they generate light themselves, but because his reign shapes their life together. Light draws attention not to itself, but to God.

 

To live as people of the light, then, is not passive. Light exposes what darkness depends on. When we forgive where resentment feels justified, tell the truth where lies are easier, refuse to dehumanize those we oppose, or remain faithful where despair would be understandable, the light interrupts the darkness.

 

Like those candles underground, the church does not erase the night. But it bears witness to a deeper truth: the darkness does not get the final word. The light has come—and it remains.

 

Gracious God,

You are not distant from the darkness we face.

You have entered it, dwelt within it, and claimed it as the place where your light shines.

 

Give us courage to live as people of that light—

not loud or triumphant, but faithful and true.

Shape our lives by the reign of Christ,

so that forgiveness replaces fear,

truth overcomes falsehood,

and love resists despair.

 

When the darkness feels heavy and unresolved,

help us trust that your light has not withdrawn.

Make your church a dwelling place of your presence,

so that others may see and give glory to you.

 

We ask this in the name of Jesus Christ,

the light that shines in the darkness

and is not overcome.

Amen.

 

- Pastor Greg Reiner, January 7, 2026