Light in the Darkness

"Traditions are the guideposts driven deep in our subconscious minds. The most powerful ones are those we can't even describe and aren't even aware of."—Ellen Goodman, Pulitzer Prize-winning columnist

You don't have to be afraid of the dark to hate the dark. Especially in late November, early December, when it feels especially weighty, and wearying, and filled with too many cars with blinding headlights straight from a Fenway Park night game.

But it was in that darkness, on a cloudy late afternoon in my living room, that Light broke through last week. No fanfare. No loud noises. Not even any real, tangible light. But on the inside, an unexpected explosion, resulting from following a tradition of kicking off the season by listening to Handel's “Messiah.” Heard it a gazillion times. Sung it not quite as many, but plenty. You come to know how it starts, what comes next, anticipating the downbeat so you can join the chorus. Good old tradition.

Until the very end, some two-plus hours later, when it became much more than that.

It started by realizing you don't even need a score in front of you to remember those extra "A-mens" that were added to the final "Worthy Is the Lamb" chorus all those years ago at a nearby college campus performance, and that you pretty much remembered most of the bass line and entrances on a song that, as anyone who has sung it realizes with sweaty palms, can turn into a choral train wreck at any moment if some section comes in too soon or too late.

But more than that, I was transported back to that campus, on the top row of the risers, looking out onto a sea of smiling faces and wondering aloud, "Dear God, do these folks have any idea what is being said right now? Let it be so!" But then, transported deeper still to wonder what that scene will look like, no, sound like, soon and very soon, when:

"...the voices of thousands and millions of angels around the throne" and "every creature in heaven and on earth and under the sea" sing endlessly: "Blessing and honor and glory and power belong to the One sitting on the throne, and to the Lamb, forever and ever.”

And at the last "Amen!," Handel put down his pen. The choir stopped singing. But tradition broke the darkness of the day and mood with this reminder: not so the Messiah, the Lamb, the Lion of Judah. The song goes on and never stops. The One who was and is and is to come. The One who is alive, even December 2017. The One who sits on the throne has not stopped being the One. We sit to rest. He sits to rule and reign over all the little and big things we can see and cannot see, and better yet, He lives to intercede for us every single day.

On this first Sunday in Advent, with themes of hope and expectancy, it is good to know:

"Behold, He who keeps Israel

Will neither slumber briefly nor sleep soundly."—Psalm 121:4 Amplified

Even in our dark.