A persistent easterly wind bends the trees. A fire crackles and pops. Smoke curls dot the horizon. Poinsettia are blooming a brilliant red. Does it sound like Christmas? Before you’re misled into visualizing hallmark renditions of the holidays, let me say that the wind is dry and blistering hot. The fire is in the field behind our house sending off a regular cloud of smoky haze and a fine layer of ash – along with chasing a mischief of rats out of their homes to the delight of the waiting shepherd boys and circling kites. The smoke curls are not from chimneys, but from other field fires or charcoal in process. The poinsettia are gangly bushes eight feet high. Ahh yes, this is Christmas in Karamoja!
It is a season when you avoid direct sunlight whenever possible. When the metaphors of Christ as, “shade from the heat” (Is 25:3) and the plea for Him to, “make your shade like night at the height of noon” (Is 16:3) resonate powerfully. Yet in all seasons, day still turns to night. Darkness falls. Without light, we stumble in the darkness making phantoms of tree limbs and thieves of cats. Night in Karamoja can truly be dark; a blackness that sucks up light. If you find yourself out in it and your flashlight goes out, at once you feel disoriented and isolated. The path you know so well during the day becomes an obstacle course. You cautiously stumble your way back toward the lights of a house and breathe a sigh of relief only once you’re within its scope.
During this advent and Christmas season, I’ve been meditating on the metaphor of Christ as the LIGHT. He is a great light shining on a people who dwell in deep darkness (Is 9:2). This world is not just somehow bad. Depravity has infected it entirely, and evil that sinks to the core. Christ is not just one beam, weak and hardly making a difference. No, He is a great light, a strong beacon for all those in the dark who have eyes to see.
He is a light for the nations, bringing salvation to the ends of the earth (Is 49:6). The salvation He offers isn’t limited to race, nation, time, or people with certain work-based credentials. His work encompasses all peoples across all lands and all times. He accomplished salvation sufficient for all with hearts to believe. He is the author and perfector of our faith; the battery and the bulb to our flashlight as it were.
He calls Himself the light of the world and the source of the light of life (John 8:12). Is it not glorious that He chooses to shine on us, for us though we live in and too often cling to this deep darkness? Without Him all is darkness and death. Who can face tomorrow with such a dismal prospect? Not I! I opt for hope through the light of Christ!
Then there’s a bewildering twist. He calls us the light of the world and tells us to shine so others can see and give Him glory (Matt 5:14). Wait, how can we sinners be what He calls Himself? Enter here the simple summary of the gospel in Philippians that has soothed my soul in grief, “To live is Christ”. The life of a believer should be so defined by and ruled by our union with Christ that what is said of Him is said of us. It is a life characterized by self-sacrifice, it is defined by love, and overflows with reconciliation. It is never for one’s self, but rather always a gift that multiples with the sharing. We are reconciled to compound reconciliation. It is my identity. Isn’t that beautiful? Those who are reconciled in Christ have no identity apart from their savior. Disconnected we can only be boiled down to sin. Reconciled, we are nothing short of a confounding confluence with Christ – beyond understanding, foolishness to those blind to faith, and glorious!
This truth came alive for me in the widow of Alebo Moses upon our return to Uganda. In fact, three bereaved spouses attended prayers our first Sunday back. One, I only saw again on Christmas Eve asking if we had something for him. The second, had already come asking for assistance from the mission. But Acia Rose, I have seen regularly at work for a new family washing clothes, at church almost every week, at women’s Bible study even translating a number of times, attentive and engaged with the word. I was blessed to visit her at home, to see the children and the community that is drawn to her. She was sitting in the shade of a granary, her sister’s head cradled in her lap as she plaited extensions into her hair for Christmas. As I reflected on the clear difference between how she handled grief and participated in the life of the church, it struck me – here was light! She shines the light of Christ as she cares for her children, as she smiles and hopes for a better eternal home. She shines in making Christ her priority on Sundays and her joy in hearing God’s word. She shines as she welcomes us into her home coaxing her children to play. Her journey is neither simple nor without trial. She isn’t perfect and she will falter. But when we cling to Christ, we shine His light.
In this Christmas season, I pray that you may bask in the light of Christ yourself a conduit for His love, grace, and truth.
“O house of Jacob, come, let us walk in the light of the Lord.” Isaiah 2:5