Stir up your power, O Lord, and with great might come among us.
The “stir up” collect. A slightly different version of this collect has been in Anglican prayer books for centuries. It used to come on the Sunday Next before Advent. And the story goes, in England, “Stir up Sunday” was the day you stirred up your Christmas pudding in anticipation of the coming feast.
Stir up your power, O Lord, and with great might come among us.
The focus of today’s Gospel is on John the Baptist and his proclamation of the One who was to come among us. I’m not going to preach on John as we heard about him toady in Luke’s Gospel. There is certainly a lot to be drawn from Luke’s account, even the reference to the “brood of vipers,” and I’ve preached on it before. But today I want to focus on John the Baptist as herald of Christ as he is described in John’s Gospel. From the first chapter of John (John 1:6-9):
There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. He came as a witness to testify to the light, so that all might believe through him. He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light. The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world.
The power and might that we pray to come among us is light, says John. Light is coming into the world.
This focus on light is particularly appropriate for today. Today is Saint Lucy’s day. Or, as she is known in some places, Santa Lucia. Her commemoration is ancient and before calendars were tweaked and regularized, St. Lucy’s day fell on the shortest day of the year.
John Donne wrote a poem titled “A Nocturnal upon St. Lucie’s day.” He calls the day the year’s midnight.
December 13 is no longer the shortest day of the year, although it’s close, of course. With our current calendar the winter solstice falls on either December 21 or 22. On that shortest day of the year here in Chicago, we will have a little over 9 hours of daylight. As much as grouse about the dark this time of year, that’s not really too bad. I checked a few other cities. Stockholm (and I’ll come back to why Sweden is important) will have just a little over 6 hours of daylight. (Sweden is at a roughly similar latitude to Alaska). The farthest north I’ve ever been is Rovaniemi, Finland, just south of the arctic circle. On December 21 in Rovaniemi, there will be 2 hours and 14 minutes of daylight. Nine hours sounds pretty good.
We know virtually nothing about the life of St. Lucy. One resource I checked said, all the details of her life are the conventional ones associated with all female martyrs of the early 4th century.
There is a 5th century work called the Acts of Saint Lucy. The Oxford Dictionary of Saints states: Her historically valueless Acts make her a wealthy Sicilian who refused marriage offers… a characteristic of all 4th century female martyrs… and gave her money to the poor. She was accused of violating (male) authority, and faced significant indignities before being killed by the sword.
All we really know is her name. Lucy. And Lucy was apparently martyred during the vicious persecutions of the Roman emperor Diocletian. She died in 304.
We know her name. Lucy. Which in Latin means light. Light. Saint light. So it is appropriate that we associate the saint of light with the darkest day of the year.
She is popular in her native Italy. And in Sweden, where St. Lucy’s day is rich in festive traditions. In Sweden they know something about darkness this time of year. And about the power of light coming into darkness. The celebration of St. Lucy is about light coming into darkness.
Light shining in darkness. Light coming into darkness.
What are your memories or experiences of light shining in darkness? They might be grand or mundane. A brilliant sunrise at dawn or the small nightlight that guides your way when you get up in the night.
The stars in the night sky. Especially in winter when the air is crisp and the stars seem to sparkle more brilliantly and the noble hunter Orion stands guard. And the awe and wonder of loosing yourself in contemplating the stars. Or the luminaria that line the walk to the front door of the church on Christmas eve, leading to the place where our Savior’s birth is celebrated.
Stir up your power, O Lord, and with great might come among us.
So what does the power and might of light bring when it comes into the world?
Enlightenment. New understanding or awareness, especially of God’s presence. Do you know why angels are portrayed in dazzling raiment? In robes that shine with light? Because they are messengers of God. The bring the enlightenment of God’s word.
Light shining in the darkness also has the power to draw people together. People gather around the light. A street light. A campfire. Light draws people together. Families. Or also people who might otherwise be separated by difference or indifference.
Light not only provides the new vision of enlightenment, it also quite literally improves vision or sight. Light in darkness marks a path, makes it possible to see where you are and where you’re going. It provides safety and direction on a journey that can be hazardous.
Light often provides comfort and warmth.
Light coming into darkness often heralds a new beginning, a new start, a new dawn.
And light shining in darkness, like the stars in the sky, has the power to evoke awe and wonder. To draw us out of our human finitude and into reverence and praise of God.
All of that power and might amounts to hope, really. Light brings hope. We live in a world and a time that is often dark and in need of hope. All times do. Lest we think our day is particularly dark, remember Rovaniemi or the persecutions Christians faced in the time of Diocletian.
But the world needs the light that is coming. Have you known it? Can you describe the true light? Like John the Baptist, we are called to be heralds, to testify to the light. To share with others the power and might of the light. We must testify to the light that is coming into the world.
