A Sunday Reflection: The Light and The Feast

I am collapsing, finally, after fumbling round in the dark just now, trying to silently fill up the shoes of the children with all manner of chocolates, tiny mandarin oranges, and toys. The two little girls are getting their first Fancy Russian Nesting Dolls, Gladys a little wooden globe, which, when you open it up, has lots of little children of the world inside, and Elphine a rough, unpainted, Russian Nesting Doll for her to exercise her fidgeting creativity over. Romulus’ shoe is stuffed with a small fat Yoda. And Alouicious has one of those birds on the end of a tube that should swing endlessly back and forth when he figures it out. Toys and Candy, even in the middle of Advent.

And me tripping over objects strewn over the floor, trying to carry out my benevolence in the dark. It’s an apt picture of the usual manner of my life. I carry on doing all the things I think I should be doing, believing that I can see just fine, but every so often am brought up short, stubbing my soul on something that I didn’t see, even though it was plainly there in front of me. I am a blind person, in the dark, without a light, unaware of my need for better lighting and a pair of glasses.

I could be any number of the people banging into Elisha, in 2 Kings, as he carries out his ministry in the dark and troubled Northern Kingdom. Elisha, after the gritty discouragement of Elijah, seems to walk around in a strange technicolor miraculous bubble, fixing people’s immediate, temporal problems, raising people from the dead, curing infertility, relieving debts, healing the un-healable. He doesn’t seem to get discouraged or worry about what’s going to happen next, even though everybody around him is anxious and stressed pretty well all the time. He is a good picture of Jesus–bringing order, sanity, health, life, all the things we long for, we grope towards, but can never completely get a handle on.

Finally we come to chapter six and another strange, unlooked for moment. The armies of Syria have arrayed themselves against Elisha because he, Elisha, by the power of God, knows what the King of Syria is going to do even before he, the King, has made up his own mind to do it. The army spreads itself over the horizon and the young man standing alongside Elisha rightfully flips out. This is a terrible circumstance. When an army comes at you, the least you can do is breathe a little more heavily. But Elisha prays.

“Then Elisha prayed and said, “O LORD, please open his eyes that he may see.” So the LORD opened the eyes of the young man, and he saw, and behold, the mountain was full of horses and chariots of fire all around Elisha.” – 2 Kings 6:17

The young man’s eyes were opened so that he could see. Suddenly the threat was put in its proper perspective. But it was still a threat, and so Elisha prays again.

“And when the Syrians came down against him, Elisha prayed to the LORD and said, “Please strike this people with blindness.” So he struck them with blindness in accordance with the prayer of Elisha.” – 2 Kings 6:18

There they are, doing what they came to do, to capture this single man, and suddenly none of them can see. They are completely in the dark. But instead of killing them all, or sending them home to be in trouble, Elisha has them all lead into the middle of the city of Samaria. And there Elisha prays again.

“As soon as they entered Samaria, Elisha said, “O LORD, open the eyes of these men, that they may see.” So the LORD opened their eyes and they saw, and behold, they were in the midst of Samaria.” – 2 Kings 6:20

Naturally, at this moment, the King of Israel wants to strike them all. They are his enemies. It would be the usual thing to do. But Elisha won’t let him. Instead he tells the king to set before them food and water, but the King goes one step further.

“So he prepared for them a great feast, and when they had eaten and drunk, he sent them away, and they went to their master. And the Syrians did not come again on raids into the land of Israel.” – 2 Kings 6:23

And then the narrative moves on to the next thing, and I always sit in wonder at this one single verse, hidden there, right in plain view. The King of Israel prepared for his own enemies a great feast. First the blindness, the not being able to see. And then, as soon as the eyes are opened, the veil lifted, the darkness pushed away, a great feast. Those who, says Paul much much later, were far off, have been brought near.

That’s why I so relish the St. Nicholas Moment. It’s a sudden, surprise glimpse of light in a difficult season. I struggle along in the dark, tripping, fumbling, trying to put just one foot in front of the other so as not to perish. The needs and the brokenness of the world and my own self seem like a vast enemy that cannot be overcome. The circumstances of each day press in like an army that I must single handedly defeat. Then, suddenly, the lights go on, and instead of what I thought It was going to be, there is a feast, there is hope, there is even some rejoicing. I am the person who walks in darkness, but I have seen a great light. Even I, living in the land of the shadow of death, for me a light has dawned.

A blessed second Sunday of Advent to you all.