One of the world’s great natural wonders is Mammoth Cave, in my home state of Kentucky. In Mammoth Cave there are more than 300 miles of caverns, there are mineral deposits that supplied the American army during the War of 1812, there are fish that have no eyes and need no eyes since they live entirely in darkness; and in Mammoth Cave there are also the unmistakable stains of smoke on the ceilings. Lanterns or lamps of some kind, probably candles, sent up their ash and stained the limestone. Where did it come from? In the mid-Nineteenth Century there was a tuberculosis sanitarium nearby. Those who ran the sanitarium believed that the air in the cave would cure tuberculosis, and so they placed in the cave the worst of their patients, and gave them candles to burn for light and a little heat. The patients, of course, are long gone from Mammoth Cave, and by the way there is no record that that treatment was helpful; and so are their candles gone. But the evidence remains that the candles have been there. Evidence which is unmistakable and indelible.

We have been lighting candles each Sunday during the Advent season. Each Sunday the bulletin cover has proclaimed with confidence, “Light a candle: Jesus is coming.” With mounting anticipation, despite all the negative news in the world outside, we have believed that the ancient miracle would happen again and that God would bring us the brightness of His glory, the glory as of the only-begotten. We have believed; but we would be helped if we could see the evidence as well. We have hoped; but is there any reason to think that God has done and is doing anything fresh among us? We have sung the old familiar carols and we have read the ancient words, but where is the evidence, where the ashes left behind, indelible and clear, that God’s candlelight is making a difference?

Zechariah prophesied what we hope for and long for: “By the tender mercy of our God, the dawn from on high will break upon us, to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace.” We, like the tuberculosis patients in Mammoth Cave, sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, and long for light. Is God’s candlelight making a difference?

I say yes. I say yes, the candle of God’s light is making a difference, one life at a time. One person at a time. One heart at a time. And if we do not see it, that is either because the darkness is so profound that a few little lights go unnoticed, or it is that we have deliberately shut our eyes to the light. Either way, nonetheless, one life at a time, one light at a time, God is making a difference.

One such candle was lighted in David. I got to know David because his mother-in-law asked me to talk with him. David had been married before, but alcohol had ruined that marriage. His mother-in-law was afraid it was about to happen again. And indeed, before I could go and visit, the daughter too called and begged me