Summary: Jesus Christ is The True Light of the world.
Christmas Eve Yr C, 24/12/2006
Rev. Garth Wehrfritz-Hanson
Pastor of Grace Lutheran Church, &
Chaplain of The Good Samaritan Society’s
South Ridge Village, Medicine Hat, Alberta
“Christ the True Light”
The Fourth Gospel is very rich in providing a wide range of word pictures of Jesus. Today’s passage from chapter one is a beautiful hymn of praise celebrating Christ’s birth and life among us. One picture that John gives us here is Christ the true light. The following story, titled “The Candle,” by Willem Brandt, affirms the truth that Christ the true light continues to enlighten everyone and shine even in the darkest of places.
The scene: a dank shed ringed by barbed wire in Si Ringo, a Japanese concentration camp on the east coast of Sumatra. Outside, the tropical sun blazed by day and a huge moon filled the fantastically perpetual darkness. There were people living in that shed. No, “living” is the wrong word. We were packed away there. Sometimes we could see beyond us little sparks, as sun or moon flashed on patches of barbed wire that hadn’t rusted over the years. For it had been years now, or was it decades? We were too sick and too weak to care. In the beginning, we thought about such things as the day or hour. Now, eternity.
Beside us and in front of us, men died, from hunger, from disease, from the ebbing of the last ray of hope. We had long stopped believing in the end of the war, in liberation. We lived in a stupor, blunted, with only one remaining passion that flew at our throats like a wild animal: hunger. Except when someone caught a snake or a rat, we starved. There was, however, one man in the camp who still had something to eat. A candle. Of course, he had not originally thought of it as food, a normal person doesn’t eat candle wax. But if all you saw around you were emaciated bodies (in which you recognized yourself), you, too, would not underestimate the value of this candle.
When he couldn’t stand the torture of hunger anymore, the prisoner would carefully take the candle from its hiding place, a crumpled little suitcase, and nibble at it. He didn’t eat it all. He looked upon the candle as his last resort. One day, when everyone was utterly mad with hunger, he would need it.
To me, his friend, he had promised a small piece. So I watched him and his suitcase day and night. It became my life’s task to see to it that in the end he would not eat the entire candle by himself.
One evening, after counting the notches he’d made in a beam, another prisoner mentioned that it was Christmas. In a flat, toneless voice he said, “Next Christmas we’ll be home.” A few of us nodded; most didn’t react at all. Who could still cling to that idea?
Then someone else said something very strange: “When it is Christmas, the candles burn and there are bells ringing.” To most of us, the remark had no meaning whatsoever; it referred to something completely out of our existence. It was already very late….Then my friend became restless. He crept toward his suitcase and took out the candle. I could see its whiteness clearly in the dark. He is going to eat it, I thought. He went outside, where our captors kept a fire smouldering. Then he returned, carrying a burning chip. …he took the chip, the fire, and he lit his candle. The candle stood on his bed and it burned. Silently these half-naked men with sunken cheeks and eyes full of hunger formed a circle around the burning candle.