The Rev. Ann R. Lougee December 10, 2006 There's a light a-comin' Luke 1:68-79 "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, to guide our feet into the way of peace." (Luke 1:78-79) These are words supposedly uttered by Zechariah at the birth of the child that he and his wife Elizabeth had long awaited. They are the first words spoken by this elderly priest since the time of their child's conception nine months earlier. Then, he had refused to believe in the power of the Most High to bring forth life from Elizabeth's barrenness, even when the message came from an angel of God. For doubting and questioning the certainty of God's promise, he was rendered mute until the promise was brought to fruition and the baby was born. And when he found his voice again, the first words he spoke were words of praise for the One who makes all things possible. He also spoke prophecy for the covenant that was yet to be fulfilled. The song looks forward to what God is yet to do, but coming from Greek grammar the verb comes out in English as past tense, expressing a certain faith that God will indeed bring justice and peace to Israel, now oppressed and conflicted. Emmanuel, the Word made flesh, the dawn from on high will break upon them, to give light to those who sit in the shadows, to guide their feet into the way of peace. The language is so lovely that we feel we're hearing a song of the early church rather than a speech, that we're experiencing the early Christian story as part of the story of Israel, remembered, redeemed, restored. The Jewish people, pressed down by one empire after another and even flattened by at least one, is not obliterated or without hope of a future, because they believe God's promises are true. Zechariah reviews those promises, recalling the voice of God through the prophets. He also remembers the gift of the great king, David, and recalls that the people have always found themselves receiving mercy and salvation even in the face of sin and in the wake of suffering, destruction, and death. The kind of salvation Zachariah celebrates is not a heavenly one but a healing of the damage the world suffers because of sin and brokenness, a restoration of things to what they ought to be. Zechariah sings of God's tender mercy, not a legalistic transaction earned by our deeds but a movement of the heart, God's heart, toward us even in our weakness and humanity. And Zechariah sings of forgiveness, of light, of holiness and righteousness. Hearing the beautiful verses singing of light, of dawn breaking over humanity, one cannot help but feel a longing for such light. Many of us live with illness, poverty, and addiction -- our own or that of someone we love. We struggle with depression, anxiety, and worries over financial problems. Our children cause us concern and our parents need our care; forces so much more powerful than we are, and yet forces in which we participate, pollute the air, the water, and the earth that our grandchildren will need. The world seems like a mess much of the time. And yet, and yet. We gather in our church in a time of fear and, like Zechariah living under the heel of the Roman empire, we know we are children of promise. We've heard the story of God's love, and at one time or another, we have experienced that light breaking over us. So in church, we listen for the story again, we wait in the darkness together, we gather our strength, renew our courage, and renew our trust in the goodness of God. All of these promises and all of this hope engage us in the story of salvation rather than relegating us to spectators. Jesus tells his followers to be the light of the world, not to hide their light under a bushel, to be the salt of the earth, to spread their good news like yeast expanding, to become bread for the world. We are to gather in his name, and his spirit will be in the midst of us so that we can be ourselves the Body of Christ. What can it mean to be the Body of Christ if we do not give ourselves to the coming of God's grace and mercy, and bring it to reality not for ourselves but for one another, and for each of God's children? Mahatma Ghandi, rephrasing Jesus slightly, said "Be the change you want to see." So we are to go back out into the world and be light and salt and leaven, participating ourselves in the unfolding of God's promises. What we do, matters. What can we do, you may ask. Well, let's not overlook the impact that the combined voices and efforts of people of good will can have. Today has been designated as Day of Awareness for Darfur, and I have materials you can look at after worship from which you can learn about what we all can do to help stop the genocide going on there. One of the things we can all do is to pray for the people of Darfur. Another is to sign a letter to President Bush asking him to help convince the United Nations to insist on Sudan's allowing humanitarian aid and security forces to help and protect the people. See me in the coffee hour if you would like to sign a letter I have drafted. Today also we have an opportunity to make Christmas celebration possible for a number of families right here in Redding by adopting them for gift-giving. This includes the family whose apartment we have furnished at Francis Court through FaithWorks, as well as other families in the Northern Valley Catholic Social Services program. See Molly Cole, Martha Webb, Margrid Rock, Paula Koehler, Tara Swanson, John Crowe, or Pam Thayer if you'd like to help a local family. "And you, child…" are words sung over each one of us, reminding us of God's call in our lives, the role we play in the great drama of salvation. We all wait in this season for the coming of the light of God's love into the world. That's what we want to see. That's what we need to be. There's a light a-comin'. May it be so. Amen.