"But there will be no gloom for her who was in anguish. In the former time he brought into contempt the land of Zebulun and the land of Naphtali, but in the latter time he has made glorious the way of the sea, the land beyond the Jordan, Galilee of the nations.
[2] The people who walked in darkness
have seen a great light;
those who dwelt in a land of deep darkness,
on them has light shone.
[3] You have multiplied the nation;
you have increased its joy;
they rejoice before you
as with joy at the harvest,
as they are glad when they divide the spoil.
[4] For the yoke of his burden,
and the staff for his shoulder,
the rod of his oppressor,
you have broken as on the day of Midian.
[5] For every boot of the tramping warrior in battle tumult
and every garment rolled in blood
will be burned as fuel for the fire.
[6] For to us a child is born,
to us a son is given;
and the government shall be upon his shoulder,
and his name shall be called
Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,
Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.
[7] Of the increase of his government and of peace
there will be no end,
on the throne of David and over his kingdom,
to establish it and to uphold it
with justice and with righteousness
from this time forth and forevermore.
The zeal of the LORD of hosts will do this."
(Isaiah 9:1-7 ESV)
Advent is a season of tension – of waiting and anticipation. A season defined by darkness, but by that sort of darkness that lives in a state of tangible expectation of the light that is about to break forth.
This time of year in New England, we know a lot about darkness. These days, I wake up, get dressed, walk the dog and drive to work in the dark. It’s dark again before I get in the truck to come back home again. As challenging as this routine can be – facing the alarm, getting out of bed and preparing for the day in total darkness – there’s a certain blessing in it. Namely, that I get to be awake to witness that moment each day when the darkness of night gives way to the dawning of a new day.
On my way to work each morning for the past few weeks, as I head over the General Sullivan Bridge and look east, I can actually watch the turning of the tide. The horizon just quietly begins to glow, and the darkness that had been there just moments before is replaced, in what seems like an instant, with the glorious colors of the breaking dawn. By the time I park my truck at the job site, the darkness of the previous night is all but a memory: it’s a new day.
This is what the prophet Isaiah describes here in chapter 9: this passage that Jesus, in the Gospel of Matthew, is recorded as quoting at the very outset of his earthly ministry. It’s a story of hope and expectation. Of the promise that, no matter how dark and broken and lost things may appear in our world today, the dawn is indeed coming. Isaiah speaks of the waiting of Israel for the birth of their Messiah. In Advent, we remember and join Israel as we wait in expectation for our saviors’ great and glorious return… That true and final dawning of Heavens’ new day.
In the season of Advent, we remember that we are a people who are to be defined by Hope, and the knowledge that, no matter the present darkness, the tide has already turned. The new day of Jesus is already accomplished, and just over the horizon. And very soon, the struggle and heartache and tension will be but distant memories as we find ourselves caught up in the eternal embrace of Jesus, our savior and our God.
