The Longest Night

The Longest Night

“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” — John 1:5 (ESV)

      The winter season has been especially difficult this year.  One would assume that the first winter without Tiff would have been more difficult then the second, but so far the second has been more emtionally draining.  It's not just grief either that has caused me to struggle. The colder winter days and the lack of sunlight has caused my desire to stay in bed to skyrocket.  Today is the winter solstice—the longest night of the year. Darkness lingers. The sun feels distant. Creation itself seems to pause, wrapped in shadow.  For those grieving we understand what long nights feel like.  Long nights started when Tiff was diagnosed with cancer.  I would stay awake watching her chest rise and fall.  I would be laid waste with worry.  Anxiety attacks became the norm.  Now the long nights are lonely, silent moments when I bed feels bigger.  The winter solstice is hard because you know the darkness gets longer before the light shines.  Grieving people often feel that way.  They feel like the darkness is crashing in around them.  You might not see it in their face or hear in their voice, but inwardly they are fighting a war.

      Some nights are marked by grief that won’t let us sleep. Others by loneliness, waiting, fear, unanswered prayers, or a future that feels uncertain.  We toss and turn. Darkness has a way of convincing us it will last forever.  The darkness is a great liar, making us think that just because we can't see the light or know what the next step is that we are perpetually left without hope.  It tells us that since we can't know what tomorrow holds that we can't trust God.  But John tells us something extraordinary: the Light shines in the darkness.  Not shone—past tense—but shines. Ongoing. Present. Active.  A matter of fact the term shines in the text is in the present tense of the Greek language meaning that the light will always shine, irregardless of how dark the night might seem to be or how heavy our circumstances are in the moment.

      Jesus did not wait for the darkness to lift before entering our world. He stepped into it. Friend, read that again. And now again.  Jesus stepped into a broken world. Into sorrow. Into sin (not His because He was perfect). Into death itself. The birth of Christ was not merely the arrival of hope—it was a declaration of war against the darkness.  And the darkness did not win.  And guess what, the darkness will never win.  It can taunt you, but it will remain defeated.

      John does not say the darkness understood the light, welcomed it, or appreciated it. He says it could not overcome it.  AMEN!  Darkness is real, but it is not sovereign. Pain is heavy, but it is not final. Night may fall, but it does not get the last word.  On the winter solstice, something quietly shifts. From this day forward, the light slowly returns. Almost imperceptibly at first—but faithfully. Steadily. Surely.  The change isn't noticeable at first.  We literally only gain seconds of daylight right after the solstice, but it's a gain.  Maybe unnoticeable but it's building.

      That is how Jesus often works in us.  He does not always remove the darkness all at once. Instead, He meets us in it. He shines within it. And over time, what once felt endless begins to lose its grip.  The light starts to break through the cloud cover and you can feel it's warmth on your face again.  If today feels like your longest night, take heart: The Light has already come.  And the darkness you face—even now—will not overcome Him.

Reflection Questions:

1. Where does darkness feel most present in my life right now, and what would it look like to invite Jesus to meet me there?
2. In what ways have I seen Christ’s light sustain me in past seasons of darkness?
3. What small signs of returning light might God be asking me to notice and trust today?
4. How does knowing that the darkness cannot overcome Christ change the way I face this season?

Prayer

Jesus, Light of the world,

Meet me in my darkness today.  Shine where I cannot see a way forward.  Remind my heart that night does not last forever and that You have already won.  Help me trust Your light, even when it feels small.

Amen.