A silent night.
A holy night.
A blinding light shining brilliantly bright.
Was it indeed calm? Or did expectant and paranoid whispers litter the night wind?
Did it truly feel sacred? Or was the “holiness” tainted by the imposed shame of an unwed mother-to-be?
Could all have been bright? Or did the threat of prophetically foretold political overthrow of the status quo shadow any hope for a glowing future?
Imagine that feeling. Imagine the feeling of insecurity. Imagine the feeling of uncertainty. Imagine the Atlas-like feeling of everything coming down upon your shoulders. Imagine walking through a room saturated with absolute darkness. No windows. No doors. No point of guidance. Only an invading gloom seeking to encompass all within. Is it possible to navigate such a cold void? How could one move inside its grasp? What is the even the purpose
But then, a flicker. A thrill of hope. A diminutive flame. A weary world rejoices.
In the choking tenebrosity, something appears: a light so Lilliputian that one might doubt its existence, yet it glows. No matter the amount of shadow enveloping the seemingly infinitesimal point, the candlelight will still stand in protest. Unchanged. Truly, darkness cannot smother out all illuminating hope, for that amount of darkness cannot exist. Yet, only a humble and meek flicker of light is required to break through the shadow of our melancholy, winter reality.
Immanuel: the Divine among humanity, the Gentle yet Mighty King, the Lion and the Lamb, the Light of the World born under the cover of Darkness. The one thing that the world