“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” – John 1:5
Darkness is not always dramatic. Most of the time it’s subtle. It’s the low-grade heaviness that clings to us, the quiet disappointments we don’t talk about, the fatigue we carry alone, the thoughts that keep circling at night but never quite resolve by morning.
We often imagine darkness as something “out there,” some visible crisis or obvious wound. But much of the darkness we live with is the kind that sits quietly under the surface, the kind we’ve learned to tolerate, the kind we almost forget is there.
And yet — this is exactly the kind of darkness Jesus steps into.
Advent is the season that refuses to pretend. It names the shadows honestly and proclaims that God does His best work where we feel least put together.
John’s Gospel doesn’t say the light shone. It says the light shines — present tense. Ongoing. Active. Now. Christ’s light keeps breaking in, even when we feel stuck between shadows and doubt.
The darkness hasn’t overcome it. It can’t. Not the darkness in the world, and not the darkness in you.
Jesus is not intimidated by the places you don’t understand, the wounds that feel too deep, or the emotions you haven’t figured out how to name.
He is Emmanuel, God with us, not just in our joy, but in the very places we feel lost or dim.
The miracle of Advent is this: the Light of the world is not waiting for you to be brighter than you are. He comes to the shadows you carry and calls them His entry point.
“We are kept from falling by that same Hand that lifts us up. The same Light that shone at Bethlehem will cover us still — the Light that turns our darkness into dawn.” – Max Lucado, In the Grip of Grace
Prayer: Jesus, shine where I’ve grown weary. Light up the places I’ve grown used to the dark. Help me trust that no shadow is too thick and no night too long for Your presence. Amen.
When God Came Near 