By Ken Woodley
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.
But….
….before the beginning.
Before the word.
Before the light.
The darkness was everywhere.
We closed our eyes as tightly as we could to keep from seeing it but it only got darker and we could hear the darkness taking deep breaths as if it were preparing to blow everything away.
We felt it touching us.
We heard the darkness speak our name.
Our tongues and lips trembled in search of a prayer: an army, please, Lord, with swords raised, spears held high to push back against all of this darkness.
But no thundering hoofbeats came.
No rescuing trumpets sounded.
There was no clatter of metal weapons.
We were utterly on our own, like the last leaf on an autumn tree, all the rest fallen and winter digging in all around the empty forest.
We were as helpless as the day we’d been born and reached frantically for the only thing we saw—even with our eyes closed—in a brief flash of flickering light inside our soul:
A star was shining from the stump of Jesse.
A branch was shining out of its roots.
We opened one eye to take a peek.
Outside our window, a corner of the dark horizon was turning gray.
The spirit of the Lord began to call, like a single bird on a lonely limb of the last tree standing, wondering where all the leaves had gone.
That was all but that was enough.
Darkness knew that it was already too late.
A spirit of wisdom and understanding, of counsel and might had begun to brushstroke traces of pink and orange in the sky.
There was more to the world, we realized, than the darkness that had surrounded us.
Shapes began to emerge in the gathering scatterings of light.
And, even with one eye closed, we saw unmistakable miracles.
We saw a leaf on a tree, green somehow, even on winter’s doorstep.
We saw our own wrinkles and veins.
We sawa lion lying down with a lamb.
A wolf was eating straw like the ox.
And a little child was leading them.
A little child coming from Bethlehem.
No army to the thundering rescue.
No swords and clattering of spears.
Just this one, small child.
And what amazing grace—we knew his name.
“Jesus,” we called out to him. “Jesus!”
And the darkness knew then that it had met its match.
Darkness knew the game was over.
Darkness knew the final score was set in stone for all eternity.
We opened both eyes as wide as we could and there was suddenly light all around. The little child had brought the light that never sets.
A light that could not and would not be extinguished.
A light that hope can trust.
A light that also shines inside us toward others waiting in the darkness.
We could hear the light breathing deeply.
We felt its touch.
Then, with even more amazing grace, the light spoke each of our names.
Our tongues and lips trembled with “Amen” before we joyfully shouted, “Hallelujah!”
Its echo became a refrain and the light shone in the darkness and the darkness did not understand it.
The true light that gives light to every woman, child and man had come into the world.
And still the darkness did not understand it.
But oh, Lord, if only the darkness one day would. If only darkness would believe that it, too, can feel a light so deep and bright that even its casting shadows would disappear.
Perhaps, if we give the true light our arms and our legs with faith and perseverance, some day the darkness will comprehend completely.
Darkness turning into light one person at a time.
And all of creation would blossom and flower in one embrace of love.
What a beginning that would be.
By Ken Woodley
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.
But….
….before the beginning.
Before the word.
Before the light.
The darkness was everywhere.
We closed our eyes as tightly as we could to keep from seeing it but it only got darker and we could hear the darkness taking deep breaths as if it were preparing to blow everything away.
We felt it touching us.
We heard the darkness speak our name.
Our tongues and lips trembled in search of a prayer: an army, please, Lord, with swords raised, spears held high to push back against all of this darkness.
But no thundering hoofbeats came.
No rescuing trumpets sounded.
There was no clatter of metal weapons.
We were utterly on our own, like the last leaf on an autumn tree, all the rest fallen and winter digging in all around the empty forest.
We were as helpless as the day we’d been born and reached frantically for the only thing we saw—even with our eyes closed—in a brief flash of flickering light inside our soul:
A star was shining from the stump of Jesse.
A branch was shining out of its roots.
We opened one eye to take a peek.
Outside our window, a corner of the dark horizon was turning gray.
The spirit of the Lord began to call, like a single bird on a lonely limb of the last tree standing, wondering where all the leaves had gone.
That was all but that was enough.
Darkness knew that it was already too late.
A spirit of wisdom and understanding, of counsel and might had begun to brushstroke traces of pink and orange in the sky.
There was more to the world, we realized, than the darkness that had surrounded us.
Shapes began to emerge in the gathering scatterings of light.
And, even with one eye closed, we saw unmistakable miracles.
We saw a leaf on a tree, green somehow, even on winter’s doorstep.
We saw our own wrinkles and veins.
We saw a lion lying down with a lamb.
A wolf was eating straw like the ox.
And a little child was leading them.
A little child coming from Bethlehem.
No army to the thundering rescue.
No swords and clattering of spears.
Just this one, small child.
And what amazing grace—we knew his name.
“Jesus,” we called out to him. “Jesus!”
And the darkness knew then that it had met its match.
Darkness knew the game was over.
Darkness knew the final score was set in stone for all eternity.
We opened both eyes as wide as we could and there was suddenly light all around. The little child had brought the light that never sets.
A light that could not and would not be extinguished.
A light that hope can trust.
A light that also shines inside us toward others waiting in the darkness.
We could hear the light breathing deeply.
We felt its touch.
Then, with even more amazing grace, the light spoke each of our names.
Our tongues and lips trembled with “Amen” before we joyfully shouted, “Hallelujah!”
Its echo became a refrain and the light shone in the darkness and the darkness did not understand it.
The true light that gives light to every woman, child and man had come into the world.
And still the darkness did not understand it.
But oh, Lord, if only the darkness one day would. If only darkness would believe that it, too, can feel a light so deep and bright that even its casting shadows would disappear.
Perhaps, if we give the true light our arms and our legs with faith and perseverance, some day the darkness will comprehend completely.
Darkness turning into light one person at a time.
And all of creation would blossom and flower in one embrace of love.
What a beginning that would be.
Ken Woodley 