When Darkness Seems to Linger Beyond Christmas

“And the angel said to them, ‘Fear not, for behold, I bring you good news of great joy

that will be for all the people. And this will be a sign for you: you will find a baby wrapped in swaddling cloths and lying in a manger.’”

Luke 2:10, 12 (ESV)

Jesus came into darkness. And while we celebrate the light and hope that came with His birth, we must also recognize that at the end of that first Christmas night, the Light—the hope of the world—was still only a baby. Though the hearts of the shepherds, stirred by the angelic choir, were filled with joyful expectancy, the reality of the moment still stung. They were living under Roman occupation.

If I were a shepherd, I’m not sure I would have wanted the Messiah to come as a baby. Babies are vulnerable and need to be cared for. I would have wanted a Savior already assembled and ready to take down evil. God, however, chose to come as a child. It would be thirty-three years before the mission was fulfilled—and even then, to the observer, He might have seemed like a failure. But He wasn’t.

God works in generational spans. Hope may seem small in the moment, but the glory that awaits is far greater than our minds can fathom.

This Christmas season, amid the warm embrace of family and the magic of the holidays, we remember those close to us who are walking through devastating loss—where rooms that once held hopes and dreams now lie empty. Like Herod that first Christmas, the enemy, desperate to snuff out the Light, fights harder than ever to kill hope.

As the Light advances against the darkness, we are not unaware of the taunts of fading shadows. To the enemy, we respond: hope lives. Even through the pain of loss, the night is real and feels long—but compared to the eternity ushered in by this baby, it is short, though deeply painful.

Today we think of our friends, the Steens. We love you and are praying for you. We miss our brother and your son terribly, and our joy is tempered by the reality of our loss. Through it all, we worship the Lord of life—whose arrival meets us in the darkness, but does not leave us there.