When Half-Spent Was the Night

‘Tis the season for Christmas Music– hymns and carols, ancient songs and modern tunes celebrating the Advent and Birth of the Lord Jesus. Joyful, passionate, somber, or even a bit silly, such music can lighten our spirits, and remind us of the incredible gift of God– Emmanuel–His very presence among mankind.

Christmas lyrics often use wonderful imagery to retell this amazing story. The Bible accounts tell of shepherds, angels, wise men, and stars– the songs give us the immediacy of a dark night– “silent”, “still”, “earth as hard as iron; water like a stone”, “a midnight clear”, “half-spent was the night”…

Most of us live in a world that rarely gets so dark. If we live in a town or city, we are surrounded by street lights, security lights, even night-lights in the hallway. Even so, we have a feeling for how the midnight and early morning hours seem darker, colder, quieter, and more dreary than any other time. And there is a significance in remembering that Jesus came to earth in the midst of literal and metaphorical darkness, “when half-spent was the night.”

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God is Omnipresent– it is not as though God leaves us when all is merry and bright– but His presence is often most keenly sought, and unexpectedly found, in darkness and distress. When all seems bleak, cold, and hopeless, Jesus comes silently, small and fragile as a baby, bringing light, hope, joy, and peace. He comes when the night is “half-spent”– when the darkness is deepest, the silence weighs heaviest, and the cold is most bitter; when hope and light seem lost.

Jesus’ Advent came after four hundred hears of silence. Prophets, such as Isaiah, Zechariah, and Micah, had spoken of Messiah rescuing Israel from captivity. But the years had passed, and Rome ruled the Jewish people with an iron fist. God had stayed silent, and hope seemed remote. Rome would continue to rule the world for another four hundred years. But when Messiah arrived, He didn’t come to break the power of Rome. He didn’t come at the end of that particular “night”; rather, He came when the night was “half-spent.” He came gently, quietly, and humbly. He came to deliver Israel from something much darker, colder, and deadlier than a foreign occupation. Jesus, through His life and death and resurrection, came to deliver Israel, and the rest of the world, from the power of sin and death.

All the promise of deliverance and salvation that came in the middle of that bleak night so long ago, remains for us to celebrate– even in the middle of our “half-spent” nights.

We may not see the dawn in the middle of our struggles. We may not hear the angels singing or feel the warmth of the new day coming. But because of this “Rose e’er Blooming”, we can rejoice. We can find hope and peace in the present night, knowing that Emmanuel is with us! Like a lamp in the night, He will stay with us as we travel through the present darkness. After all, “Thy WORD is a lamp unto my feet and a light unto my path.” (Psalm 119:105) Jesus is the Living Word of God, and thus, our living light!

In the Bleak Midwinter

It’s not actually midwinter just now. In fact, “winter” won’t officially begin for another few days. But it has been bleak around here.

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I suffer from seasonal depression. In spite of the joy I know I should feel during this season; in spite of all the reasons I have to BE joyful, I have been in a funk. I’ve been physically ill, but even more, I’ve been mentally drained and emotionally overwhelmed for over a week. I’ve missed posting a couple of days recently, because I feel hypocritical writing about Christmas.

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But I choose to write tonight about the enduring power of prayer. There are people praying for me, not because I’ve said anything about my condition, but because they are faithful in praying for people, and I happen to be one of them. The clouds are beginning to lift and I’m finding it easier to feel what I already know– that God is in control; that He cares; that He has a purpose beyond the sadness. It’s why I’m so passionate about praying and keeping a prayer log or prayer journal. I am one of those who pray for others, and I am one of those who are being prayed for–we lift each other up, even when–especially when–we don’t fully understand why.

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Some may ask, “How can you say that prayer works if you are depressed? Doesn’t that just prove that prayer isn’t working?” Some people mock the power of prayer in the face of “bad” circumstances. The recent school shooting in my home state of Michigan, or the recent spate of tornadoes in Kentucky and other states are prime examples. Sincere people of faith are being mocked for saying that their “thoughts and prayers” are with the people who are suffering. Mockers say that thoughts and prayers are meaningless–otherwise, prayers should have prevented the events in question from ever happening. In the aftermath, only actions are of value.

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In the face of disaster, distress, or depression, prayers may seem small and even meaningless. Most prayers don’t pack the power of a tornado, nor elicit such an immediate and dramatic response. My depression didn’t suddenly disappear the moment someone began praying for me; those whose homes and lives have been turned upside-down in the past days and weeks didn’t wake up this morning to find that it was just a bad dream. And prayer should be accompanied by thoughtful and compassionate action. But prayer heals– and healing takes time. God chooses to use the prayers of others to seep into our lives; to fortify us and draw us together. Actions may change the circumstances, but prayer changes the person. Prayer reaches beyond the circumstances and the limitations of our human nature.

So today, I will pray. Through the “funk,” through the pain, through the confusion and chaos of a troubled world, I will choose to pray. For those individuals listed in my journal; for those whose needs are posted online or made known to me some other way; for those whose names and faces come to mind throughout the day. Because it is God’s way. Because others are faithfully doing the same. Because, in the end, it brings joy and peace. Even when–especially when– things seem so bleak.

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