I was listening to a local radio program recently as I was driving across town. The topic was about adult children taking care of aged and sick parents. The guest was a man who had taking care of his mother for five years. She had dementia. While he was at work he had an aide stay with her, but when he got home he was her total caregiver. He did this for five years. He said, “It was the hardest thing I have ever done.” He also said, “I was honored to do it; it was one of the best things I have ever done.”
He described his own job with its tiring demands and then the constant care he had to give his mother when he got home from a long day at the office. He had many sleepless nights because he was afraid his mother might get up and roam the house while he was asleep. “It wore me out,” he said, “and when her condition deteriorated and she needed more care than I could give her, I finally had to put her in a nursing home.” The radio host asked him, “Do you think that was the right thing to do?” “Yes,” he responded, “but I worry a bit because I’ve entrusted others to care for my mother.”
The host asked the man, “What helped you during the dark days of those five years?” He said he learned to appreciate the Now. For example, he cherished the moments when, sitting beside his mother watching television, she would laugh. “Those were precious gifts,” he said with affection in his voice.
Friends also helped in the darkness: they stopped by to keep him company; a cousin sat with his mother to give him a break; a friend periodically cooked a meal; a wise nurse and other medical people didn’t always have answers for him, but they gave him assurance and guidance. “All those dear people were shafts of light in the darkness, soothing presences during moments of doubt and anxiety.”
Isaiah wrote 800 years before Christ. He was speaking to Israel and Judah (the northern and southern kingdoms) who had been puffed up by their own power and independence. The prophet accused them of ignoring the light of their covenant with God and trusting in their own lights for guidance. They had tried to make alliances with foreign powers to protect them from their enemies. Isaiah had warned against such alliances, but he was rejected. Dark days were ahead for Zebulun and Naphtali (verse 23)–they were the first to fall to the advancing Assyrians.
With Judah already fallen, Isaiah warned that Israel would also fall because of their infidelities and distrust of God. Yet, he promised God would help the people if they repented and turned again to God. “Anguish has taken wing, dispelled is darkness: for there is no gloom where but now there was distress. The people who walk in darkness have seen a great light….”
Isaiah makes it sound easy: darkness is dispelled, gloom evaporates, and then joy comes rushing in. It sounds like the people’s past was awful and now their present will be rosy. Actually their present was miserable. They lived in a “land of gloom.” Yet, Isaiah speaks in the present tense, as if all is passed and over with. He is making a promise for the future, as if it were a present reality. “Anguish has taken wing,”–not, “Anguish will take wing.”
Isaiah is promising light at the end of the tunnel, by envisioning it as a present reality. Then he addresses God and celebrates what God has done–even though there are no present signs of God’s activity. It is as if Isaiah is so sure God will bring relief to the people that he gives praise now. How bold! How confident! He alludes to the way Gideon miraculously defeated the Midianites, to encourage his crushed people. He is stirring up confidence in what God can and will do.
Can we identify from our lives the promises God fulfilled in the past? Does that memory give us hope because, when we were in distress, going through the motions of daily life, we found relief? The man caring for his failing mother could.
Here at this Eucharist we say “thank you” as we name the times in our past and now in our present, that light has dispelled darkness, when family and friends: saw us harried and took the kids for a day; did our shopping; lent us money; provided a shoulder to cry on, a strong hand for strength; walked the entire journey with us when others gave up on us. Somehow we got through the darkness and Isaiah reminds us how we did it: God was with us in very concrete rays of light; we recall their names and we give thanks today.
But here we are gathered in a worshiping community where some of us are in present darkness, distress and uncertainty. Anguish has not yet “taken wing,” or darkness dispelled. What to do? We cling to the words of the prophet who may be expressing more faith than we now feel; more hope than we can muster. We lean on Isaiah’s words and pray with our community of faith for help; that someday we too can say, “I was in darkness but, ‘Anguish has taken wing, dispelled is darkness for there is no gloom where but now there was distress'”– even if now we are not so sure.
We let the Eucharist be our prayer of thanks, a prayer in the present for the light and relief we are hoping to receive. We give thanks for the encouragement and support we get from generous souls who are already helping us get through any present gloom we are now experiencing: the special ones who assure us, “Don’t worry, we’ll get through this together.” We know them well enough to know they will keep their word. Through them we can also see the hand of God fulfilling the ancient promises made through the prophet Isaiah, “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; upon those who dwelt in the land of gloom a light has shone.”
Can we recognize ourselves in the gospel’s call of the first apostles? This call isn’t for upper-class apostles, reserved to only a few chosen ones. All of us are called to be disciples, followers and apostles of Jesus. In Isaiah’s imagery Jesus calls us to be lights for those suffering darkness and distress. As Isaiah envisioned, we too see Jesus as “a great light.” If we have turned to Jesus, as he invites us today, then we are reflectors of his light–we are lightbearers. Have we been light for those we met this week? Have we been willing to put aside our preoccupations and preconceptions, leaving all, to serve Christ in a gloom-filled world?
Jesus has called us today to be part of the fulfillment of Isaiah’s promise: to bring light into the darkness, joy for those in gloom and distress. We are the ones called to smash “the yoke that has burdened them.”
Maybe someone we know is: going through a harsh divorce; lost a loved one; is looking for work; being put out of their homes; has a run-away child; is in jail; homebound; losing a struggle with cancer, etc. Can we hear Jesus’ personal invitation, “Come after me…”? How shall we respond? Where can we strike a light of hope for someone “dwelling in a land overshadowed by death.”?
Our Christian churches are celebrating Christian Unity and the desire for still more tangible signs of unity. We Americans are very diverse in our beliefs, religious practices and church life. Is there a real unity behind this diversity; tolerance and appreciation of our many and diverse gifts? Or, are we still focused more on our differences and the gaps between us? Paul challenges us today that there “be no divisions among you, but that you be united in the same mind and in the same purpose.” That’s something to pray and strive for this new year.