Godly Light for Ghastly Ghosts

“As early as Eden, God’s people have been a waiting people.” That’s how Jonathan Gibson opens his Advent liturgy, O Come, O Come, Immanuel. And we feel that waiting now, don’t we? It’s a sacred waiting, a passionate waiting, a joyous waiting. This is a waiting for light—not of the ordinary sort but of the extraordinary Son. When the Nicene Creed calls the Son “Light of Light,” it aims to remind us that the glorious glow of God’s incarnate presence was always more than worth the wait. At one time the church waited with anticipation; now we wait in emancipation—free to hope for his second coming.

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Of course, our common response to waiting is frazzled frustration or incessant irritation. “How long is this going to take?! Doesn’t he see that the traffic light turned green? How long does it take to pay for a prescription at the drugstore drive through?” Waiting is a wall that reveals the heart.

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But this isn’t a call to encourage others to be more patient, to replace yips and curses with yuletide carols. It’s bigger than that—much bigger. It’s far more important this season to remind the people you meet that God has been patient with us. Christmas isn’t a time to “be merry and bright” just because. For us, it’s a time to remember—with joyful awe—that God loves his people so much that he doesn’t just come down to them as the Light of Light; he comes down as one of them.

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Waiting is a wall that reveals the heart.

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That’s a momentous distinction. Most people this season—even if they aren’t Christians—have no problems smiling at the idea that God came down to us in a little manger. It’s a comforting idea, in the spirit of Hallmark and Thomas Kinkade. What’s not so comforting, but what’s absolutely critical, is that we proclaim dependence on and need for God coming as one of us. He did this not just to comfort us, but to save us from that ancient death-sickness we call sin. Jesus came as one of us to pay the penalty for all of us. He came not only for our comfort but also for our redemption; he came to sympathize and to save “Emmanuel” isn’t a title of mere presence; it beams forth with a gracious and efficacious call to sinners and sufferers, a ray of golden light for ghosts gone in rebellion. Remember—we weren’t just sick before Jesus found us; we were dead in our trespasses and sins, in need of resurrection (Eph. 2:1). The God of glory came for ghastly ghosts.

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Having a rescuer is good news; having a rescuer who sympathizes with our weakness (Heb. 4:15) is even better. But having that person be the Son of God is simply mind-blowing, as heart-stopping as a lightning bolt on a December midnight. It’s in testament to the great God-Light that we stand and celebrate. God didn’t just come to all of us; he came as one of us.

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Christmas, my friends, is when the Light breaks in, but it’s also when that Light carries us with it, atoning for what we never could. Jesus didn’t just come to the lowly; he came as the lowly. That’s what all our little nativity scenes really mean. For more on that, check out this short article that reminds us we celebrate a light-giving but lowly savior: “What Your Nativity Really Means.”

Yours in the Faith,

David B. Garner | Chief Academic Officer, Vice President of Global Ministries, and Charles Krahe Professor of Systematic Theology
Westminster Theological Seminary