OUT OF THE DARKNESS INTO THE LIGHT

A few years ago, while living in North Florida, I took the kids fishing at Watertown Lake. Like all of the lakes there in North Florida the water was very dark. They say it’s from all of the tannins in the oaks. I think it’s beautiful- like a tea that has been steeping for thousands of years. The lake has a long, L-shaped fishing pier that goes out beyond its weedy fringes into deeper water, and after the kids spilled out of the van, my oldest, Bowden, led the charge, clomping out over its rough wooden boards. He ran the length of the pier, with his younger siblings trailing out behind him like a sled dog team. They ran in order of age- Lucy, Jack and little Miles who was just four years old at the time

I watched as Bowden baited his hook and then cast a line into the water. His younger siblings also watched, and then they came running back to me clamoring for their own rods, which I had been carrying for them. I set up shop near the middle of the pier. Lucy  moved a few yards off to my left and gave her new fishing rod, which she had received as a Christmas gift, its inaugural cast.  I was busy untangling Jack and Miles’ fishing rods and baiting their hooks while they peered over the side of the dock looking for “alligator bubbles.” Going fishing with small children requires a lot of patience. Their lines are forever getting tangled, and they can't bait a hook or cast or wait patiently. Basically, they can't fish. Fishing with little kids is really more of an investment in the future. The hope is that they will grow up loving fishing with Dad and that when they are older it will become something for us all to do together. I had finally gotten their lines untangled and was busily baiting their hooks when I heard Miles say something about “bubbles.” I looked up just in time to see him slip head-first off the side of the pier into 10 feet of coffee-black water.

Jack instantly began shrieking at the top of his lungs, “He fell in! He fell in!” while jumping up and down in a tearful frenzy of fear and desperation. Lucy dropped her rod and yelled, “Daddy! Daddy!” A woman, who was also fishing just a few yards to my left and who had also seen Miles fall in, cried out “O, dear Lord, have mercy.” The black water suddenly looked sinister as it swallowed Miles up. Of course, I jumped into the lake after him. The adrenaline took over completely. I didn’t feel the cold of the water or the weight of my clothes. In such a moment a parent exists for just one purpose. I tried to open my eyes underwater, but I couldn’t see anything. So, I moved my arms back and forth until my fingers felt the bundle of sweatshirt and hair and warmth that was my little boy. I grabbed him with more strength than was necessary and brought him back into the sunlight.  I delivered him into the waiting arms of bystanders who hefted Miles back up onto the pier. By the time I had regained the pier myself, Sarah had already whisked Miles away to the van where he was being dried off and wrapped in a blanket. My heart threatened to beat right out of my chest.

But later that night, after I had put the kids to bed, I opened the book I was reading and found a bookmark that Miles had made for me earlier that morning. He had drawn a cross on a piece of paper and had proudly presented it to me. “The cross stands for Jesus,” he had explained. “You can use it for a bookmark if you want.” My heart ached as my mind filled with dread at the thought of what could have been. Then it flooded with relief that Miles was tucked safely into his bed down the hall. It felt like when you wake up from a nightmare and for a few moments you are not sure which world is real.

What if he had died? What if I had been on another part of the pier? What if nobody had seen him fall in? What if? That was too terrible a thought to entertain, and too ugly to look at for long. If Miles had died that day I’m not sure I would have had it in me to come back to the house. I would have wanted to seal the place off and never go there again. I can’t imagine the pain of seeing his bath toys gathered quietly near the drain, or his pajamas hanging out of the side of the hamper, or the spot near the front door where he had scribbled on the wall, or that bookmark he had given me. My life came all too close to being divided into before and after we went to that lake.

But he didn’t die. I jumped in after him, found him, and brought him back.

And this is a picture of Christmas.

I had told Miles not to go too near the edge, just as God told Adam not to eat of the forbidden tree, but when Miles fell in I did not stand on the edge of the dock and say, “Serves him right!” No, motivated by a fierce love, I jumped in after him. That was the behavior of a sinful man, how much more could we expect from the God who is love and righteousness. When all of mankind fell into a place of dark separation and death God jumped in after us as well.

Christmas is a celebration of the moment when Jesus jumped in after us.

Miles was powerless to save himself. He could not swim. He needed someone to come to him, find him in the cold and the dark, and deliver him back into the light. This is also a picture of our condition when we were saved. We were cut off. Hopeless. Helpless. Utterly lost in the darkness. We had neither the wisdom nor the power to move toward God, but he came to us. That coming to us is Christmas!

This is what Luke 1:78-79 says, speaking of Jesus, “…because of the tender mercy of our God, whereby the sunrise shall visit us from on high to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death.” Colossians 1:12-14 says, “…giving thanks to the Father, who has qualified you to share in the inheritance of the saints in light. He has delivered us from the domain of darkness and transferred us to the kingdom of his beloved Son, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins.”