“Jesus left Nazareth and made his home in Capernaum by the sea, in the territory of Zebulun and Naphtali, so that what had been spoken through the prophet Isaiah might be fulfilled: ‘Land of Zebulun, land of Naphtali, on the road by the sea, across the Jordan, Galilee of the gentiles – the people who sat in darkness have seen a great light, and for those who sat in the region of the shadow of death, light has dawned.’”
-Matthew 4:13-16
At this point in Matthew’s narrative, Jesus still hasn’t preached or healed anyone. He’s simply moved from his hometown to the next town over, Capernaum. And this, Matthew feels, is unto itself cause to celebrate the good news that God’s light is indeed shining in the world. Without having even spoken a word of public teaching, Jesus’ mere presence in the world means the darkness is retreating. The shadow of death is shrinking. God’s light is too much for it. And it’s not light for Israel; it’s light for the whole world. This group of villages near the Sea of Galilee was filled with gentiles in Isaiah’s day and still has many of them in Jesus’ day. From this cluster of small villages, God’s light is shining in its purest form. And the apostles will indeed take that light far outside Israel when the time comes. Matthew is preparing us. This is what our experience of reading his writing will be – Jesus’ light shining on us.
I want us to take a moment and really sit with what Matthew is giving us. We’re used to the Bible using light as an essential way of talking about God. “Let there be light,” and “Thy word is a lamp to my feet,” and “I am the light of the world.” But how often do we let this way of talking about God actually penetrate us?
Right now let’s sit with these images. Darkness and light. Picture them in your minds. What does darkness, as a theological reality, mean to you? What does it mean to you to be stuck sitting in the shadow of death? Gloom and melancholy? Grief? Despair? Depression? Lostness and lack of direction? Difficulty with discerning what’s right and wise? Feeling unseen and invisible? Secrets that we dare not share, lest we invite judgment from those around us?
Now, what about light? What does light, as a theological reality, mean to you? Joy and warmth, the general feeling of gladness? Newness? The assurance of having direction? The ability to see and discern? Feeling completely seen and accepted? Secrets being revealed? Does it create some discomfort to see light revealing your secrets?
This is Jesus. This is what Jesus is to us and for us. Light. Even if there is some initial discomfort and fear at his light scattering the darkness where we hide our secret selves, he is scattering the dark all the same and making something new. To be close to him is to absorb his warmth and joy, to have direction and discernment, to be seen and loved. That’s what Jesus is to us. That’s what Jesus is to the whole world. This is why we read the Gospels, and why we pray – to expose ourselves to this joyful, illuminating, lovely and loving light. And the more we spend time with him in the Gospels and ease into prayer habits, the more he shines on us and remakes us.