... 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,
to guide our feet into the way of peace.
Luke 1:78-79, ESV

It’s dark.

Pitch black. Soft. Suffocating. Smothering, like a pillow.

We are dying. Drowning.

We cannot breathe.

All around us, there is both silence and defeating noise:
the noise of swords and blood and war,
bullets and cries of despair and the sound of life ending.
The silence —
Well, the sound of our hearts not beating,
of our grief suffocating us,
of our own dead souls.

It surrounds us.
We can hear it, but we cannot see it.
It’s dark.

We cannot breathe.

… the sunrise shall visit us from on high…

A former mute spoke those words over a young peasant girl.

The girl was pregnant. She said an angel had told her about it.



In the distance, between the cries of death and the silence of our own despair, we hear it.

Or maybe we don’t.

But all the same, something is different.

Something is coming.


Our heads tilt a little to the side. Maybe someone pauses a moment to think.

You see, we are aching. We are pining. We are dying — dying for our deliverance.

We have been dying our whole lives.

And now the Life is coming.

In the distance, we can see Him.

He looks like a star.

“… to give light to those who sit in darkness
and in the shadow of death,
to guide our feet into the way of peace.”

We are waiting.

Something has softly shattered the earth, and we have felt it in. We can smell it on the breeze. We are slowly, softly, surely waking up.

We are waiting.

We are waiting for our deliverance, and He seems slow in His something’s-coming-ness.

We are waiting for His approach, and for the love of God, why is He taking so long?

Doesn’t He know we have been dying our whole lives?
Doesn’t He want to see us live?
Doesn’t He know it’s dark here, and we can hardly see our hands in front of our faces? Doesn’t He know we can hardly hear the beating of our own hearts?

We are waiting and waiting and waiting and oh, God, where are You?

… the sunrise shall visit us from on high…

A crack.

A split.

A minuscule seam in the pitch-black sky.
It’s pink.


And slowly and suddenly and all at the same time — 
A sunrise.

Pink and orange and vermilion and peach and lavender and periwinkle and red the color of cherries. The color of blood.

We have waited.
He is here.

Wake up, world.
There has been a shift in the system.
A new player has entered the game,
and now and forever and evermore,
nothing will ever be the same.

We have waited for what seems like forever,
And now Forever has been given to us.

The dark has passed.
The sunrise has visited us from the heights of heaven.

The waiting is over.