There are mornings when I wake up about an hour before sunrise without even meaning to.  Oh, I try to roll over and get back to where I was, wherever that was.  It doesn’t work.  Even at this time of year, when the darkness draws out and the day is brief, I still know the light is on its way.  Something in me, with me, knows it.  That doesn’t mean I always get up right away.  It can be hard to wake up.  Paul knows it; he’s well aware of his human limitations, too, and he writes to his fellow believers there in the very center of the empire: “do this, understanding the present time: The hour has already come for you to wake up from your slumber, because our salvation is nearer now than when we first believed.  The night is nearly over; the day is almost here” (13:11-12).

Almost here.  And the present time is always now.  Now is the time for living, working, loving, serving, praising—the new day’s light is nearly here.  Yes, it’s still dark, but we’re up.  The light rises, rises in us.  Christians live the way Jesus taught, the way he made possible for us by his dying and rising.  During Advent, we get ourselves ready for Christmas.  We’re reminded that Advent means coming.  Christmas means Christ has already come: Advent isn’t pointing us to what has happened but to what will happen.  We must understand the present time.  Now is the time for living Christ’s way.  The darkness is passing.  Day is almost here.  Yes, it’s still dark, but we’re up, now, and have things to do.

Gather ye rosebuds while ye may, the old English poet wrote.  Live now to love now and serve now, to share now and taste even now the good fruit of disciple living.  Jesus is on his way; with each passing day the time grows shorter.  The darkness is passing away.  That’s an article of faith, and we stake our lives on the truth of it.  Now, the world can seem a very dark place, as you hear me say all too often, I know.  I don’t say it to depress you or rob you of whatever happiness you’ve managed to scrabble together.  Yes, there are always hints and glimpses of light, too, thank God.  I remind us of our situation in the world to cultivate a very keen sense of who is also with us, even in this world.  Jesus is up, and so are we.  When you start to feel overwhelmed, or if you’re already there!—remember who is with you.

The power of Jesus drives out darkness and fills with light.  That is happening first in us.  When Paul reminds us that the darkness is passing away, he isn’t speaking only cosmically or globally: he’s speaking in a very focused way about you, me.  Because of Jesus Christ, who came for us and who is returning, the darkness is passing out of us.  That, for me, is a priceless Christmas gift!

We can see, personally, that the darkness is passing out of us as we turn away from the things we had been in the habit of doing, saying, or just thinking: things that never brought honor or glory to God.  Maybe it was lying—to protect yourself, of course.  Maybe it was a little stealing on the side—you worked so hard and got paid so little—you earned what you took, really.  And who would ever find out?  Maybe it was a little cheating on your spouse—as though a little weren’t so very harmful.  Maybe you spent more time than you care to recall seeing things it isn’t good to see or doing things it isn’t good to do.  Remember, Christ came, lived, taught, healed, blessed, died, and rose for this very reason: to set us free from all the darkness that has someway made its way into us.  Is there still darkness in there?  There’s also, now, a great light.  We’re not just sitting helpless in darkness; we’re waiting with the light.

In Ephesians, Paul quotes what must have been one of the earliest hymns: “Wake up, sleeper, / rise from the dead, / and Christ will shine on you” (Eph 5:14).  Another way of putting that is Christ won’t shine on someone if he or she won’t rise from the dead, won’t rise from sleep.  We have to open our eyes; God only can open them.  He causes us to want to open our eyes and see the light, receive the light and, somehow, be the light.  If you want Christ to shine upon you, and in you, rise from the dead, rise from the deeds of those who are dead.  It’s time for living Christ’s way.

The light is our safety.  When it’s dark and they’re feeling scared, children turn on the light.  Well, Christians aren’t much different—after all, the kingdom belongs to such as these, who know that safety is in the light, with the light.  Oh, we tell the little ones, there’s nothing to be scared of in the darkness.  When you have the light, that’s perfectly true.  Only have the light, put on the light.  The time to act is now.  In Christ, we are alive with light.

“[P]ut aside the deeds of darkness and put on the armor of light” (13:12).  The NLT offers it this way: “[R]emove your dark deeds like dirty clothes, and put on the shining armor of right living.”  Sometimes our living, even as Christians, can get stained, become dingy.  There remain a few things I and you can be working on inside ourselves.  Paul is making this very personal; discipleship isn’t just for out there; it’s also for in here.  A Christian lives a life that looks and sounds different from what the world has to offer.  No, you and I don’t get to pass sentence upon the worthiness or unworthiness of one another’s discipleship, but we do recognize and celebrate successes; we do recognize and weep over failures.  Before, we did darkness and died.  Then Christ gave light, put his light in us, upon us, and we lived again.  Christ’s light is our safety.  Let us wear it.

“Let us behave decently, as in the daytime” (13:13).  In the light, we see others and others see us, and God sees all that is done in the light and in the darkness.  Christ’s people live differently because we are in the light, because the light is in us now, thanks to Christ, and it becomes increasingly difficult and hurtful to us to behave in a way that is contrary to Christ.  Whereas our conscience never really stung us much before, it starts to—that’s Christ.

Did I ever tell you about the time I was in a bar fight in Connecticut?  No?  But let me clarify: I wasn’t a participant in the brawl, I just happened to be there while it was happening.  You just never know what’s going to happen in bar.  Maybe it’s best to keep out of bars.

Paul cites a few examples of the sort of thing Christians don’t do.  It’s definitely not an exhaustive list.  What he points to are things typical in the larger society of his day—extreme and typical.  Life without Christ looks like something.  The deeds of darkness Paul enumerates in this part of his letter aren’t so much allegations as examples: things that Christ followers could see all around them, things they maybe also did before Christ came to them, things that they would never want to do, now that Christ has enlightened them.  Shameful things.  The German theologian and New Testament scholar Ernst Käsemann referred to these as “secret and open filthiness.”[1]  Such deeds are indicators of a Christ-less life.

In Paul’s day, the heart of the empire was becoming notorious for the “sexual immorality and debauchery” he mentions, “unbridled sexual indulgence.”[2]  A warning for our times, too, when it’s starting to seem as if no indulgence of the flesh is beyond the pale, the Shameless Age.  Balenciaga’s terse assurance that it was all the photographer’s fault won’t do for us here.  More than half a century ago, our old friend William Barclay wrote about this person with the mentality of the Shameless Age: “He does not care who sees him; he does not care how much of a public exhibition he makes of himself; he does not care what people think of him [. . . .] a man who dares publicly to do the things which are unbecoming for any man to do.”[3]  But freedom, in our age, is freedom from shame.  Unbecoming conduct—who talks that way, anymore?  We used to think it wasn’t hard to recognize the Christ-less way; the world has been telling us all along that we have been so wrong about that; I’m sad to say that some Christians seem to be heeding that message.  But Jesus is up, and we should be, too.

What does Paul say?  “[C]lothe yourselves with the Lord Jesus Christ, and do not think about how to gratify the desires of the flesh” (13:14).  Gratifying those desires is our way no longer; that way is not the Higher Calling.  It’s not that these bodies are our enemies, far from it!  Our bodies are gifts from God.  And there’s something in these bodies, these minds and hearts, that urges us to misuse God’s good gift: indulge—we think of a decadent chocolate cake as something especially good, but the language we use—decadent—tells us more truth than we like to consume.  Christ gives freedom for life; our times highlight freedom from restraint.  All that those poor, beset Christians in Rome had to do was step outside their doors to see what indulgence without restraint looked like and what it did.  All we have to do is spend a little time on the internet or watch the news.  And Paul is telling them, reminding them, assuring them, encouraging them that salvation draws nearer every day.  Advent reminds us that the time to consider this truth of our faith is always now.  The time of light follows the time of darkness.  About the world—this shameless, flesh-gratifying world—I can’t give you very encouraging news, but about our lives in Christ I can always give you the greatest encouragement!

God has called us, Christ has claimed us, and the Holy Spirit has put us onto a new way, a narrow way of abundant blessing.  Now, by grace, God is changing our outlook and our attitude: the work of a lifetime!  God gives us what we need for the daily work of this journey: Paul speaks of the armor of Christ, the armor of light, the daylight way.  Armor is for defense.  Armor is for battle.  Who wants to think of life as a battle?  Not me, but it is, whether I want to think that way or not.  Battle—that sounds exhausting and painful.  If we had no help, it would be all that and more.  If we had no help, there would be no reason to fight, and we wouldn’t want to.  One commentator writes of Paul urging us to take “firm action against the ‘flesh.’”[4]  Of ourselves we can’t and won’t.  In Christ, with Christ in us, his armor upon us, we can and we begin to want to.  What we desire begins to change because Christ is changing us.  We’re awaking to the change; we “discern the new reality that is taking shape within.”[5]  Praise God, for the change; bless God, for the light.

Blessing and glory and wisdom and thanksgiving and honor and power and strength belong to our God forever and ever!

               [1] Ernst Käsemann.  Commentary on Romans.  Trans. Geoffrey W. Bromiley.  Grand Rapids, Mich.: Eerdmans, 1980.  364.

               [2] Brendan Byrne, SJ.  Romans.  Sacra Pagina.  Collegeville, Minn.: Liturgical P, 1996.  400.

               [3] William Barclay.  Letter to the Romans.  1957.  Daily Study Bible.  Philadelphia, Westminster P, 1975.  179.

               [4] Byrne, 401.

               [5] Byrne, 398.