John 1:1–18
There is a quiet honesty at the heart of John’s Gospel. It doesn’t begin with shepherds or angels or a crowded stable. It begins in the deep, before time, before words, before we have learned how to hide our fear or dress up our wounds.
“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.”
Notice what John does not say. He does not say the darkness disappears. He does not say it is instantly fixed or explained away. The darkness remains, but it does not win.
This is good news for anyone who is tired, uncertain, grieving, or simply worn thin. Renewal does not require the absence of darkness. It begins when light is welcomed, even in small ways.
This week’s Sacred Rhythm invites you to welcome the light, not by forcing joy or optimism, but by noticing where light is already present.
You might begin by lighting a candle, not as a performance, but as a quiet act of intention. Let it remind you that God’s light does not need to be loud to be real.
Each day, pause and ask yourself:
- Where did light touch my day today?
- What moment, however small, felt steady, kind, or true?
It may be brief: a kind word, a moment of rest, a deep breath that settled your spirit, a memory that warmed rather than hurt. Do not rush past these moments. Let them be enough.
Welcoming the light also means being honest about the darkness. John does not shame the darkness. He names it. And so can we. You might gently ask:
- Where do I feel heaviness right now?
- What am I carrying that feels unresolved or tender?
You are not being asked to fix these things. Only to hold them in the presence of light. God does not wait for you to be free of shadows before drawing near.
As the week unfolds, return to this simple phrase:
“The light shines.”
Say it in the morning before the day begins. Say it in the evening when the day is done. Say it when the darkness feels close. Life is renewed not through striving, but through trust, trust that light is still shining, even now.
Let’s pray:
God of light and life, you entered our world not with force, but with presence. When the darkness feels heavy, teach us not to turn away, but to notice where your light already shines. Renew our hearts with quiet hope. Help us welcome your light, not just in moments of clarity, but in uncertainty, waiting, and weariness. May your light dwell with us, restore us, and gently make us new. AMEN
