Wednesday in the First Week of Advent | Genesis 1:1-5 & John 1:1-5
Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.
A child doesn’t have to try to be afraid of the dark—it just comes naturally. The moment the lights go out, everything changes. A hallway that was ordinary an hour ago suddenly feels foreboding. The coat on the chair takes on a strange shape. Every small sound seems louder. You can almost feel the shadows watching – the monsters lurking. And as parents, we know that trying to explain why there’s “nothing to be afraid of” rarely does the trick. Instead, we do something very simple: we turn on a light. Even the smallest night-light changes the whole room. Nothing in the room has actually changed—but the light makes all the difference. The light shines in the darkness.
Advent greets us each year in the darkness. Each day ends a little earlier. The nights linger a little longer. We live in that deepening dark; we drive home in it; we feel it pressing quietly around us. And it’s no accident that the Church keeps speaking about light during Advent. Christmas is coming, but it hasn’t dawned yet. And here, in these long nights, the Scriptures turn our attention to the promise of light.
Because if we’re honest, there’s always a little fear of the dark in each of us. Literal darkness unsettles us. We hesitate. We reach out our hands to find our bearings. We move more slowly. We fumble around looking for a light switch. God knows that about us. He knows how darkness makes us feel.
That’s how the Bible begins. “In the beginning…” What was there? Darkness. Deep, formless, silent darkness. And into that darkness, God spoke: “Let there be light.” The light shines in the darkness. And the darkness could not keep it out. And tonight, in these long Advent nights, God turns our eyes back to that first light so we can recognize the One who comes to shine in our darkness now.
I. God’s Word Created Light in the Darkness (Gen 1:1-5)
When Genesis opens, the first thing Scripture shows us is not a finished world, but a world covered in darkness—“without form and void,” silent and shapeless. There is no sun yet, no stars, no lamps in the sky. Only the cosmic, primordial darkness, and the great deep. It is the kind of darkness where nothing can live, nothing can grow, nothing can be seen.
And then something happens that has never happened before: God speaks. There was no fight or struggle—simply His spoken Word. “Let there be light.” And there was light.
The light in Genesis is not the sun—that comes later. This is God’s own light breaking into the world. Before days are numbered, before land appears, before a single living creature breathes—there is light. And God sees that the light is good.
Here, we also see the means God uses to create: His Word. God speaks, and things that did not exist suddenly exist. God speaks, and darkness is pierced. God speaks, and order begins to form where there had only been emptiness. He spoke, and it was done. This is the pattern the Scriptures set from the very beginning: Where God’s Word goes, light follows. Where God speaks, darkness is pushed back. Where God acts, chaos gives way to life.
In the beginning, God’s Word created light in the darkness. And no darkness—not even the primordial darkness of creation—could stand in the way of the light God gives.
II. Christ Is the Light No Darkness Could Overcome (Jn 1:1-5)
When John begins his Gospel with the same words—“In the beginning”—he is not being poetic. He is intentionally taking us back to Genesis 1 so that we recognize the same voice at work. The Word who spoke light at the first creation is a person who was God and was with God.
John tells us, “In Him was life, and the life was the light of men” (Jn 1:4). Just as Genesis shows that light is the very first gift God gives to creation, John shows us that Christ Himself is that Light—the source of all life, the One through whom everything exists. And then John says something extraordinary: “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it” (Jn 1:5).
Now, John is not speaking about nighttime or shadows in a hallway. When he speaks of “darkness,” he means spiritual darkness—sin, falsehood, evil, deception, unbelief, death itself. Darkness in John is not just the absence of light—it is everything in this world that tries to swallow up the life God gives.
And John makes the point that Darkness tries to resist. Darkness pushes back. But darkness does not win. The darkness is not able to stop the light. It cannot extinguish it. It cannot hold it back. It cannot master it. No matter how deep the darkness, it is never equal to the Light. It does not stand on the same level. It has no independent power. It is only darkness—the absence of light—while Christ is the eternal Light Himself. Just think of a night-light: the moment you plug it in, the darkness doesn’t argue or push back or slowly retreat—it simply disappears. There is no contest, no tug-of-war. Wherever light shines, darkness has no choice but to flee.
And John says this Light shines—present tense. Not “shone once long ago,” but shines now. The light that broke into creation is the same light that stepped into Bethlehem’s manger, the same light that walked the roads of Galilee, the same light that stood before the tomb of Lazarus and called the dead to life, the same light that hung on the cross when darkness tried once more to overcome Him.
And even there—even at Calvary—darkness could not win. The Light died, but the darkness did not master Him. The Light was buried, but the darkness could not keep Him. The Light rose, and the darkness was forced to retreat once again. In Christ, the Light of God has shone into the darkness of our world, and nothing—not sin, not evil, not the grave—has ever overcome Him. Christ is the light of the World.
III. Christ Is Your Light, and Darkness Cannot Overcome You in Him
If Christ is the Light who shattered the darkness at creation, and the Light the darkness could not overcome at the cross, then that same Risen Light shines for you now. Not “shone once long ago,” but shines—present tense—into your fears and your darkest nights.
And every one of us knows what it feels like to be afraid of the darkness. Not just the darkness outside—but the spiritual darkness John is talking about. There is the darkness of sin—those things you wish you could erase, the regret that hits you out of nowhere, the quiet fear that maybe God is finally tired of hearing your confession. There is the darkness of lies, when the world’s noise twists what is true until you can’t tell the difference between God’s promises and the voices that contradict them. Evil has its own kind of darkness too: the diagnosis you didn’t see coming, the cruelty or injustice that leaves you scarred and shaken. And then there is death’s darkness—that shadow that falls over your home, over the empty chair at the table, over your heart, leaving a silence heavier than anything else. And we’re afraid, because each darkness tries to whisper, “This is stronger than you. This will swallow you.”
John’s Gospel assures you that none of these are stronger than Christ. They may feel strong. They may feel overwhelming. But they are still only darkness—and no darkness is stronger than Christ, the Light of the World. Just as a night-light drives away the shadows without a fight, Christ shines, and darkness flees. Christ does not negotiate with darkness, does not wrestle with it, does not slowly chip away at it—He overcomes it.
And the God who once spoke light into the darkness shines that same Light into your darkness through His Son. Where sin weighs on your conscience, Christ takes it from you—He carried it to the cross and buried it in His tomb. Where lies confuse and mislead you, He answers with His own clear Word that cuts through every deception. Where evil wounds and suffering crush your spirit, He enters that pain Himself and makes it unable to separate you from His love. Where death casts its cold shadow, He steps into the grave ahead of you and rises, leaving death’s darkness behind forever—and promising to raise you with Him.
Wherever darkness threatens you, Christ has already entered it—and overcome it. Christ does not leave His Light far off—He brings it to you through the very means He has promised. He shines through your Baptism, where His death became yours and His resurrection marked you with a light no darkness can extinguish. He shines through His Word, spoken into your ears, scattering the shadows with truth. He shines through Absolution, where His forgiveness tears the accusations off your conscience. He shines through His Supper, placing into your mouths the very body and blood that broke the power of death. In these gifts, Christ is not distant—He is present, active, shining. And wherever He shines, darkness cannot stand.
In the beginning, God spoke into the darkness and said, “Let there be light,” and the darkness fled. In the fullness of time, that same Light took on flesh and stepped into our world, and the darkness could not overcome Him. And tonight, that same Light—Christ your Lord—shines for you.
You may still feel the night around you. Advent reminds us that we are people who live between darkness and dawn. But the promise is sure: the Light has come, the Light is shining, and the Light will shine again at His appearing.
So when you feel the darkness pressing in, when fear grows louder, when sin accuses, when grief settles, when death casts its shadow—remember the simplicity of a night-light: as soon as it shines, the darkness has already lost. How much more the Light of Christ. He is the Light who created the world, the Light who conquered the grave, and the Light which no darkness can overcome.
"If God is for us, who is against us?" 