The Weary Receive the Light

John 1:1-14

Advent Candle: Tonight, we light the Christ Candle. All the waiting leads here. All the promises converge in this moment. Hope, peace, joy, and love are not ideas — they are found in a Person.

Scripture Reading — John 1:1, 4–5, 14 (ESV) “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God… In him was life, and the life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it… And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us.”

Reader: Jesus Christ has come. God with us. Not distant. Not detached. Fully present. And because He has come once, we now live with confidence that He will come again.

Reader: As we light the Christ candle, we proclaim this truth: The Light has come into the world.

(Light the white Christ candle.)

Reader: Let us pray. Father, thank You for sending Your Son. Thank You for the light that overcomes the darkness. May our lives reflect the glory of Christ, today and always. In Jesus’ name, Amen.

Good evening, Church.

Those verses that Becky read are what we are going to preach on tonight.

Before you do I want to share a little story about a boy who wanted a bike more than anything, but he wasn’t exactly sure how to pray for it. So one night, trying to sound like his parents, he knelt beside his bed and said, “Lord, if it be Your will, please grant Your humble servant a bicycle, in Jesus’ name.”

A couple days passed. No bike.

Then he overheard a preacher on TV talking about praying with authority. So that night he tried again. He got on his knees and said, “Father, in the name of Jesus, I command You to give me a bike. I claim a blue one with racing stripes and studded tires. In Jesus’ name, I name it and claim it.”

He felt pretty confident about that one.

Two more days went by. Still no bike.

That’s when he walked through the living room and caught his dad watching The Godfather.

So that night, before bed, the kid walked over to the nativity set, picked up the little statue of Mary, knelt down, and said, “Jesus… if You ever want to see Your mother again…”

Needless to say, that kid had a pretty confused view of who Jesus actually is. But if we’re honest, it’s not just little boys who get Jesus wrong. Our culture is full of distorted versions of Him.

Some people treat Jesus like a myth—an inspiring religious figure who makes for a nice story but wasn’t really a historical person. Others follow a version I’ll call Tweetable Jesus—the one who conveniently agrees with you on every political and social issue and can be deployed in a quote or a post whenever you need backup.

Then there’s Genie Jesus—the one you call on in moments of need, hoping He’ll show up long enough to bless your plans and help you get where you already wanted to go. Some prefer Precious Moments Jesus, who makes brief appearances at Christmas, Easter, weddings, and funerals, but doesn’t get much say in everyday life.

And then there’s fire-insurance Jesus—where the relationship is reduced to a transaction. Say the right prayer, check the box, secure your place in heaven, and move on with life largely unchanged.

The problem with all of these versions is the same: they reshape Jesus into something manageable, useful, and familiar. But none of them resemble the Jesus we actually meet in Scripture.

The most important question you will ever answer is not what you believe about church, or morality, or even the Bible. The most important question of your life is this: Who really was—and who really is—Jesus?

Because how you answer that question shapes everything else. It determines how you read Scripture, how you understand suffering, how you define truth, how you live your everyday life, and ultimately what you do with eternity. If Jesus is just a good teacher, then you can admire Him and move on. If He is a moral example, you can cherry-pick what you like and ignore the rest. But if He is who He claimed to be—then neutrality is no longer an option.

That is why the Gospel writers do not waste time easing us in. And that is especially true of John.

John opens his Gospel with words that should immediately slow us down: “In the beginning was the Word.”

Before there was a manger, before there were shepherds, before there was a weary world longing for hope, there was Jesus.

I. THE LIGHT IS ETERNAL

The Bible doesn’t just tell us that Jesus existed in the beginning—he tells us who Jesus is in the beginning. “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God.”

Jesus is not only eternal in duration; He is eternal in nature. He is the eternal Light, fully God, eternally with the Father, never separated, never diminished, never uncertain.

That matters because we live in an unstable world. Everything around us feels fragile—relationships shift, circumstances change, news cycles spin, and even our own emotions rise and fall. We can go to rejoicing to anger because someone said one thing we didn’t like.

But the Bible anchors us to something unshakable. Before anything in your life felt uncertain, Jesus was already standing firm. He was with God from the beginning, sharing in divine authority, wisdom, and truth. That means the Light that steps into our darkness is not guessing, experimenting, or reacting. It is ruling. It is reigning. It is true.

Scripture’s language in John 1 is not accidental. When he says, “In the beginning,” he is deliberately taking us all the way back to Genesis 1.

He wants us to understand that the Jesus we meet in Bethlehem is the same Jesus who was present at creation. Genesis opens with darkness—“the earth was without form and void, and darkness was over the face of the deep”—and the very first recorded words of God are, “Let there be light.” Light comes first, before order, before beauty, before life flourishes. Darkness is not ignored; it is confronted by the word of God.

The Book of John tells us that Word was not just spoken—it was someone. “All things were made through him, and without him was not any thing made that was made.”

That means when God spoke creation into existence, Jesus was not standing on the sidelines. He was the active agent of creation. The Light that broke into the darkness in Genesis 1 is the same Light that steps into the darkness of a weary world in John 1.

That connection matters because creation itself began in chaos and emptiness. Genesis describes a world that is formless, unsettled, and dark—and God does not panic. He does not rush. He speaks. And when He speaks, light comes, order follows, and life begins to take shape. The Book of John wants weary people to see this clearly: the same Word who brought light out of cosmic darkness is the Word who brings light into personal darkness.

So when the Bible says Jesus was “with God” and “was God,” he is telling us that Jesus carries the same divine authority that spoke the universe into existence. The Light that shines into your confusion, your grief, your exhaustion, and your fear is not reacting to circumstances. It is the same ruling, reigning Word that once said, “Let there be light,” and darkness had no choice but to retreat.

That means the Light Jesus provides is not fragile. It is creative. It does not just expose darkness—it overcomes it. The One who ordered the stars knows how to bring order to a weary soul. The One who spoke life into a formless world knows how to speak hope into a tired heart.

So when John anchors us to Genesis, he is reminding us that our lives are not held together by optimism or effort, but by the eternal Word of God. The same Jesus who stood at the dawn of creation now stands in the middle of our weariness, speaking light once again. And just like in Genesis, when He speaks, darkness does not win.

The Book of John goes on to say, “In him was life, and the life was the light of men.” That means the light we are talking about tonight is not symbolic or sentimental. It is living. It is active. It flows directly from the life of God Himself.

In a world that feels unstable and unpredictable, the Bible anchors us to something solid. Jesus is not affected by the shifting circumstances of our lives. His light does not dim when the news gets darker. His hope does not waver when our strength does.

The Bible goes on to say, “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” Notice what the Bible does not say. It does not say the darkness isn’t real. It does not pretend the world isn’t broken. It simply reminds us that darkness is not in charge. The darkness pushes back. It resists. It tries to linger. But it cannot overcome the light. It never has.

That is where hope begins for weary people. The struggles you walked in with tonight—the uncertainty, the grief, the fear, the exhaustion—do not get the final word. Jesus does. As the eternal Word, He offers an unchanging hope in a constantly changing world. When everything else feels unstable, His light remains steady. And when the darkness feels overwhelming, the Bible reminds us that the Light is still shining—and it always will.

2. THE WITNESS TO THE LIGHT

The Bible shifts the focus in verses 6 through 9 from who the Light is to how the Light is made known. It introduces us to John the Baptist and says, “There was a man sent from God.” That phrase matters. John did not appoint himself. He did not build a platform. He did not chase attention. He was sent. His life had a divine assignment, and his purpose was singular—to prepare the way for the Light.

I love how the Bible is always connecting. The Bible is intentionally connecting John the Baptist to the Old Testament expectation of the prophet Elijah.

For generations, God’s people had been waiting. The prophet Malachi had promised that before the great and awesome day of the Lord, Elijah would come to turn hearts back to God. Elijah was a prophet who stood in dark days, confronted idolatry, called people to repentance, and pointed Israel back to the one true God— and one of the really awesome things about him is 1. he went 600 to 1 against the prophets of Baal on Mount Carmel and talked trash the entire time.

They were supposed to be calling down fire onto an alter and whichever god could do that was the one true God. And Elijah just trash talks them the entire time and when it was his turn- he had water poured out onto the alter to where it was soaked— and prayed a one sentence pray and God lapped up the water and set fire to the rain— whatever Adele was talking about. He did that and he never tasted death. He was scooped up in a whirlwind. and they’ve been waiting, and the wait is the hardest part- And now, after centuries of silence, the Bible is telling us: the waiting is over.

John the Baptist comes in the spirit and power of Elijah. He stands in the wilderness, Like Elijah. He speaks with boldness, like Elijah. He confronts sin and calls people to repentance, like Elijah.

But the Book of John understands something crucial—he ain’t the point.

The Bible says plainly, “He was not the light, but came to bear witness about the light.” John never confuses the messenger with the message. He knows his role is not to generate light, but to reflect it. Not to save, but to point. Not to draw attention to himself, but to prepare the way for someone greater.

I love this— think about this. God often brings light into dark places through faithful witnesses who understand their role. Elijah didn’t fix Israel, but he called them back to God. John didn’t remove the darkness, but he testified to the One who could. And in the same way, believers today are not called to fix everything that is broken. We are called to point people to Jesus—the true Light who, as the Bible says, “gives light to everyone” and has come into the world.

This is where it presses on us. When the light of Christ has come into our life—when we went from death to life—that light was never meant to stop with you. The gospel was not given to you as a finish line, but as a passing point.

Like John, and like Elijah before him, we are sent people. God has always moved His purposes forward through human witnesses. We do not carry the gospel because we are polished or prepared, but because we have been changed. We speak not because we have every answer, but because we know the One who is the answer.

The light of Christ must be carried through us, not absorbed by us. Its a torch to be passed— not a torch die out with you.

To keep it to ourselves is not humility—it’s disobedience.

One testimony can open a door. Well, I have a boring testimony. Praise God! Share it. Then they might say I’m too far gone, I’ve done this this and this. That opens the door to talk about Christ.

One faithful word can push back darkness. One obedient life can ripple farther than we ever see.

One of the clearest pictures of this kind of witness comes from Charles Spurgeon, often called the Prince of Preachers.

Long before Spurgeon ever preached to thousands, before his sermons were read across the world, he was a teenage boy in deep darkness and despair, desperate for hope.

Spurgeon later said that if it had not been for the goodness of God, he believes he might have remained in that darkness. One Sunday morning, on his way to church, a snowstorm hit. Roads were blocked. Plans were interrupted. And God rerouted his steps. Unable to go any further, he turned down a side street and walked into a small, obscure Primitive Methodist chapel. There were barely a dozen people there.

The pastor never made it—probably snowed in.

So an untrained layman stepped into the pulpit. Not a scholar. Not polished. Spurgeon said the man mispronounced words and had to cling to one verse because he didn’t know what else to say. And the verse was Isaiah 45:22: “Look unto Me, and be ye saved, all the ends of the earth.”

That man kept saying one word over and over again: Look.

Just look.

He told them, “You don’t need education to look. You don’t need money to look. Anyone can look.” And then he began pointing to Jesus—Christ suffering, Christ crucified, Christ buried, Christ risen, Christ reigning. All he did was shine light.

And then, the man looked straight at a young Spurgeon and gave a faithful word, “Young man, you look very miserable.” And then he added, “And you will always be miserable—miserable in life and miserable in death—if you do not obey my text. But if you obey now, this moment, you will be saved.’

Spurgeon said that in that moment, the darkness lifted. The clouds rolled away. The light broke through. Life flooded in. The Light overcame the darkness.

Here’s why that matters tonight. God used a snowstorm, a missed preacher, a simple man, and one verse of Scripture to change the course of history. That man never knew the ripple effect of his obedience. He just pointed to the Light.

And this is how God has always worked. From Elijah, to John the Baptist, to an unnamed layman in a snowstorm, to ordinary believers sitting in this room tonight. The Light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. And sometimes, all God asks us to do is what that man did—look to Jesus, and help someone else do the same.

3. THE LIGHT BECAME FLESH

The Bible now takes us to the very heart of Christmas—the moment that changes everything. It tells us that the eternal Word did not remain distant or detached. “He was in the world, and the world was made through him, yet the world did not know him.” The Creator stepped into His creation. The Light entered the darkness. And still, many missed Him.

We did not recognize Him. He came among us like a healthy man walking into a room full of sick people, and instead of seeing healing, we felt exposed. His wholeness felt strange to us. Even threatening. And deeply uncomfortable.

We thought He was too obsessed with God. His relentless God-centeredness felt irrelevant in a world driven by productivity, politics, and practicality. His call to holiness felt narrow. His love for the poor felt disruptive. His grace felt excessive. His demands felt unreasonable. Too much. Too intense.

That reaction did not end in the first century.

Many teenagers today say some version of the same thing: “I don’t want to be a Jesus fanatic. That’s weird. That’s no fun.” And many adults aren’t far behind. We’re fine with religion—as long as it stays reasonable. Measured. Safe.

That is exactly what John means when he writes, “He was in the world, and the world was made through him, yet the world did not know him.”

I know plenty of church people who would say, “Faith is good. Church is good. Just don’t take it too far. Don’t get radical ideas about giving your life away, caring for the poor, or going overseas to reach the lost.” That too is what it means when John says the world did not know Him.

Because when true light shines into darkness, the darkness does not celebrate it. The darkness resents it—because light exposes just how dark things really are.

Over the break, I read a book called Live Not by Lies by Rod Dreher. In it, he tells the stories of faithful Christians who suffered brutally under Communist regimes. One prison in particular—Pitești—was infamous for its cruelty. In 1966, a man named Richard Wurmbrand testified before the U.S. Senate about the horrors that took place there.

He told the story of a prisoner named Constantine. Constantine was sick from the moment he entered the cell. He had been beaten so severely that he could barely speak. And yet, every word he spoke to the other prisoners was about Christ. One survivor later said, “Just looking at the love on his face and hearing him pray changed me forever.”

For nearly three years, Constantine was tortured. And yet he would not curse his captors. He only prayed for them. He blessed them in the name of Jesus.

And how did the guards respond to a faith like that?

Wurmbrand describes how they tied one young Christian to a cross, stood it upright, and left him there for days. Twice a day, they laid the cross flat on the floor and forced a hundred other inmates to defecate and urinate on him. Then they would raise the cross again and mock the prisoners, saying, “Look at your Christ. See how beautiful he is. Adore him. Kneel before him. Smell how fine your Christ smells.”

That is what darkness does when it is confronted by real light.

And that is why Jesus is not easily accepted—then or now. He does not fit into the categories we prefer. He does not exist to affirm us. He exposes us. And He calls us out of the darkness, even when the darkness fights back.

Yet the Bible makes it clear that rejection is not the end of the story. It says, “But to all who did receive him, who believed in his name, he gave the right to become children of God.” This is the miracle of grace.

That is rescue language.

Imagine waking up on a stretcher in the back of an ambulance. You don’t remember how you got there. Your body feels weak. Your heart starts racing as the panic sets in. Then the EMT leans in, steady and calm, and says, “You were in a serious wreck. You lost a lot of blood. But we got to you in time. We’ve stabilized you, and we’re taking you to the hospital. You’re going to be okay.”

In that moment, they are not asking you to fix anything. They are not handing you instructions. They are not waiting for you to prove yourself. All you can do—and all you need to do—is trust that what they’re saying is true.

That is what John is describing when he talks about receiving Jesus.

Sin had wrecked our relationship with God. We were not bruised—we were dying. We were not confused—we were lost. And Jesus did not come to give us tips for recovery. He came as the new creation to rescue us.

Discovering the gospel is like waking up on that stretcher and realizing Jesus is the one standing over you, saying, “I’ve got this. I’m saving you. You’re not contributing to this rescue—you’re receiving it.”

All you have to do—all you can do—is receive Him. Believe that He is who He said He is, and that He is doing exactly what He promised to do.

Not everyone receives the Light, but anyone can. And when they do, everything changes. Identity shifts. Belonging is restored. We are no longer defined by our sins, our failures, or our past. We are named and claimed as children of God.

Then the Bible gives us one of the most staggering statements in all of Scripture: “And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us.” God did not shout from heaven. He did not send instructions from a distance. He came near. That word dwelt literally means He tabernacled—He moved into the neighborhood. Jesus entered our world fully, stepping into real human weakness, real suffering, and real temptation. He knows what it is to be tired. He knows what it is to grieve. He knows what it is to walk through darkness.

And He did not come empty-handed. The Bible tells us we have seen His glory, “full of grace and truth.” Not grace without truth. Not truth without grace. Both, perfectly embodied in Jesus. Grace for sinners. Truth for the confused. Mercy for the broken. Direction for the weary.

This is the personal invitation of Christmas. The Light did not just come into the world—it came for you.

To receive Jesus is to allow His light to illuminate every corner of your life, to guide your steps day by day, and to remind you that you are not walking alone. The Word made flesh still dwells with His people. And for those willing to receive Him, His light does not just visit—it transforms.

Just like the original creation had no will of its own when God spoke into it—when He spoke into nothingness and life came rushing out—so it is with us spiritually. Dead things do not cooperate in their resurrection. They are brought to life by the voice of God. When God speaks, life happens.

That is why John says we are born again “not of blood nor of the will of the flesh nor of the will of man, but of God.” Spiritual life does not start with your decision. It starts with God’s initiative.

So if you are sensing a desire to know Him, to be reconciled to Him, to be saved by Him—that desire did not originate in you. Dead hearts don’t seek life. That longing is evidence that God is already at work.

And all I can say to you is this: if you sense Him stirring your soul, do not resist Him. Do not explain it away. Do not harden your heart. That pull is not pressure—it is invitation. God is calling you out of death and into life.

All you have to do—all you can do—is open the door. Receive Him. Trust Him. But hear me clearly: don’t assume you can put this off forever. Scripture warns us not to harden our hearts when He speaks. The God who gives life does not owe us endless delay.

If He is calling you now, the right response is now.

Isaiah 45:22: “Look unto Me, and be ye saved, all the ends of the earth.”

Look.

Lets pray.

Father, we come to You acknowledging that apart from Your grace, we are lost. We confess that we did not find You on our own—you found us. You spoke into our deadness, and life began. You opened our eyes to see the Light, and You softened our hearts to receive it.

Lord, for those in this room who are sensing You stir their soul right now, I pray that they would not resist You. That they would not harden their hearts or delay obedience. Give them the courage to receive what You are freely offering—life, forgiveness, reconciliation, and the right to be called Your children.

For those who belong to You, remind us that the gospel does not stop with us. Let Your light shine through us into a weary and dark world. Make us faithful witnesses—not because we are strong or impressive, but because You are good and You are near.

We thank You that the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, full of grace and truth. And we trust You now with our hearts, our lives, and our response.

We ask all of this in the strong and saving name of Jesus.

Amen.

At this time, I want to invite Bob up to lead us in Communion.