In the nighttime,
as the darkness settles,
and becomes colder and colder,
the pipes in that old house
bang and clang with so much noise –
what you might call a clatter –
that I almost feel I should rise
to see what is the matter.
What is the matter?
As the darkness settles
and becomes colder and colder?
What is that clanging
that banging
that noise
that almost wakes me up?
There is so much noise
it could be almost anything.
It could be gunfire
from the cold desert nights of Sudan,
from the wars
that someone elses’s sons
and daughters
are fighting for us,
or from the streets of our own city,
where guns are clanging and banging
all the time: a horrible clatter.
It could be a campaign
of candidates on their way
to New Hampshire or Iowa,
making so much noise as they go,
so much clanging, signifying what?
It could be the banging
of heavy, vaulted doors,
where mortgages are kept,
locked up,
where we thought they were safe,
until even they started clanging.
It could be the tills,
the ringing registers of Christmas,
or the ATMs,
or the sound of credit
being tested
and expanded
and stretched
to what limit?
It could be in my head, or yours.
There is so much noise
inside people’s heads.
Voices, for some.
Ideas for others –
crazy ideas,
depressing ideas,
vengeful ideas,
not good ideas.
And a moaning sadness for others.
But still, a sort of clanging
or banging
that keeps you up, or almost could.
A lot of noise,
as darkness settles,
and becomes colder and colder.
But could it be something else –
all this noise?
Considering the night.
Considering the songs we sang.
Considering the promise
of angels’ wings and voices.
Considering the possibility
that shepherds make a lot of noise,
and so do kings,
when they finally show up.
And considering
that morning has now come,
and the banging, and the clanging
have not stopped,
but I can no longer be certain
that it’s the pipes
making all that noise.
What could it be?
What is the matter
on this new morning?
Of course, it is the matter
of Light on this morning,
as it is every morning.
But somehow different today.
Is it a certain slant of light?
No. It is some whole new Light:
brighter, stronger, deeper,
and more golden
than the already golden light
of each new morning.
Who knew that light
could expand and contract
inside the pipes of that old house?
Who knew it could bang and clang,
as it rose up like heat
as the darkness settled
and became colder and colder?
Who knew whether the light
would stay trapped inside those pipes,
never to be seen,
only felt,
as though only the heat had come on.
When, in fact,
the Light was shining in the darkness,
and all I heard was some banging,
some clanging,
as though something were the matter.
Because, of course,
something is the matter –
we’ve been over that.
Let’s not pretend that all is well.
and all is well, and all is well.
All is not well.
It could have been almost anything –
all that clanging,
all that banging.
It could have been gunfire,
even here,
on Locust Street.
But it was not.
Not last night, at least,
not this new morning.
It is the matter of Light
on this new morning.
It is the matter of life,
that is the light of men
and women everywhere.
It is the matter of the true Light
that enlightens every one of us,
and all the whole world.
It is the matter of Light
that fills the world this morning
with its baby-ish cries,
as it fills that manger,
and seems to set the straw ablaze.
But it is only shining,
light-infused,
and still more golden
than the already golden light
of each new morning.
But if the Light could stay trapped
inside the pipes
of that old house: clanging,
and banging,
then what are the chances
for you and me?
What are the chances
that that same Light
courses through us,
rising up, like heat?
Did we think it was only heat?
Only hot flashes?
What are the chances
that that true Light
came into the world for you
and for me?
And what are the chances
that even now
that Light
expands and contracts
with the breath of the holy Word,
and with our own breathing –
yours, and mine?
What are the chances that the Light
really does shine in the darkness?
Even if the darkness is deep
within you, within me?
Even if it seems to get colder
and colder.
Who knows what the chances are?
And who cares?
What I care about
is all that banging and clanging,
all that clatter!
What I care about is the heat, rising,
expanding, contracting,
wherever it can,
wherever darkness settles,
and it gets colder and colder.
What I care about is the Light,
breaking forth, with so much force
on this new morning,
so much golden brilliance,
more golden
than the already golden light
of each new morning.
What I care about is the clatter
of all that Light in the world:
a joyful, holy noise,
that’s not just in my head, or yours.
It is the sound of the one, true Light
coming into the world.
It is the sound of your voices
heralding that Light
with the angels’ songs,
and with their wings.
It is the sound of the Light
overcoming darkness
in a world that often prefers darkness
to light.
That’s why it bangs.
That’s why it clangs.
That’s why there’s clatter
in the night,
as the darkness settles,
and it gets colder and colder.
The Light is growing, expanding,
contracting with Mary,
whose contractions
brought their own noise last night.
The Light was ready to be born:
banging and clanging,
and crying out with its infant cries,
so I almost felt I should rise
to see what was the matter.
Nothing is the matter.
The Light shines in the darkness,
and the darkness has not overcome it.
And the morning shines
with a golden Light,
more golden
than the already golden light
of each new morning.
Preached by Fr. Sean Mullen
Christmas Day, 2007
Saint Mark’s Church, Philadelphia