Finding Light in the Dark Night: A Christmas Reflection

It’s Christmastime again. For many, this season brings joy, laughter, and the warmth of family traditions. But for others, it feels like a cruel spotlight on all that’s missing—a loved one who’s gone, a dream that’s died, or a loneliness that’s grown too heavy to carry. If that’s where you find yourself this year, let me tell you something: You’re not alone. And you’re not without hope.

Mother Teresa, of all people, knew this darkness well. This woman, who poured her life out for the poor and dying in the streets of Calcutta, spent decades feeling as if God had abandoned her. In her letters, she wrote about a deep emptiness, a spiritual ache that never left her. She called it her “dark night of the soul.” Yet, even in that darkness, she loved. Even without feeling God’s presence, she trusted He was there. She served, she gave, and she became a light to countless others.

Charles Dickens gave us another picture of this struggle in A Christmas Carol. Ebenezer Scrooge starts the story locked in a darkness of his own making—a life consumed by greed, bitterness, and isolation. But then, in a single night, everything changes. Scrooge is shown his past wounds, his present failings, and the terrifying future awaiting him if he doesn’t turn things around. It’s not an easy journey, but by morning, Scrooge has found the joy of giving, the warmth of connection, and the healing power of kindness.

Both of these stories—Mother Teresa’s and Scrooge’s—remind us of a simple truth: the darkness is not the end. Whether it’s the deep spiritual night that Mother Teresa endured or the cold selfishness that blinded Scrooge, light can still break through. And that light? It doesn’t come from us. It comes from the eternal source of kindness, grace, and love.

The Bible tells us that Jesus came into the world as “the light of all mankind. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it” (John 1:4-5). That’s the hope we celebrate at Christmas. Jesus didn’t come for a perfect world; He came for a broken one. He didn’t show up in the palace halls of the powerful; He arrived in the humility of a manger, surrounded by the forgotten and overlooked. He didn’t wait for us to get it all together; He reached out to us while we were still lost in our own darkness.

This Christmas, maybe you’re feeling like Scrooge before his transformation, or even like Mother Teresa in her long night of the soul. If so, let me encourage you: kindness can still flow, even from a weary heart. Love can still shine, even in the darkest night. And God is still with you, even if you can’t feel Him.

Here’s the challenge for all of us this season: Can we be the light someone else needs? Can we give a touch of kindness to a world that’s dying for it? Maybe it’s a kind word to a stranger, a small gift to someone in need, or even just a patient moment with someone who’s hard to love. These little acts may seem insignificant, but they echo with eternity. They remind us—and those around us—that darkness doesn’t have the final word.

So, as we gather around our trees and tables, and shop until we drop for gifts beneath the tree, let’s remember the One who entered our darkness to bring us light. Let’s hold fast to the hope that “His mercy endures forever” (Psalm 136:1). And let’s pass on that hope with a kindness that springs not from our own strength, but from the eternal well of God’s love.

Merry Christmas, my friends. May the light of Christ shine in your heart, and may His kindness flow through you to a world that so desperately needs it.