Christmas Eve Candlelight Service

Isaiah 9:2–7Sermon

“The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; on those who lived in a land of deep darkness, light has shined.”
Isaiah tells us that Christmas does not begin with joy, but with darkness. The text does not first speak of “a joyful people,” but of “a people walking in darkness,” and “those living under the shadow of death.”
The Christmas we are called to understand never denies reality. It begins by fixing our gaze on the darkest and most difficult places we are facing—places that seem impossible to resolve.
Places marked by loneliness, loss, and fear—places no one sees and no one wants to go—Isaiah tells us that it is toward those places that the light shines first.
In the text, we are told that the people first saw the light, and then that the light shined upon them. In other words, the light came to us first.
The reason we light candles in this candlelight service is not because the world is already bright, but to symbolize that God sent the light first.
To those wandering in places filled with darkness, to those who had no hope at all, the light was revealed first. And that light shone toward those struggling and floundering in the darkness.

“You, O God, have multiplied the nation; you have increased its joy. They rejoice before you as with joy at the harvest, as people exult when dividing plunder.”
The joy described in this verse is not joy that comes because circumstances improved. The text does not say, “the people rejoiced,” but rather, “the Lord gave joy.”
The joy we usually expect comes when our environment changes—when we achieve what we want, when long-standing concerns are resolved, or when we finally obtain what we desire.
However, the joy God gives us does not arise from changed circumstances, but from a changed center of existence—from being with God where God is present. Through this, we are able to experience true joy.
The joy of the harvest and the joy of dividing plunder in the text declare this: no longer needing to fear hunger, no longer trembling in fear of war, but being freed from all these because God is among us. It is a time to declare and confess that joy.
This is the joy of Christmas. It is a time to set our hearts on turning the direction of our lives—from the joy of achieving what we want to the joy God has prepared for us.

“For the yoke of their burden, and the bar across their shoulders, the rod of their oppressor, you have broken as on the day of Midian.”
As Isaiah speaks in verse 4, he does not describe Christmas in a romantic way. He does not hide the language of real suffering—the yoke, the heavy bar on the shoulders, the rod of the oppressor.
Beyond personal suffering, Isaiah understands that the suffering we experience together in our lives is not merely emotional, but structural oppression. Therefore, God does not only comfort, but declares that He will break it.
“As on the day of Midian” means not by human strength, but by God’s intervention—God breaking down, at a structural level, the ways of life that people have firmly built and claimed as their own.
In this sense, Christmas is not a message saying, “Endure just a little longer,” but a declaration: “I will intervene myself, now.”

“For all the boots of the tramping warriors and all the garments rolled in blood shall be burned as fuel for the fire.”
It is a striking scene. There is no shout announcing the end of the war. The boots and garments are simply, quietly thrown into the fire.
The peace of Christmas does not come with gunfire or victory songs, but with weapons that are no longer needed disappearing. This is also why a candlelight service is quiet.
When we remember that God’s act of saving the world does not appear with “a grand shout of victory,” but begins with the cry of a small baby, we must remember that God’s direct intervention to bring peace to all is declared not in something flashy or attention-grabbing, but in the smallest and most humble form.

“For a child has been born for us, a son given to us; authority rests upon his shoulders; and he is named Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.”
Here, everything changes. Not the power of an empire, nor a mighty army—but a child. It is strange. Given the context, we might expect the appearance of overwhelming power, yet instead we hear, “a child has been born for us.”
This child is vulnerable, yet authority rests upon his shoulders. His names are not expressed authoritatively as titles of power, but are spoken as names of relationship.
A Counselor who opens a path in the midst of confusion
A Father who does not leave, even in fear
A King who brings peace that will not end
Christmas is not the news that “God became stronger,” but the news that “God came closer to us.”

“His authority shall grow continually, and there shall be endless peace for the throne of David and his kingdom. He will establish and uphold it with justice and righteousness from this time onward and forevermore. The zeal of the Lord of hosts will do this.”
This peace is not temporary. It is not an emotion, nor an event. It is peace built on justice and righteousness, and its source is God’s own passion. Christmas is not a story sustained by human effort, but a promise that God will take responsibility to the very end.

Today, we will light candles. We will hold small flames in our hands. This light cannot illuminate the entire world. But it clearly proclaims this truth: darkness came first, but the light came first to us.
And that light is still shining among us today in the name of Jesus Christ. As we remember this Christmas of 2025, may we remember well the love of God who came to us first, and may we become people who call upon the name of Jesus Christ—through whom peace is revealed in heaven and glory on earth.