Those Christmas Lights

BY: Megan Armknecht

Last Christmas I was half-a-world away, in a little-known city called Kharkov, Ukraine.

Now, Kharkov isn’t the first choice for most Americans to be on Christmas day—in fact, if I had never served in Kharkov as an LDS missionary, I doubt that I would have ever heard of it. But even though Christmas was very foreign to me last year, I wouldn’t trade the experience for all of the tinsel and candy canes in the world.

 

The first Christmas abroad is one you never forget. In Ukraine, the differences between my traditional American Christmas and Christmas in the former USSR are stark. For starters, Christmas isn’t celebrated on the 25^th of December in Eastern Europe . . . it’s not even the biggest holiday there (that prize goes to Easter and New Year’s Day). There are no Christmas jingles on the radio, no carolers wassailing from door-to-door, and hardly any Christmas lights (in fact, I distinctly remember my companion and I seeing an apartment balcony brightly covered in Christmas lights, and the deciding to go and tract that dom [apartment complex] just to compliment that family for their festivity).

The only thing that made it feel like Christmas was the snow—and it was everywhere—and the cold—and boy, was I cold! For so many reasons, it didn’t really feel like Christmas at all . . . but at the same time, it was one of the sweetest Christmas seasons of my life.

Christmas was sweet to me that year because Christ was with me—and I was with Him. The joy and love of His presence warmed my heart as I joined the angels in spreading the good news: “Peace on earth, good will towards men” (Luke 2:14). And even though Christmas light displays were few and far between, I found that the True Light—the Light of the World—would lead me on and give me cheer in a world both figuratively and literally very dark at times.

Because sometimes, the darkness was suffocating. For comfort on long, lonely December nights, I would look up at the bright winter stars—those reminders of God’s love, promises, and of a Christmas in Bethlehem millennia ago. The stars testified of Him:

“Then spake Jesus again unto them, saying, I am the light of the world: he that followeth me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life” (John 8:12).

Christ is the Light of the World. Christmas lights—whether on a tree, a balcony, or in the sky—gently remind us of His light and love; a light that gives life to all of us. His light can and will penetrate even the darkest, dampest corner, for “it is not possible for you to sink lower than the infinite light of Christ’s Atonement shines” (Jeffery R. Holland, The Laborers in the Vineyard).  

I have witnessed the power of Christ’s love in my own life and in the lives of those I love. I witnessed it last winter on cold, dark streets of Kharkov, Ukraine, trying to spread joy to cheerless faces. I heard it in the voice of our neighbor, Sasha, who said that we had given him hope for a better world (Ether 12:4). I saw it while singing “Silent Night” and “What Child is This” to our beloved, sick, and dying recent convert.

There is something hauntingly beautiful about singing Christmas carols in Russian. I always loved singing “What Child is This” in Russian. Maybe it’s because of the novelty—we don’t’ have that hymn in the English hymn book. But there is something, deeper, too. I don’t know why, but the language along with the moving melodies and harmonies adds meaning and soul to the words. The dips in the music make it full of life and longing—sorrowful, yet rich. It is a different experience in Russian: it becomes a plaintive plea, and a holy, hushed hallelujah:

“But why is he lying in a manger

Where lambs are given their feed?

So that every one of us can lay

Down our sorrows at his feet.” 

(Second verse of What Child Is This? translated from Russian)

This is why He came down. This is the condescension of God. “For God so loved the world that he sent his only begotten Son, that whosoever believeth in him should not perish, but have everlasting life” (John 3:16). He “descended below all things, that he might be in all and through all things the light of truth” (D&C 83:6).

Salvation is created. It is created through His sacrifice, grace, and love. It is the dips that make life rich. And it is His love that makes life possible.

Christmas to me is found in remembering His life and love—and by doing my best to share the light He has given me.