There is so much symbolism attached to lights that I feel highly unqualified to give my opinion on them. I may not be a professional, and I may not know all there is to know about lights –or about being a light—but I do know there is a reason something as seemingly silly as Christmas lights is one of my favorite Christmas traditions.
The story of the first Christmas tree (and the first Christmas lights) is this: After Martin Luther married and had a family, one Christmas Eve he was walking home through the forest and was deeply impressed by the myriad of stars in the winter sky, and also by the beauty of the stately evergreens. When Luther reached home, he tried to explain the glory of the scene to his wife and children, but words failed him. So he went out, cut down a small fir, and placed lighted candles on it to represent the starry night over the stable the night Christ was born.
Though they are no match for the stars they imitate, the simple white Christmas lights that I love the most that twinkle from our roof and Christmas tree fill me with a quiet joy, a feeling of wonder. I have never been much of a fan of colored lights, for the reason that, to me, they crowd out the more traditional white lights whose elegance and beauty make me think of the glory of our great God.