There is a lovely story told of St John of the Cross, a 16th-century Spanish monk, mystic, poet and theologian. By all accounts, John wasn’t always the most contented of individuals, and given the tough life he led, that’s hardly a surprise. He spent nine months in prison. If he’s known at all, it is for his astonishing theological vision about knowing God through God’s absence as well as God’s presence; through God’s darkness as well as God’s light. In that stifling cell, measuring no more than ten by six, he wrote the intensely beautiful Spiritual Canticle, probably his most well-known poem. It was, then, with some amusement and not a little astonishment that his fellow monks found him in their church early one Christmas morning, dancing. It’s not the sort of behaviour you’d expect from such an obviously holy man. Especially not this one. But having prayed before the crib set up in the Church, this austere monk had taken up the figure of the baby Jesus, and overcome by sheer unadulterated joy, his only response was to dance.

For all the words he wrote; despite his wisdom, his prayers, the force of his vision of God beheld in darkness, and even though John of the Cross had already given everything he had to God, this little episode speaks of how his life was changed and shaped by his encounter with Jesus Christ — an encounter that took him out of himself and into a place of pure joy, a place of bright light. Put simply, when Jesus shares our life, our lives are never the same again.

The Gospel accounts of Jesus’s birth make this point over and over again. Mary in her obedience to the will of God and in the way she points to Jesus, treasuring what she experiences in her heart, has her life changed. The shepherds, who are the first to come and see Jesus, return “glorifying and praising God for all they had heard and seen” (Luke 2.20). Their lives will never be the same. The wise men are overwhelmed with joy (Matthew 2.10). Their journey to the manger sees them return home, not simply by a different way, but as different people. And of course this encounter with the light of Christ happens in the depths of darkness.

This year an opinion piece in this newspaper questioned the leadership of the Church of England because we have said we believe the Church can grow and have seen evidence of this in some of the fledgling mission initiatives in many of our parishes, but were realistic about the huge challenges we face.

The weekend that column was published I confirmed, among others, seven young adults in York Minster.

Why were they there?

What was their motive?

Well it wasn’t that the rituals and traditions of the Church of England comforted them (though I’m sure they do). It was God. What they saw in Jesus Christ, not just his teaching and example, but how he showed them who God is and brought them into community with God, was offering them a way of life and an agenda for the world that was compelling and hopeful. Also deeply challenging. It would help them confront the darkness as well as live by the light.

Having encountered Christ, their lives had found a new direction.

“To him I gave myself,
Gave all, without reserve;
There to be his bride I sealed my Word.
My soul is now employed
To serve him . . .”

The Most Rev and Right Hon Stephen Cottrell is Archbishop of York and primate of England