Joyful is the Dark
December 25, 2014 | Patrick Preheim

Each year about this time we intone the words from John’s gospel that the “light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it” (John 1.5).  I am glad that the darkness has not overcome this light because I need the light.  I need it for the warmth it gives me.  I need it for the photosynthesis it allows in the plants I eat and the animals I eat which eat the plants.  I need it for balance.

It is equally true, however, that I am glad the light has not overcome the dark.  This may seem like a strange thing to say on Christmas morning, but that is the truth.  I need the dark for a good night’s sleep.  Many of the bird species with whom I have a friendship need the dark to see the stars for their navigation.  I need the dark for out of it comes creation.  Remember:  the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep” (Gen 1.2)—darkness precedes the creation.  And often times it is true in our lives that creation emerges from the darkness as the Spirit of God hovers over the deep.

So this morning I have meditations on the gift of the light, the dangers of the light, the dangers of the dark, and the gift of the dark.  Early in December I asked the 15 or so university aged persons I gather with their responses to these very questions.  Their thoughts were theologically astute.  Provided with the question, but no seminary training they offered wisdom of the Spirit.  I will cobble my thoughts, their reflections, and various quotes into our Christmas Day sermon.  And the most appropriate ambiance for these reflections is undoubtedly a darkened sanctuary, so I ask one of the ushers to put down the house lights.  Thank you.  Now if you find yourself becoming sleepy and drifting off… I will not be upset.  It probably means you need the sleep worse than you need to listen to me.

The Gift of the Light:
The dark is used often a metaphor, and usually in a negative sense.  Darkness implies ignorance, as in the case of Nicodemus coming to visit Jesus as night.  Darkness is used to speak of our fears—it is the place where monsters and villains lurk.  When we say that we are a dark place it symbolizes a personal struggle with something major.  The emotions we grapple with are serious.  Darkness, in this sense, is real and it is scary.  Many days we are not strong enough to stand on our own against the fears that haunt, the losses that linger, the despair we sometimes feel.  Particularly in these moments I am grateful that a light from God shines into my metaphorical darkness and the darkness of the world. I see the light shining into our struggles in two very different ways.

The first is a recognition that God is present in the bleakness.  In the language of Psalm 139:  If I say, “Surely the darkness shall cover me and the light around be become night,” even the darkness is not dark to you; the night is as bright as the day, for the darkness is as light to you.  In this bit of wisdom from the Psalms we hear again that God is nonplussed by the dark.  It is all the same to God.  Our careful attending the emotions and feelings we have in dark, in fact, allows God work a new creation out of the dark.  If seeds and Christ need incubation time in the dark of the earth prior to resurrection, maybe this is true of us as well.  One gift of God’s light is that darkness does not stop it.  But we are not always strong enough to explore the “light inside the dark” (phrasing is the title of a John Tarrant book), and this leads to the gift of the light when we are weak.
In his book Companions on the Inner Way Morton Kelsey recounted a journal entry from one of his friends describes the gift of the light in the midst of turmoil (pp 15-151).

I awoke and quickly felt panic seize me.  Deep dread and the worst fears grabbed me... I want to put in writing that I know I can’t face that destructive force alone and that I need my friends to help me... And now in imagination I see the Christ between it and me—he turns to me and smiles, and in his smile is the hope I had thought was lost.  Around me he places a ring of light—it sparks with angelic energy—the love that moves the sun and other stars.  The light sings—even in the face of [dread and fear] it sings a song of joy; I know I am surrounded with an energy that can defeat death—protected with the very energy that coursed through Christ in the tomb and raised him.  “For such is my love for you,” says Christ, laughing.  “When you hear that voice whispering in your ear, call me.  The thief comes to destroy; I come to protect my flock...and if the darkness threatens, feel the ring of light around you.

A few thoughts from the Thursday evening group:

• The light helps us see where we are going
• The light warms us in cold seasons
• The light is necessary for plant growth

Thanks be to God that the light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it.

The Danger of the Light:
Icarus and his father wanted to escape the island of Crete.  Working together they crafted wings made of feathers and wax. The experienced father knew the precarious nature of their invention and asked his son, the test pilot, to fly neither too low nor too high.   The damp sea would surely clog the wings and the sun's heat would surely melt the wax holding the wings together.   But Icarus wasn’t listening very closely.  He had thoughts of freedom, and of soaring, and rising above it all.  The sun up above was glorious.  It was warm.  It created heat causing an updraft which propelled him even higher.  And higher he went ever basking in the rays of the sun.   It was thrilling to rise to rise and to rise.  But Icarus flew too close to the sun.  The wax melted and he crashed in the sea, the ancient representation of chaos.  Flying and walking solely in the light has its drawbacks.  Reflections from the Thursday evening group:

• The light can blind a person, someone said.  Think of drivers of vehicles clad in sun glasses and Inuit hunters with the protective masks—all shielding their eyes from the brilliant reflection of the light.
• In the light, one person reflected, we either forget what exists in the dark or ignore it.  Ignoring the emotions we associate with the dark, she was saying, is dangerous.
• If we become too accustomed to living in the light we are taken aback when dark comes.  This from a young woman watching her grandfather deal with the loss of his wife after a long and happy marriage.
• We allow the metaphor to become concrete and develop prejudice against the dark—dark emotions, dark skinned people, the night
• And a quote from Shannon L. Alder which I ran across:  “Sometimes your light shines so bright that it blinds people from seeing who you really are.”

The Danger of the Dark:
If there is danger to flying too close to the sun there is surely danger in dwelling in the deep caverns of chaos. Spending three days in a tomb or germinating in the earth is one thing, but extended time underground can lead to rot.   I do not need to narrate the world scene in which whole tribes of people find meaning inflicting pain on others.  I do not need to chronicle our family situations where a sense of victimhood feeds a warped sense of justice.  I do not need to list the addictive nature of the dark, which naturally gets described as addictions:  substance abuse, pornography, etc..,.  When we dwell solely in dark, as Gollum does of Lord of the Rings fame does, we lose our perspective.  We lose our bearings.  We lose our moral compass.  Thoughts from university aged students who show great promise of being wise:

• The dark is seductive
• The dark becomes habitual
• The dark erodes our sense of beloved-ness
• The dark is scary, and we do everything we can to avoid it

The Gift of the Dark:
A good way to get at one of the gifts of the dark would be through a short story.  Some years back Peter Schroeder recounted an episode he had while volunteering at Shekinah Retreat Centre.  The story stuck with me and I asked him to write it up for this morning’s worship service because it seemed very much on topic

“A Walk in the Dark at Shekinah”—Peter Schroeder
Several years ago in fall I was doing some volunteer work at Shekinah.  My accommodation was one of the cabins up on the hill nestled among the trees.   I had a long visit after supper with the staff at the Timberlodge before retreating to the cabin.  When I left the Timberlodge it was totally dark and we could not find a flash light to help me see the trail to get to the cabin.  I could see the beginning of the trail, however, after three tries trying to stay on the path I kept ending up in the bush.  I was getting very flustered.   Then I thought to myself…..what would a blind person do in this situation?  So I closed my eyes, and focused on feeling the trail with my feet.  This surprisingly worked very well and I reached the cabin.  

In the absence of light, and if we keep our wits about us, we find that God has graced us with many ways of feeling our way along the right path.  A few additional reflections from the Thursday night group on the gift of the dark:

• The dark rounds out our perspective.  We would not know light if we did not also know dark.  [Wow, now that is astute!]
• The dark offers us humility—we won’t always see well or know what is coming down the road and that is fine.
• The dark offers us a chance to rest
• The dark allows us to be present to the moment.

I have spoken about the gifts and dangers of both the light and the dark.  We need them both.  Each provides gifts to helping us live most fully into the people God has created us to be.  The blessing of living in the northern hemisphere as far north as we do is that we are privileged to give thanks for the light even as the dark is all around us.  The celebrations of light balance out our long nights.  In these days and in our New Year may we be aware of God’s essence which abides in both light and dark.  Amen.