I've heard people say the things. You have, too. Maybe I've even said the things. "Life's been hard on him." "She learned the hard way." "Never had to work for a thing. Now they're soft." "I used to be a nice person, but I got lied to/used/cheated one too many times. Those days are over." The thoughts are, I think, that our life's experiences create us, or at least complete us.
But.
Do those experiences make us? Or do they reveal us? When (when, not if) shadows, struggles, heartaches, defeats, setbacks come, do they batter us, do they better us?
Or, like darkness reveals the stars, do circumstances allow for the truest view of our realest selves?
In darkness, what will be revealed in us?
Showing posts with label dark. Show all posts
Showing posts with label dark. Show all posts
Wednesday, December 13, 2017
Wednesday, December 23, 2015
...the dark light
We travelers, walking to the sun, can't see
Ahead, but looking back the very light
That blinded us shows us the way we came,
Along which blessings now appear, risen
As if from sightlessness to sight, and we,
By blessing brightly lit, keep going toward
The blessed light that yet to us is dark.
---Wendell Berry, 1999
I was sun-blind. Could not see anything ahead, not road, nor obstacle, nor turn. Unsure of what step to take next, whether to step at all, paralyzed with the blind fear of it.
Then I looked back. Not a long look, a stare. Not a longing gaze, cast with an eye to return. Just a look. And that look made me sure again---it reassured me.
Even when light hid light from my clear view, I was being led, guided; a path was being made. So, though I did not see, I stepped into the light.
It had led me before.
Ahead, but looking back the very light
That blinded us shows us the way we came,
Along which blessings now appear, risen
As if from sightlessness to sight, and we,
By blessing brightly lit, keep going toward
The blessed light that yet to us is dark.
---Wendell Berry, 1999
I was sun-blind. Could not see anything ahead, not road, nor obstacle, nor turn. Unsure of what step to take next, whether to step at all, paralyzed with the blind fear of it.
Then I looked back. Not a long look, a stare. Not a longing gaze, cast with an eye to return. Just a look. And that look made me sure again---it reassured me.
Even when light hid light from my clear view, I was being led, guided; a path was being made. So, though I did not see, I stepped into the light.
It had led me before.
Saturday, December 12, 2015
...a whole lot of light
Heavy clouds that block the moonlight now begin to drift away.
Diamond brilliance through the darkness shines the hope of coming day.
Christ, the morning star of splendor, gleams within a world grown dim.
Heaven's ember fans to fullness; hearts grow warm to welcome him.
---Mary Louise Bringle, 2005
Waiting is so hard. The smallest sign can be enough to keep you hanging on.
When you are sitting in the dark, even a tiny glow looks like a whole lot of light. Day is breaking...can you feel it?
We wait with expectation for the dawning of light in our world.
Diamond brilliance through the darkness shines the hope of coming day.
Christ, the morning star of splendor, gleams within a world grown dim.
Heaven's ember fans to fullness; hearts grow warm to welcome him.
---Mary Louise Bringle, 2005
Waiting is so hard. The smallest sign can be enough to keep you hanging on.
When you are sitting in the dark, even a tiny glow looks like a whole lot of light. Day is breaking...can you feel it?
We wait with expectation for the dawning of light in our world.
Tuesday, March 17, 2015
...stand in your way
Where can I go that your spirit is not?
Or where can I slip away from your presence?
If I take to the heights, lost to the eye,
you.
If I plunge to the depths, to abide,
you.
If I soar on wings of dawn
to the spot where sea meets sky,
even there, you before me,
even there, you surrounding me.
When I think that surely the darkness
should cover me over,
and where there once was light
only deep dark remains,
even that stifling dark is
not, to you;
the new-moon sky is like noon-day,
for dark does not stand in your way.
---Psalm 139:7-12 (para. laca)
Or where can I slip away from your presence?
If I take to the heights, lost to the eye,
you.
If I plunge to the depths, to abide,
you.
If I soar on wings of dawn
to the spot where sea meets sky,
even there, you before me,
even there, you surrounding me.
When I think that surely the darkness
should cover me over,
and where there once was light
only deep dark remains,
even that stifling dark is
not, to you;
the new-moon sky is like noon-day,
for dark does not stand in your way.
---Psalm 139:7-12 (para. laca)
Monday, December 22, 2014
...fear find no quarter
Rejoice, rejoice, take heart in the night.
Though dark the winter and cheerless,
the rising sun shall crown you with light;
be strong and loving and fearless.
Love be our song and love be our prayer
and love be our endless story;
may God fill every day we share
and bring us at last into glory.
---Marty Haugen, 1983
The calendar tells me we have passed the turning of the year, but my bones don't yet believe it. Something in me isn't convinced the light has begun creeping back into the day, reclaiming minutes from the dark and cold with each revolution of the planet. Funny thing, though --- I know it's coming. I've been here before. I've heard this story. I can 'take heart', even before I see the evidence. And because I know, I can rejoice. I am far from fearless, but I'm working on it.
And working on the fear? That's all about the love, I think. In 1 John, we are told that perfect, or complete, love casts out fear; there is just not room for mature love and mature fear to co-exist. So maybe, in hearts where love is song and prayer and story, fear finds no quarter. Perhaps it even works in communities, where ---God knows--- fear runs rampant, turning us into enemies and paranoiacs rather than allies and supporters.
May love, in the end, usher us into the very presence of God.
Though dark the winter and cheerless,
the rising sun shall crown you with light;
be strong and loving and fearless.
Love be our song and love be our prayer
and love be our endless story;
may God fill every day we share
and bring us at last into glory.
---Marty Haugen, 1983
The calendar tells me we have passed the turning of the year, but my bones don't yet believe it. Something in me isn't convinced the light has begun creeping back into the day, reclaiming minutes from the dark and cold with each revolution of the planet. Funny thing, though --- I know it's coming. I've been here before. I've heard this story. I can 'take heart', even before I see the evidence. And because I know, I can rejoice. I am far from fearless, but I'm working on it.
And working on the fear? That's all about the love, I think. In 1 John, we are told that perfect, or complete, love casts out fear; there is just not room for mature love and mature fear to co-exist. So maybe, in hearts where love is song and prayer and story, fear finds no quarter. Perhaps it even works in communities, where ---God knows--- fear runs rampant, turning us into enemies and paranoiacs rather than allies and supporters.
May love, in the end, usher us into the very presence of God.
Wednesday, December 17, 2014
...just in time
As I journeyed onward in the noonday's heat,
A great rock blocked the path before my feet;
but from its shade there gushed a cooling spring,
And it quenched our thirst and made our hearts to sing.
When the night seems darkest and our hope is gone,
In the East we see the signs of coming dawn.
---Willys Peck Kent
Have you come to that boulder in the path? That place where all your forward progress suddenly stopped, and what had seemed clear suddenly had you back-tracking and second-guessing? Have you thought it a dead end, sat down in resignation with your back against the rock, cried out with the exhaustion and frustration of being thoroughly beaten?
That's the dark. The parched dry of world-crashing-in, not-good-enough-ness. That is the night of not-hope. And it could be the end of the story. But.
But. There is water, a trickle, a runnel, bubbling from a hidden spring. The boulder in the path has been guarding it, protecting its outlet all along. And there, just at the darkest edge of your vision, dawn is drawing back the curtain between earth and sky. Almost like it was planned, the light comes.
The Water. The Light.
Just in time.
A great rock blocked the path before my feet;
but from its shade there gushed a cooling spring,
And it quenched our thirst and made our hearts to sing.
When the night seems darkest and our hope is gone,
In the East we see the signs of coming dawn.
---Willys Peck Kent
Have you come to that boulder in the path? That place where all your forward progress suddenly stopped, and what had seemed clear suddenly had you back-tracking and second-guessing? Have you thought it a dead end, sat down in resignation with your back against the rock, cried out with the exhaustion and frustration of being thoroughly beaten?
That's the dark. The parched dry of world-crashing-in, not-good-enough-ness. That is the night of not-hope. And it could be the end of the story. But.
But. There is water, a trickle, a runnel, bubbling from a hidden spring. The boulder in the path has been guarding it, protecting its outlet all along. And there, just at the darkest edge of your vision, dawn is drawing back the curtain between earth and sky. Almost like it was planned, the light comes.
The Water. The Light.
Just in time.
Friday, December 5, 2014
...fruit basket turnover!
In darkest night his coming shall be, when all the world is despairing,
as morning light so quiet and free, so warm and gentle and caring.
Then shall the mute break forth in song, the lame shall leap in wonder,
the weak be raised above the strong, and weapons be broken asunder.
---Marty Haugen, 1983
Sweet, smiley-face Jesus. Baby Jesus. Hug-the-children Jesus. Gentle hippie Jesus. What in the world could be so threatening about this guy? What is it that got Jesus on the Wanted: Dead or Alive list with the government, at the same time he managed to alienate the top guys in the religious establishment? What's the problem with a fella trying to bring a little light to the world?
Nothing, really. Unless you've got light. And you're worried Jesus just might be thinking of spreading some of yours around to 'them'. Yikes. Light redistribution. Because, really, when we hear the stories about Jesus preaching relief to the poor, the prisoner, the lost, the downtrodden, people on the fringes, our impulse is to hear Jesus talking to us. But if we're honest, most of us aren't those things. Not here in America. We're the 1% of the world. So Jesus' good news might well have felt pretty threatening to us back then, too.
That's because we buy into a gospel of scarcity, a theory that there is not enough of...whatever. And if there is not enough, we'd better hold on to ours. If there is not enough healing, not enough food, not enough justice, not enough protection --- I'm gonna get mine. And any dude preaching craziness about the first being last, and new kingdoms where everything is turned upside down, and enough love for the unlovable, won't last long in this place, Son of God or not.
But it's a lie. There is enough. There. is. enough. It's dark now, but the dawn is coming. Everything will look different in the quiet light of morning. Everything will change. And that's ok. Good news...fruit basket turnover!
as morning light so quiet and free, so warm and gentle and caring.
Then shall the mute break forth in song, the lame shall leap in wonder,
the weak be raised above the strong, and weapons be broken asunder.
---Marty Haugen, 1983
Sweet, smiley-face Jesus. Baby Jesus. Hug-the-children Jesus. Gentle hippie Jesus. What in the world could be so threatening about this guy? What is it that got Jesus on the Wanted: Dead or Alive list with the government, at the same time he managed to alienate the top guys in the religious establishment? What's the problem with a fella trying to bring a little light to the world?
Nothing, really. Unless you've got light. And you're worried Jesus just might be thinking of spreading some of yours around to 'them'. Yikes. Light redistribution. Because, really, when we hear the stories about Jesus preaching relief to the poor, the prisoner, the lost, the downtrodden, people on the fringes, our impulse is to hear Jesus talking to us. But if we're honest, most of us aren't those things. Not here in America. We're the 1% of the world. So Jesus' good news might well have felt pretty threatening to us back then, too.
That's because we buy into a gospel of scarcity, a theory that there is not enough of...whatever. And if there is not enough, we'd better hold on to ours. If there is not enough healing, not enough food, not enough justice, not enough protection --- I'm gonna get mine. And any dude preaching craziness about the first being last, and new kingdoms where everything is turned upside down, and enough love for the unlovable, won't last long in this place, Son of God or not.
But it's a lie. There is enough. There. is. enough. It's dark now, but the dawn is coming. Everything will look different in the quiet light of morning. Everything will change. And that's ok. Good news...fruit basket turnover!
Wednesday, December 3, 2014
...help me, Obi-Wan Kenobi
O come, thou Dayspring, come and cheer
our spirits by thine advent here;
disperse the gloomy clouds of night,
and death's dark shadows put to flight.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
shall come to thee, O Israel.
--- Latin prose, pre-9th cent.
It's always darkest before the dawn. Don't know if that's true, because I'm no kind of scientist. Lots of folks say it, which makes it crowd-sourced truth (the kind that matters these days). And really, when I think about it, I believe it must actually always be darkest furthest from the dawn. Right? Like, middle-of-the-night dark? Can't-see-your-hand-in-front-of-your-face dark? Scudding-clouds-blotting-out-the-stars dark? That kind of dark doesn't even have a shake-hands relationship with dawn. It's always darkest in the dead 3 a.m. middle of the night, dusk just a memory and dawn a lifetime away. This is the kind of dark where a little bit of light could transform the world.
To be honest, the news has felt kind of like this 3 a.m. dark lately. I say to myself, "Self, surely this is 3 a.m.; it can't get darker." Then, I turn on the news again, I open the paper, a tweet pings my iThing. And I blink my eyes to dilate my pupils, straining to see through the inky dark. The inky darker. No dawn in sight. Hope grows as thin as the blanket I pull more tightly around my shoulders, losing the battle against the darkest part of the night. Honestly, could our human family have done any more complete a job of plunging this God-gifted world into complete night than we have? Here in the middle of the night, with plenty of fault to go around, light-starved, desperate --- where can we turn?
Dayspring, Light of Light, Emmanuel ---
help us. You are our only Hope.
our spirits by thine advent here;
disperse the gloomy clouds of night,
and death's dark shadows put to flight.
Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel
shall come to thee, O Israel.
--- Latin prose, pre-9th cent.
It's always darkest before the dawn. Don't know if that's true, because I'm no kind of scientist. Lots of folks say it, which makes it crowd-sourced truth (the kind that matters these days). And really, when I think about it, I believe it must actually always be darkest furthest from the dawn. Right? Like, middle-of-the-night dark? Can't-see-your-hand-in-front-of-your-face dark? Scudding-clouds-blotting-out-the-stars dark? That kind of dark doesn't even have a shake-hands relationship with dawn. It's always darkest in the dead 3 a.m. middle of the night, dusk just a memory and dawn a lifetime away. This is the kind of dark where a little bit of light could transform the world.
To be honest, the news has felt kind of like this 3 a.m. dark lately. I say to myself, "Self, surely this is 3 a.m.; it can't get darker." Then, I turn on the news again, I open the paper, a tweet pings my iThing. And I blink my eyes to dilate my pupils, straining to see through the inky dark. The inky darker. No dawn in sight. Hope grows as thin as the blanket I pull more tightly around my shoulders, losing the battle against the darkest part of the night. Honestly, could our human family have done any more complete a job of plunging this God-gifted world into complete night than we have? Here in the middle of the night, with plenty of fault to go around, light-starved, desperate --- where can we turn?
Dayspring, Light of Light, Emmanuel ---
help us. You are our only Hope.
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