rel="nofollow" href="#litres_trial_promo">7 How about that? Both darkness and light were there in the beginning of creation, and yet the darkness did not understand the light. Was God simply doing a new thing in my life that the dark shadows of my unconscious did not yet comprehend?
This light, that enlightens everyone who receives it, was said to be the Word of God. It was the Word that was with the Eternal One when the world was created. It was the Word spoken by the Creator to human beings since Adam and Eve lived in the Garden of Eden. It was the very Word that called Abraham and Sarah to birth a chosen people. It was the Word that rescued their descendants from slavery and led them through the wilderness to a promised land. It was the Word that became Torah, a new way of life. It was the same Word that, through the prophets and priests of old, disciplined God’s people when they went astray and called them to renewal and right relationship over and over again. But for reasons as varied as our humanity, the Word was not always heard and followed. And when the Word fell on deaf ears, the Light that accompanied it became dim and the world grew dark. Was God renewing the Word in my life and my darkness could not understand it?
According to Christian tradition, in the fullness of time, God decided to do something radically new: to send the Word, the Light, into the world as a human being. So on a dark and cold winter night over 2,000 years ago, a baby was born, and the Divine Word, the Eternal Light, came among us and became one of us. Jesus shared the Light and spread the Word wherever he went. He shed the Light on the poor, the sick, the outcast, the oppressed, and the marginalized. He shared the Word with both the powerful and the powerless, those living in the center and on the edge. He showed the way to all who would follow.
The scriptures tell us that he was received by some and rejected by others, so that eventually the wood of the cradle became the wood of the cross. At his death, the Word was silenced and the world once again became dark. But the essence of the Divine Light remained. God’s Word among us could not and would not be entombed by death and evil forever. Christ rose from the grave, and with him the Light ascended in the morning sky and the Word was heard again. Was God resurrecting the Light of the Word in me, and I could not hear or see it yet?
Throughout human history, the Word of God has been with us, and the Light of Christ has never been extinguished. It has dimmed in places of war and times of terror, but whenever we act in faith against oppression, hatred, and poverty, we echo the Word and rekindle the Light. Whenever we lead another to God’s love, we become a beacon in the night and a flashlight illuminating the way. Whenever we gather together to proclaim the love of God for the world, we become a bonfire of joy and a chorus of angels. Was God helping me to understand the contemplative, creative energy of the dark so that I could appreciate more deeply the Light of the Word?
That Christmas Eve I went to church for our traditional midnight mass. At the end of the service, the lights were turned off, and by the flicker of a single candle I read aloud from the prologue of John’s Gospel. As I said the phrase, “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not comprehend it,” I thought to myself, maybe the light did not comprehend the darkness either. Maybe it was a mutual misunderstanding between God’s two original beloved creatures. Maybe that’s where the original power struggle began. And then I settled into the darkness. When we sang “Silent Night” by candlelight in a darkened church that year, for one brief moment time stopped and the world felt safe. The darkness felt safe.
In the prayer book of the Anglican Church in the Province of New Zealand, there is a prayer to be said before retiring for the night.
Lord,
It is night.
The night is for stillness.
Let us be still in the presence of God.
It is night after a long day.
What has been done has been done;
what has not been done has not been done;
let it be.
The night is dark.
Let our fears of the darkness of the world and of our own lives
rest in you.
The night is quiet.
Let the quietness of your peace enfold us,
all dear to us,
and all who have not peace.
The night heralds the dawn.
Let us look expectantly to a new day,
new joys,
new possibilities.
In your name we pray.
Amen8
That Christmas Eve I realized that the darkness was not so bad. In fact, in the darkness my fears could rest in God, the quietness of God’s peace could enfold me, and I could wait for the dawn of new life and love to be born.
Each year, Trinity Cathedral hosts the Boar’s Head and Yule Log Festival, a Christmas tradition dating back to the fourteenth century at Queen’s College in Oxford, England. Following the great procession and adoration of the Christ Child, at the end of the festival, the Dean and a young sprite skip out of the darkened cathedral carrying a candle into the night. Some think this is cute, others believe it’s irreverent, and the most cynical say it’s downright hokey. Personally, as the one appointed to carry out this annual task, I take it very seriously and almost literally. It is not only my responsibility but also my privilege to bound joyously into the world with a child in hand bearing the light of Christ. What a perfect role for one who, as much as is humanly possible, wants to light up the midwinter night and sing out to remind the world that the Word of God is very alive. Sometimes as I skip down the aisle of the cathedral into the darkened night, I feel like singing, “This little light of mine, I’m going let it shine, let it shine, let it shine, let it shine.”9 But instead I give thanks for the interruption of the dark because I now know that the two cannot be separated. Without the darkness, the light cannot shine.
Just Another Homeless Family | PATERSON, NEW JERSEY, 1998
Just Another
Homeless Family
It was early winter, not too cold but cold enough. Becky and Bill had come from Detroit. They had heard there was work in Paterson, and Becky had some family that might be able to help. Anyway, there was no reason to stay in Detroit.
Bill was an unemployed autoworker. He had been laid off and looking for work for over two years. He’d had a few odd jobs: packing cartons in a warehouse, night clerking at a convenience store, washing dishes in a diner. His unemployment had long since run out. He was hoping for an extension, but now it looked hopeless.
Becky once had a steady job in an office, and then at a department store. However, with the local economy suffering from so many plant closures, she couldn’t even find a full-time waitress job. Besides, she was now nine months pregnant. Recently, nobody had been willing
