Wednesday, December 19, 2007

I Love Darkness

I've always loved darkness. The crisp, cold dark of winter, the thick, warm darkness of sleep, the pre-dawn darkness that shrouds the morning. Sound creepy? Nah... it's creative. Think about it. All things good, true, and worthy of our contemplation spring from darkness.

In the beginning, when God created the heavens and the earth, the earth was a formless wasteland, and darkness covered the abyss...

It seems darkness is the prerequisite of light. The very stars we love to count sprang from the dark womb of the universe. The flowers and trees we marvel over were born in the seed crushing stillness under the earth; in the wet, dark fodder of fecundity that lies beneath our feet.

Our lives began in darkness. We squirmed and struggled, wound and wrapped up in tiny balls of pulsating blood, brain, bone and tissue, and spirit breathed fresh into that darkness from God, in the wombs of our mothers. Our spiritual birth comes so often from the darkness of doubt and of fear, leaping up from the great Whys we shout up to Heaven throughout our lives, from the darkest of moments. Light and clarity come into the tangled shadows of our own minds, our own clumsy attempts to move about in darkness.

St. John of the Cross once said "If a man wishes to be sure of the road he treads on, he must close his eyes and walk in the dark."

Abraham moved in the darkness.
Jacob wrestled in the darkness.
Joseph looked up from a darkened cistern.
Perhaps Moses saw that Burning Bush because of the darkness that surrounded it?

Mary was overshadowed....
Joseph dreamed in the darkness.
Jesus sweat blood in the shadows of Gethsemane, and died under the cover of clouds on the darkest of days.

The singer-songwriter Nichole Nordeman sings "Maybe I'd see much better by closing my eyes."

Maybe in these dark, quiet December days, we'd do well to have a night unplugged, and move away from the tinsel and the lights, the malls and the Christmas movies, just for a night. And for a time, just sit in the dark. In the deep cold stillness like the cave in Bethlehem, where Love came wrapped in shadows. The Love that is the Light of the World.

4 comments:

Anonymous said...

Bill- Great insights - one of my favorite articles. St. John of the Cross/Mother Teresa - God seemingly working through absence/darkness. How beautiful is it to see real examples of men and women who have found God through radical trust in the midst of lives where they struggled to ever see clearly that beautiful light. God's hand was in that overwhelming longing for fullfillment which kept them grasping at the infinite throughout their saintly lives. God was very present in His absence and darkness was turned into light.

The Heart of Things said...

Powerful thoughts! His presence in the absence... Amen! Thanks for the comment.
+ Bill

Anonymous said...

Your words are so powerful and your testimony to faith is an awe- filled experience. May God watch over you.

The Heart of Things said...

Thank you Chris; I believe He really is closer to us than we can imagine. Some say faith can be dark because God is holding us so close to His Heart we can't see His Face, like a baby pressed close to his Father's chest. Peace and Prayers to you and the family, and thank you for the beautiful Mass card.

Talking to Your Little Ones About the Big Topic of Sex

A much repeated sentence we hear at our Theology of the Body retreats and courses is "I wish I heard this when I was younger!" ...