There are times of darkness. Inky, black darkness. I am not referring to the kind where you literally cannot see your hand in front of your face. That is scary in and of itself. It is the kind of darkness described by survivors of what we Americans now somberly call “9/11”. When the second tower fell, the smoky ash was so thick that it consumed everything. I am talking about the darkness of the soul. We have all had that defining moment in our life when we came to the end of ourselves. Sometimes it is wished for – “take me, Lord; I cannot live like this anymore.” It feels like weeds overtaking our “garden-variety” depression. Waves of heartache that we can’t overcome. Unrelenting anguish. We can’t deal with what has happened to us until and unless we grasp what has happened in us. To what, or whom, do we turn?

We pray, hopefully. We put our body in motion in response to the answer we expect. The basics of everyday life can in themselves bring us from darkness to light. We may be truly astonished at how very therapeutic that can be! Thinking about something or someone other than ourselves and our situation (sitz im leben). It becomes sacred, holy space and time. Douglas John Hall, a Canadian theologian, writes very deep, dense words about darkness and light. He says that we must name and apprehend our darkness. Those “come to Jesus” moments of deep despair. Hitting rock bottom. Allowing ourselves to grieve without shame. It was at the darkest hour on Good Friday that God’s grace was fully revealed.

At my church yesterday, we were graciously blessed with a gift – a story, a testimony of words and musical notes – from a man exactly my age who had encountered the darkness of his soul. He heard a distinct voice with distinct words beckoning him into the light. Now he returns thanks for his fame by performing at any church that will welcome him. No one here knew him when he was swirling in a circle of confusion.

The darkness of noon on Calvary gives way to brilliant light on the third day. The tragedy of an infamous day in early fall or Advent (12/7/41) is illuminated by tremendous courage and sacrifice. We reach for and finally grasp that hand with a hole in it that rescues us from inky oblivion and brings us to Eternal Light. We claim a love for us that places no limits, conditions, or expectations on us. Are we not astonished?

Pastor Art