Bettyann and her friend, sitting in the back seat, driving to a dinner spot, the
other night were overheard commenting about the already encroachment of darkness of
the winter months. Where I live, in Florida the light begins to recede around 5:30 PM which is not at all bad compared to my discovery of about 4:30 PM here in the Northeast part of the country, visiting and
celebrating the Advent season with Amy, Jason, Sarah and Brayden. Then again it's still nothing compared to what
folks in Kotzebue , Alaska
But for some strange reason, I love the shorter-days and the darkening skies of
winter. For me, the darkness of winter invokes nostalgia for the days of
huddling up in my “comfy clothes,” creating plans and projects for the days
and months ahead. There are, as well, other gifts that I find only enjoyed in the darkness of winter and in this season of lessening light.
For me, darkness and night evoke ominous images. I remember reading
in To Dance With God
that early inhabitants of the Northern Hemisphere—who did not separate natural
phenomenon from their religious and spiritual understanding—saw the departing
sunlight as the fleeing away of what they believed was the Sun God. Darkness
indicated a loss of hope, absence, and cessation of life. Events of my early childhood caused me for many years to create a fear of darkness. I can't tell how often I've been afraid of what I cannot see in the dark, and throughout
much of my life what is seen inhabits the mysterious realm of shadows. I can seldom
remember the times when darkness has not represented chaos, evil, and death,
and therefore has not often been thought of in either romantic or nostalgic
terms.
Over the years I've learned that for many individuals—even those who live in sun-filled hemispheres—the
darkness of life is a daily nightmare. Despair, chronic loneliness, doubt, and
isolation conspire to prevent even the dimmest light. The darkness that comes
only as a visitor during the night is for many a perpetual reality. Is there
any reason to hope that the light might be found even in these dark places? Are
there any gifts that can be received here?
It is not by accident that the season of Advent
coincides with the earthly cycle of fading light and increasing darkness. With
its focus on waiting, repentance, and longing, many a Christian views Advent as a season of somber
reflection. Yet, even as the light recedes in winter, the season of Advent bids
all to come and find surprising gifts in the shorter days, in the womb of
pregnant possibility, and in the anxious anticipation that accompanies waiting
in the darkness. Those ancient peoples who watched their sun-god disappear
found that there were gifts that could be had even in this dark season. They
took the wheels off of their carts, and decorated them with greens and
garlands, hanging them on their walls as mementos of beauty and hope. Taking
the wheels off of their carts meant the cessation of work and a time to watch
and wait. As Gertrud Nelson writes about this ancient
ritual, "Slowly, slowly they wooed the sun-god back. And light followed
darkness. Morning came earlier. The festivals and summer seeds come to life in
the unlit places underground. Costly jewel stones lie embedded in the dark
interiors of ordinary rocks. Oil, gas, and coal reserves lie far beneath the
light of the earth's surface. The dark depths of the ocean teem with
life."
While the dark is mysterious and often ominous, it is also a place of unexpected
treasures. A couple of weeks ago, while planting bulbs at Quiet rest, I thought
of the way in which Sally Breedlove expresses it in her book; Choosing Rest: Cultivating a Sunday Heart in a
Monday World, "Spring bulbs earth, sky, and sea can
only be observed in the dark."
I also notice that spiritual gifts, too, often emerge out of the darkness. The
writer of Genesis paints a picture of the Spirit of God hovering over the Moses
received the Law in the "thick darkness where God was." God's abiding
presence was the gift from the darkness. Speaking through the prophet Isaiah,
the God of Israel also promises: "I will give you the treasures of
darkness, riches stored in secret places, so that you may know that I am the
Lord, the God of Israel, who summons you by name." Indeed, the
long-awaited Messiah would be revealed to those "who walk in
darkness" and who "live in a dark land."
For anyone who might stumble across my thoughts and are dwelling in the dark
season of despair, for those who are afraid in the dark, and for those who
grope in the darkness, the promise of treasures of darkness may spark a light
of hope. "The recovery of hope," writes Nelson, "can only be
accomplished when we have had the courage to stop and wait and engage fully the
in the winter of our dark longing."
The hope of Advent for me is that God is in the darkness with me, though my
experience of God may seem as clear as shifting shadow. Yet God's coming near
to me in the person of Jesus is not hindered by the darkness of this world or
of my life. I may fear my dark despair hides me from God, but the treasure of
God's presence awaits me even there—for I believe with everything within me the
darkness is as light to God. primordial chaos and the darkness that covered the
surface of the deep. Out of the darkness of chaos came the light of creation.
The covenant promises of God to give children and land to Abram were forged
"when the sun was going down... and terror and great darkness fell upon
him."
