Light that Lingers in the Darkness

The night was still; dark; quiet. I sat alone in the early hours of the morning, staring out across the parking lot from my office on the sixth floor of building eleven. Such darkness filled the sky, it seemed the stars themselves had forgotten to shine. My breath hung in the air like a prayer. In silence, a lonely ache filled my chest. In the stillness, in the dark, I wondered: “Will the light ever return? Has the darkness overcome it?”

Like an answer to my wondering, apocalyptic lightning cracked open the sky and put on a show—electric, terrifying and beautiful. And I watched as the light broke through the darkness. The ache remained, but my loneliness faded. Light persisted in the stillness of that dark night. It lingered near—ever present. And at just the right time, it broke through in a spectacular display, reminding me there is no darkness that can overcome the light.

When did you last feel darkness press in on you?
Have you ever equated darkness with the absence of God?

The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overtake it. (John 1:5)

It’s right there in the middle of the most familiar phrase in this text. The light shines IN the darkness, not instead of the darkness. And that makes an enormous difference in how to understand the good news of the gospel.

There is darkness everywhere, and it can be overwhelming. Just look at the headlines from the last few days. We live in a world where people drive 6000 lb trucks into a crowd of people in the street and where bombs go off outside of hotels.

The darkness of this world is no joke.
It is real, present, and powerful.
It is the ache in my chest.
Some days it gets the best of me, and I imagine the same is true for you.

And in this darkness—sometimes not until I’m at the point where I’m out of hope—the light breaks through, disruptive and healing; comforting and powerful, like the lightning that broke the sky during that lonely ache I described earlier.

This subtle, but intentional way John phrases this matters. The light of the world is never absent or aloof. The light of the world is with us, shining even in the darkest places we might imagine; present even when we are unaware and unable to see.

So, while I might long for a day when the light will shine instead of the darkness—and that day will come—the good news in this present darkness is the light of the world hasn’t gone out. Darkness hasn’t won. The light shines IN the darkness.

Following Jesus is sometimes messy—it isn’t full of easy answers or quick fixes. It is the holy, messy work of starting again and becoming new. And my faith proclaims that the systems that bind us—the ones that chain us to shame, fear, darkness, and death don't get the last word. Even in the darkest times and places. But, here’s the thing: The light of the world doesn’t always appear like dazzling lightning or fireworks. Sometimes, it is only a pinprick of light, breaking through a crack in the wall. But even that is enough. Even the tiniest pinprick of light is enough to overcome the darkest night. This is more than a spiritual metaphor. It is as true as true can be in this world we can see, touch, and experience.

For the first eleven years of my ministry, I worked with high school and middle school students. We had all kinds of adventures together. 25 years ago, I worked at a church in Hickory, NC—in the foothills of the Blue Ridge Mountains. On a cold winter morning, I took a small group of high school kids caving. I envisioned caving as similar to the commercial caves depicted on Kentucky and Tennessee billboards; large openings leading into huge caves. Then, after you’ve had your fill of looking at stalactites and stalagmites you exit through the giftshop, buy a commemorative snow globe and then grab lunch or coffee somewhere. This was NOT that. We pulled off to the side of a gravel road somewhere near the Tennessee, North Carolina border. There was no gift shop or cafe or even a big cave entrance anywhere close by. A pile of hard hats with tiny carbide lights on the brim laid at the feet of a grinning, thin, red-bearded man in a tie-dyed t-shirt, waving us to join him.

We donned our hard hats and followed our guide to a little rabbit hole in the ground a few feet away. “Who wants to go in first?” “Go in?! Go in, where?!” But one kid stepped forward, crawled through the tiny opening and vanished into the earth. The others soon followed. One-by-one they disappeared into the ground, and all I could think was, “Thank God their parents all signed the liability waiver!”

I heard the muted echo of their voices, laughing and encouraging me to hurry and join them. So, I did. I wedged my substantial frame through the tiny hole, and into a spectacular room lit only by the faint sunlight from the hole, and the tiny lights on our heads. I looked around and thought, “I love caving! I wonder how long we have to hang out here before we go get lunch?” Our guide called us together and said,

“The light on these hats is all we’ll have in the cave,” he said. “So, make sure the strap is secure. If your light goes out, sit still and call for help. I’ll come help you get it re-lit. NEVER try to make your way through the cave without our light.”

“I can’t imagine these tiny lights could make that much difference in the dark, but he’s the one with the beard and the tie-dyed shirt, so… OK!” And then, by the tiny lights on the brim of our hats, he led us on an hour-long trip through the darkness, to the deepest part of this underground maze.Sometimes we walked upright. Other times we hunched down, ducking beneath rocks. But much of the time we crawled through mud, dust and icy trickles of water until we went as far as we could go. We arrived at a small, somewhat circular chamber where, over centuries, water had sculpted a ledge forming an ideal seat for us to sit, rest, and share stories of our journey so far. Then our guide told us to be still and quiet, and blow out our lights, one-by-one. And as the last flame went out, we sat in the darkest dark any of us had ever experienced. We were so far away from the cave opening that our eyes couldn’t register any light still breaking through from the outside. It was disorienting and scary. It was hard to stay balanced and calm, but none of us made a sound. We just sat in the terrifying silence of total darkness until our guide re-lit his flame. And this tiny light, smaller than a match flame, was like staring at the sun. We squinted as our eyes adjusted, and then we could see. One-by-one, we re-lit our flames and in overwhelming light—the same light I thought would never be enough—we started our trek out of the cave, silent and slow. The light gave us what we needed to see: the first step out of the darkness, and the next one, and the next one after that.

The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overtake it.

It did not…

Will not…

Cannot…

The darkness, with all its power, will never be enough to overcome the light.

And to make sure God’s people never lose sight of this light that shines IN the darkness,

…the Word (JESUS) became flesh and lived among us (John 1:14)

God knew we would need more than metaphors. We need an enduring light that remains present, even in impenetrable shadows. God also knew we would need things we can hold in our hands—things we can see, know, taste, touch, and smell to help us find our way in the dark. So, the word (JESUS) became flesh… God became human and lived among us. And, even though Jesus isn’t still walking among us in the same way we read about in gospel stories, God remains present through the Holy Spirit who lives in us. THE LIGHT OF THE WORLD LIVES. IN. US!

So, in this present darkness, God’s people—the Church—is the body of Christ. We are the light of the world. We are the ones called to carry the light into the darkness and let it shine, let it shine, let it shine! And that, I believe, is the work ahead. It’s messy, difficult, and slow work, but this is who we are called and commissioned to be.

We can’t make the darkness of this world go away, but we can refuse to let darkness win. Because we are the people of God. We have more than hope. We have God with us. The Word made flesh; the light of the world lives in and through us and is doing the slow, steady work of making all things new as we love and serve one another.

Here at the dawn of the new year, I wonder what it could look like for us to shine, whether in a dazzling display, or—more likely—as a tiny spark, that lights the next step ahead for someone wandering in the dark. I think that will be the joy (and challenge) of discovery wherever we find ourselves. We can try to make it complicated, but shining the light of Christ is as simple as practicing kindness. I’m convinced we don’t have to wow people into the Kingdom of God. Its like Paul reminds the church (and all of us) in Romans 2:4,

“Do you not realize that God’s kindness is meant to lead you to repentance?”

Even the smallest spark of kindness can light up the darkest corners of the world.

And every one of us can be kind.

So, may I start today. May we start today. May we all let the light of Christ shine in the darkness and love one another well. The light of the world shines in the darkness, IN and THROUGH you and me… and the darkness will not overcome it.