We are pursued by darkness. Literally. Darkness comes earlier each day in the northern
hemisphere, culminating on Dec. 21, the shortest day of the year. The deepening
darkness can do a number on our psyches: seasonal affective disorder – also known by the apt acronym SAD, is a seasonal malady that millions of people struggle with. Compounding the annual march of celestial darkness is the darkness of the world’s pain and grief, which can spike in tragic and traumatic ways. This past weekend, 15 people in Australia were murdered and scores were wounded as members of the local Jewish community celebrated the first night of Hannukah, ironically known as the festival of lights. At Brown University in Rhode Island, two students were shot to death and nine were injured as they prepared for final exams. Most of us can’t help but add to this litany of darkness when we consider the violence, tragedy, corruption, and degradation that is so active and malevolent in our country and around the world – not to mention our own unique experiences of darkness that involve loss, disappointment and fear.
Some 40 years ago, for a period of several months, the pursuit by darkness consumed me.
During the height of my emotional crisis, I ventured outside in the middle of an autumn night, picked up driveway gravel, and hurled it at the garage. This went on for nearly an hour. It was my desperate attempt to fight the darkness.
It didn’t work.
The darkness was eventually alleviated by the help I sought, the support I received, and the
light that people helped me see. In my darkest days, the light was nearly invisible, but I held on to faith as people held on to me. Light began to emerge, and with it came hope and healing. I long had conceptually (if not casually) accepted the theological promise offered in John’s Gospel: “the light shines in the darkness and the darkness did not overcome it” (John 1:5); but as I went through my dark night of the soul, I was able to trust that promise in my bones.
“The light shines in the darkness,” is a promise and phrase that comes from a Christian text. It is tempting to think that the light is uniquely and exclusively Christian. There is not a Christian light, but there is a Christian lens, as there are other lenses — Jewish, Muslim, Hindu, Buddhist, and on and on – through which generations of people have looked to see life-giving light. I have looked through other religious lenses over the years, and I am profoundly grateful for how they have opened up my eyes to new vistas and have broadened my experience of light and hope. I continue to explore these different ways of looking to the light, trusting their time-honored wisdom and commitment, with the surprising (and welcome) effect of which is to appreciate and sharpen my Christian lens even more.
There are other displays of light. There is the light of glitz and glamor that seeks to command our attention. Much of it is an attempt to simply fight the darkness that pursues us. This bright light can be entertaining, but is often distracting – and can lead us to pursue its brightness with a kind of addictive tenacity, but ultimately is not sustaining.
And then there is the tendency, which is on daily display these days, to arrogantly and
aggressively claim to be the sole proprietor of the light. We see that in religious extremism and political authoritarianism. Not only do these brazen leaders and their followers claim to be the stewards of light, but audaciously regard themselves to be the sponsors of the light. Disagreement brings an immediate dismissal, if not deportation, to some kind of darkness – where people will no longer be seen, and their concerns and opinions no longer honored. Instead of inviting people into the light, they are hell-bent on casting people into darkness. These princes of darkness claim authority, and indeed, they can end up with unbridled dimensions of power.
What all the religious lenses teach us is that while darkness can feel overwhelming, it cannot extinguish light. Conversely, light – even in small doses – can destroy darkness. And each of those religious lenses encourages its adherents to claim the light that has been planted in our bones, help others discover their own light – and then join together in taking on the purveyors of darkness.
Mark Beckwith is a retired bishop of the Episcopal Diocese of Newark, N.J. He lives in Jaffrey. He can be followed on markbeckwith.net.