| Throughout much of Advent, we have dealt with the themes of light and darkness. Our reading from Isaiah continues that theme—the people who walked in darkness—just what is darkness? There are many definitions. As a child, I was afraid of the dark. My dad told me one evening to go out and lock up the chickens. I replied “I can’t go—I’m afraid of the dark.” He said “No, you’re afraid of what’s in the dark” As a ten year old, I didn’t understand my dad’s definition of dark. Now, that I’m older, his definition contains much wisdom, however, there’s a story I want to share with you which gives us another definition for darkness. A father and his son, traveling together in a wagon, came to the edge of the forest. Some bushes, thick with berries caught the child’s eye. “Father,” he asked, “may we stop a while so that I can pick some berries?” |
The father was anxious to complete his journey, be he did not have it in his heart to refuse the boy’s request. The wagon was called to a halt, and the son alighted to pick the berries. After a while, the father wanted to continue on his way. But his son had become so engrossed in berry-picking that he could not bring himself to leave the forest. “Son,” cried the father, “we must continue our journey.”
Even the father’s pleas were not enough to lure the boy away. What could the father do? Surely he loved his son no less for acting so childishly. He would not think of leaving him behind—but he really did have to get going on his journey.
Finally, he called out: “You may pick your berries for a while longer, but be sure you are still able to find me, for I shall start moving slowly along the road. As you work, call out “Father, Father!” every few minutes, and I shall answer you. As long as you can hear my voice, know that I am still nearby. But as soon as you can no longer hear my answer, know that you are lost, and run with all your strength to find me!” (Your Word is Fire: The Hasidic Masters on Contemplative Prayer) Darkness is a time of being lost; it’s a time of being so focused and intent on what I’m doing that I can no longer hear God’s voice.
As I look around our world today, it seems as though we are walking in a great deal of darkness. We are walking in the darkness of war—whether it be the war in Iraq, the Sudan, or Afghanistan—or here in our own country—the gang wars or the small conflicts where family members have walked away from each other never to return. We walk in the darkness of racism, sexism, materialism and consumerism. Our noisy culture tells us, we will be loved more if we wear a certain type of tennis shoe or drive a luxury car. We walk in the darkness of slavery—of women and children working in sweatshops, of insurance companies telling patients who they must have as doctors and the length of time for a hospital stay. We walk in the darkness of fear. Fear that our lives are meaningless because there are so few vocations. Fear, that our past ideals may be lost. We walk in the darkness of judgment. How quick we are to judge others by our self-standards. If I can do it, anyone can do it. These are just a few examples of walking in darkness, each of you could add your own personal examples. As time passes, we grow used to the darkness, we become accustomed to it, and we may even forget it is dark. Like the little boy, we become so engrossed in our darkness that we can no longer discern the Father’s voice. It is at this moment that our God looks at us and says “You have forgotten my voice; you are no longer running to find me. If you are not running to find me, then I must look for you. Just how does God look for us? According to St. John Chrosgynus: “God saw the world falling to ruin because of fear and immediately acted to call it back with love. God invited it by grace, preserved it by love and embraced it with compassion.”
What is St. John C. really trying to tell us? The following example gives us a clearer picture of what St. John wanted us to know. Earlier, I mentioned my dad’s definition of darkness, and now I’d like to continue that story. Very slowly, I walked out the door into the darkness. I made my way to the chicken house. Just as I almost had the door closed, a small furry animal came rushing out of the door. I let out a bloodcurdling scream and ran as fast as my legs would go back into the house. I rather quickly and breathlessly told my dad what had happened. He took it all in and then said “Cath, did you lock up the chickens?” I looked at him incredulously and said, “No.” He said, “Back you go.” With tears streaming down my face, and much trembling, I walked out the door again. I slowly made my way to the chicken house and reached up and locked it. I turned around, there stood my dad. He had quietly followed behind me, and I didn’t know it.
That’s the incarnation. The father entered into his daughter’s darkness and together they walked into the light. That’s the love of God for us in Jesus. God finds us because He is willing to come to us where we are. Light bursts into the darkness. Jesus, the Light of the World has come to lead us out of darkness. Jesus ate with sinners, he healed the sick, he accepted everyone. We learn to walk in the light of compassion and mercy. Jesus constantly stood up for the poor, the down-trodden, and the little ones. We learn to walk in the light of justice and peace. Jesus worked miracles and gave up his life for us. We learn to walk in the light of love and tenderness. No matter how many times Jesus had to repeat his message, he never gave up on those who were learning to follow him. We learn to walk in the light of hope. Are you ready to decorate your heart with the lights of compassion, mercy, peace, justice, tenderness, love and hope? Even more importantly, are you ready to share those lights with those who walk in darkness? Like the people of Isaiah’s time, many people walk in darkness, may we invite them to turn towards the light, and may we surround them with God’s faithful love and embrace them with a deep heart-felt compassion then the people who walk in darkness will see a great light.
Sr. Catherine Stewart is an associate professor in the Education Division at Mount Mercy College in Cedar Rapids, Iowa. She has previously been a teacher and an administrator in Catholic schools. She is the co-author of Tools for Conflict Resolution. |
© 2006 Religion Teacher’s Journal |
|