I'm sitting here, thinking of the post "on the bus"below, and pondering darkness. Me, a woman who has experienced her own personal great depression(s), for most of her adult life. Darkness. I know darkness. I also know God. He meets me there.
"In the beginning, God created the heavens and the earth. The earth was without form, and void, and darkness was on the face of the deep. And the Spirit of God was hovering over the face of the waters." (Gen. 1:1 NKJV).
God told us about the darkness first.
Why are we so afraid? The message says, "God's Spirit brooded like a bird above the watery abyss." (Gen. 1:1). I love that. I can imagine his great God-wings, covering the darkness--the brooding God.
I love a God who broods.
I love a God who will, or will not remove darkness, as He sees fit. A God who demands your attention in the inky night, and yet craves your love. Who cradles you like a womb, even if you don't know it, and think you're alone.
Darkness encircling us in the warm walls of our mother's womb. We come to this strange place, shrouded in darkness, just like Jesus came. He refused to emerge from the heavens in a dazzling blaze of light. He came like we did, only without sin.
Jesus is not afraid of darkness.
Rilke says so beautifully of our Abba:
You, darkness, of whom I am born,
I love you more than the flame
that limits the world
to the circle it illumines
and excludes all the rest.
But the dark embraces everything:
shapes and shadows, creatures and me,
people, nations--just as they are.
It lets me imagine
a great presence stirring beside me.
I believe in the night.
(from Rilke's Book of Hours, Love Poems to God. Translated by Anita Barrows and Joanna Macy. 1996, Riverhead Books, NY. Once again, used without permission.)
Embrace the nocturnal creatures in Jesus, my friends. That's how we become the light of the world.
In darkness, and in light.