A Dark Epiphany

Scripture: Matthew 2: 9-10


When they had heard the king, they set out; and there, ahead of them, went the star that they had seen at its rising, until it stopped over the place where the child was. When they saw that the star had stopped, they were overwhelmed with joy.


Scripture: John 1: 1-5


In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.


Reflection by Debra McKnight
 

The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it. The Gospel of John begins with epic energy, imagery, and proposes God as vast as the universe and older than time is yet enfleshed with us. The word that sparks creation becomes flesh, word made flesh. It is the linking of paradoxes vast and intimate at once, spirit filled flesh, wildly boundless and ever present. John begins the story of an ordinary, extraordinary man like an epic film and all the big images and metaphors are right there for us. As you read it, imagine the words flashing across the screen as though Star Wars is about to begin. 


 In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.

Over the last several weeks this phrase, “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it” has been haunting me. I love this line. Perhaps you do as well. This year “darkness” feels palpable or at least I find my self using this language a lot…just take a look at my last few sermons. A tiny virus changed everything and our arrogant disregard of science made small changes that would save lives a political game. White supremacy extinguished black lives and our current President marshals an army of deplorables on a cruel and careless quest. Darkness feels like a pretty good metaphor and even if you didn’t think Hillary was right or she should have at least kept “deplorables” to herself, I challenge you to find a better word for our worst instincts on display from the Proud Boys to the GOP leaders attempting to subvert democracy with frivolous lawsuits. It’s dark, like midnight, in a cave at the bottom the earth; dark, our eyes searching for any glimpse of light and hands feeling around the floor for a match that we just hope will strike anywhere. 


In this year we have witnessed the death toll mount and rather than listening to experts, we have not only disregarded, but attacked them. We have watched angry adults protest about freedom as though limiting haircuts and bar hours is a form of oppression and then there is the personal heartbreak. The heartbreak of death and grief and loss, the heartbreak that is normal and everyday until it happens to you and it’s your relationship ending; your Mom with cancer or your child needing help. It is heavy and hard and heartbreaking and this year just makes darkness an easy metaphor. But the light shines in the darkness. The light shines in the darkness and we could hope. The light shines in the darkness and we could open our eyes to see. The light shines in the darkness and the darkness did not overcome it. 


In this I take comfort and perhaps you do as well. It was written by and for folks who lived in considerable oppression, hardship and heartbreak and it is also structural. At least it is when you are a peasant, from an occupied country crushed by the most powerful army in the known world and no sense that anyone will care enough about you to light one candle. The light shines in the darkness and the darkness did not overcome it is written for folks crushed by life. They understand dark in a way we might only imagine even as we lean into the metaphor and name the outlook of the year as one of the darkest we have encountered.


The thing about metaphors is they invite us to think and before our metaphorical judgment of all things being dark and that being a problem, I want to pause for just a moment. This phrase, “a light shines in the darkness,” is followed by “and the darkness did not overcome it." That part caught my eye and not just mine, but my dearest friend Rev. Robyn Fickes Bless. The darkness did not overcome it…was the darkness trying to? What is this about? Is darkness really in battle with light, does it actually fight the break of dawn? Is the moon evangelical about the lunar calendar? Does the Sun feel annoyed that the Moon illuminates the sky without producing any of its own light? Are there teams and captains and flags or is that our stuff? Is it our stuff that privileges power and domination rather than connection and mutuality? Is it our stuff of winners and losers, our stuff of crush or be crushed, our stuff of overtake or be overcome, our stuff of patriarchy and power? Our stuff that we project in saying the darkness did not overcome it?


Our faith does a pretty good job, past and present, taking aim at darkness. It is often a catch-all for everything that breaks our hearts, elevates our fears and makes us want to turn every light on in the house. Christianity often deploys dualism, light and dark, good and evil, right and wrong, sacred and profane, and spirit and flesh. And we spend a fair amount of time focused on the sunny side with all the good people, in the light, focused on spirit and being good. Barbara Brown Taylor calls this “Solar Christianity.” It is Christianity that expects shiny happy folks, showing up peppy in their Sunday best and posting about their #blessed life. This makes us ill-equipped to navigate when the night sky is all we have to guide our way. 

If we pause to consider actual darkness, we have to admit that it isn’t really evil or bad or cruel or oppressive. That’s really our projection. Darkness isn’t trying to overcome the daylight, it just is and it is essential. We are surrounded by cycles of day and night, renewal and growth. Darkness invites nocturnal creatures to their work and others to rest. Darkness opens our eyes to the wonder of the night’s sky. It can cool and quiet and invite a certain magic all its own, particularly when we city dwellers with our love of night lights travel out of the city and look up at the sky. The world around us speaks to the fullness of cycles and seasons, all essential to the whole. Our own bodies lean into these rhythms of day and night, rest and activity, renewal and growth.


In the collection of essays, Let There Be Night, one essayist, James Bremner talks about being afraid of the dark as a child growing up in a Scottish Village. This village had seen no crime and was not home to wild predators, but still simple tasks in the dark took courage. Courage to navigate the dark is not about being fearless but rather “management of fear.” The dark becomes this catch-all for our fears and walking through them with courage, particularly when we would prefer to flip on the flood lights.



This week we honor epiphany with the scripture of the wise ones who looked at the midnight sky and, sensing something new, set out to follow. We own this narrative to darkness and the wonder of the night. These three kings/magi/research scientists know the sky as well as their traditions, they have done the study that invites them to see new possibilities. Darkness is clarifying, even if we are not navigating the sea by the evening stars. The light shines in the darkness, we can see what our eyes are not able to sense in the daylight. The wise men know the sky, they have studied the night and they take courage to move with haste, they manage their fears, anxieties and reservations, they set the other projects aside and they follow the star.
 


We are in a time where darkness feels like an easy metaphor and I confess I have used it a lot. We use it for all manner of hurt, violence and brokenness. And I am the first to look for night lights. But what if we practice moving through the deep dark with courage and learn about navigation by the stars? Perhaps this begins with naming our fears rather than flipping on the flood lights and numbing out with the TV’s flickering light. What if we list our fears and write down what scares us? This list could be long, consider that there are some clear and present dangers to our health and well-being, as well as our nation’s democracy. As we name our fears from the world around us, will we be brave enough to name the terrifying fears we carry inside - what keeps us awake and what worries threaten our well-being? The quiet curve of evening by the Moon’s soft reflection of the Sun might just be a perfect space for diving in deep if we will let ourselves. Perhaps naming our fears invites us to consider our gifts that will give us courage to navigate through these heavy spaces and mend our hearts and our world.

Perhaps as we lean into the Moon just as we do the Sun, we will find our dualisms soften. Perhaps the day and night, the good and evil, the spirit and flesh, the light and the dark are, for most of us, much more nuanced. Perhaps we have witnessed pure evil and glimpses of pure good, but I suspect we are likely surrounded by shades of gray in between and complex choices that often hurt someone far away. This may be true even if we are trying very hard to make the most loving choice with our time, our money and our talents. This reconnection of what seems different is at the very start of the Gospel. John names the word made flesh, our very being is sacred and connected, the notion a vast all-loving divine is embodied in a tiny vulnerable peasant. Nothing is light or dark, spirit or flesh, the Gospel points to ‘and’ over ‘or’ and challenges us to join in this all-loving quest to life a different way. Perhaps navigating by starlight will change us. The darkness requires us to walk with greater care and slow the easy progress we make in the daylight. Perhaps rather than a catch-all for every fear, darkness gives us tools for courage that we can carry with us into the daylight. Perhaps we can embrace the night’s gifts for pointing us towards love just like the wise ones following the star so long ago. 

May it be so. Amen.