A Light Shines in the Darkness

Some words of reflection from our service of hope and healing last night...

             It is hard to believe that it is already December. Once again Thanksgiving has flown by and we are already in the midst of busy preparations for Christmas. Presents to buy, houses to decorate, parties to plan for, etc. etc. And in spite of how exhausting this season of Advent can be, I have to confess that there is something comforting about the busyness of the holidays, or about any day, really. Keeping myself busy and distracted, I can avoid having to stop and take a deeper look at myself and ask, “no really, Emily, how is it with your soul today?” That is a tough question and I would venture to say, most of us don’t dare stop and ask ourselves this because we are perhaps quite afraid of the answer. If we stop long enough to let our souls speak to us in the silence, think of what they might say- I am lonely. I don’t feel that I am enough. I am not happy. I am still grieving when everyone else has moved on already. I want out of my marriage. I feel like a failure. I am scared and I don’t know what to do.

            In the midst of a season characterized by great joy and merriment, parties and abundant light, it is easier to push away the darkness. It is easier to stay busy and not ask ourselves the hard questions. And yet, as much as we try to avoid them, as much as we can try to push our pain into a corner, or hide it beneath a happy face, the darkness will eventually catch up with us.

            Parker Palmer says, “the only way to deal with the darkness is not to go around it or turn your back on it to pretend it isn’t there, but to go deeper into it until you begin to see a little bit of light.” This is counterintuitive to everything we know about comfort and pain. Nobody likes to feel pain, and human beings will usually go to any lengths to avoid feeling it, even if we know that on the other side healing awaits us.  And so it is easier to stay busy, to turn to noise and distractions to keep us distanced from ourselves and prevent us from facing our darkest places. We are afraid of what we might find there if we really started digging around. And yet, as scary as it may be, healing can only begin once we gather up the courage to stop and give name to the brokenness that lies so close to each of our hearts. It is only by moving into darkness, instead of running from it that we can start to let light in. Because the thing is, light doesn’t go around darkness; it cuts through to the very heart of it.

            The psalmist assures us that no matter how far we run to avoid the darkness, even to the ends of the earth, God’s presence never leaves us. As far into the dark as we must walk to experience healing, as long as we must wait for a glimpse of dawn to appear, we know that God waits with us.

Where can I go from your spirit?

    Or where can I flee from your presence? 

If I ascend to heaven, you are there;

    if I make my bed in Sheol, you are there.

If I take the wings of the morning

    and settle at the farthest limits of the sea,

even there your hand shall lead me,

    and your right hand shall hold me fast.

If I say, “Surely the darkness shall cover me,

    and the light around me become night,”

even the darkness is not dark to you;

    the night is as bright as the day,

    for darkness is as light to you. (Psalm 139)

            How often have we walked into the dark places in our lives and felt like we would be overwhelmed. Like every bit of light has been snuffed out and we might never see the light of day again? Perhaps that might sound a bit dramatic, but the truth is darkness can seem all consuming and terrifying. It takes away our control and leaves us unsteady and afraid. It is no wonder we go to such lengths to avoid it, even when the things we turn to end up doing us more harm than good. But the thing is, in order to get to the other side of the darkness, you have to go through it. There is no avoiding that scary in between time, that darkest of places where you are too far in to turn around and not close enough to see the light of the other side. It is the point of no return, where the path you took to get here has washed out and the way forward is still concealed from you. The old is not old enough to have died away and the new is still too young to be born.

            And yet… in the middle of the darkness, when we least expect it, we hear these words: 

“In the beginning was the Word 
and what has come into being through the Word was life
and the life was the light of all people. 
The light shines in the darkness 
and the darkness did not overcome it.” (John 1)

            Friends, darkness is a scary place. But we have what it takes to walk into it. We can embrace the hard work of healing, letting go, moving forward, and facing our own shadows even when we have no control and can’t see where we are going. We can do this because of the one who walks with us. Because of the one who is not overcome by the darkness. Like a lighthouse shining out into the darkest of seas, Christ tells us, “You are here.” “Keep going.” “You may not see the way ahead, but I see you.”  “You are not alone.”

            May these words give us the strength and the courage we need to illuminate the darkest shadows of our hearts; that Christ’s presence would guide us, ground us and lead us home to the other side. Amen.

On Advent and Prophetic Voices and Fighting Like a Girl

             Advent is upon us. This in between time of waiting and expectancy that always seems to be surrounded by peace and joy and good tidings (and the excitement of Christmas services being over and finally getting to rest and spend time with our family for all us church working folk). This is the only time a year when we get excited about waiting. I know in my own life, I have never been one to welcome in between times or having to wait for anything with much peace or joy.

            This year, for some reason, Advent has felt very different to me. With everything that is going on in the world, I feel a bit odd (and privileged) to sit in the beauty of poinsettia filled sanctuaries listening to choirs sing carols and tell the stories of Christ’s birth. Yesterday I went to a Lessons and Carols service at St. Paul’s UMC in Houston. Exquisite music, beautiful prayers, and one of the best versions of the Adam and Eve story I have ever heard- read by quite possibly the most adorable little girl ever- in perfect King James English, no less. It was the perfect Advent celebration. And as we were leaving, mom looked at me said, “that was the first time I have ever sat in a sanctuary and thought about what would happen if a gunman came in.”

            Advent anticipation marked by fear. Peaceful and silent nights un-silenced by violence and bombs. It isn’t as though this is the first time we have lived in a war torn or violent world during Advent. This was the very world that Jesus was born into. And for many, this is a daily reality that is unconcerned with certain months of the year or religious celebrations. However it does seem that the fear and terror are getting closer and closer to home, and for those of us who have been privileged enough to not experience the atrocities of war and violence first hand, we are being called to face something in what feels like a much more real way for the first time. And so it seems easier to domesticate and sanitize the story of Advent and Christmas than to face the truth of how we turn away Mary’s and Joseph’s in our own lives daily. It seems easier to sit in silence watching the Christmas lights glimmer and dance, than to sit in the presence of those whose lives have been torn apart by war, listen to their stories and open up our homes to them. I am afraid, for me, it is easier to wait passively, feeling powerless, lamenting the violence in our world and using prayer as a thinly veiled spiritual response instead of using it as a call to action; a means of being present to God in a way that allows me to hear God’s voice calling me to step outside of my comfort zone, calling us to be the Church, to be a sign, however small, of the kingdom.

            But does one voice really matter? Yesterday, our gospel reading came from Luke 3:1-3- “The voice of one crying out in the wilderness. Prepare the way of the Lord.” As I read those words, I couldn’t help but remember this picture that has been circulating on social media.

            You probably haven’t seen it, but since about half of my friends on facebook are from Brazil, my newsfeed is an interesting polarity of North American and South American politics. For the past month, the governor of São Paulo has been trying to close and consolidate schools all over the state. This has led to a huge occupy movement by students and teachers who have been taking over and occupying their school buildings to protest and fight for their right to education. Throughout this occupation, several photos have emerged of young girls courageously confronting the police (notoriously known for being extremely violent) with their right to keep their schools.  The hash tag #fightlikeagirl has come to describe the bravery and boldness that these young girls have to stand up (non-violently) to police intimidation tactics and fight for a better life for themselves and their peers.

            “A voice cries out in the wilderness”- for education, for healthcare, for a better life for her and for her future children, for a place at the table, for her voice to be heard. A voice cries out to defy violence, withstand blows and stand her ground because she does not have the luxury of waiting any longer and cannot remain silent.  

            And after over a month of these voices crying out, the decision was overturned and the schools will, in fact, remain open. Because of one voice- not a voice of power or privilege- but the voice of one student, and then another, and then another, and another, who decided to believe that their voices mattered and ended up creating a movement that could not be silenced. These are the advent voices that I need to hear every day- the voices that give me hope while I actively wait. These are the voices that give me the courage to trust and use my own voice, even when it is uncomfortable, even when it isn’t convenient or easy. Because that is how we best prepare the way of the Lord- not just by singing songs and saying prayers, but by defending the powerless and acting out of love, by speaking truth and telling the stories that no one wants to hear, by remembering that Jesus walks with us and teaches us how to love our enemies and respond without fear. As we continue to wait, may we each have the courage to #fightlikeagirl and let our voice be heard in the wilderness.