After Darkness, Light.
What comes after darkness?
"The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; a light has dawned on those living in the land of darkness" (Is 9:2).
The people walking in darkness? Is that us? It feels like it might be us.
We are quite literally in the middle of a plague. But it's not as if the world was better before the coronavirus struck. A few short weeks ago, disunity threatened to tear us apart—to rend us from people we once called "ours." And when disunity wasn't the threat, culturally-sanctioned individualism was.
As a people, we are guilty: we have been blind to the needs of one another, we have used others to entertain or benefit ourselves, and we have cut off fellowship from people because they don't agree with us.
It took a worldwide crisis to open our eyes to the depth of this darkness. Now, here we sit in our homes in basically time out, waiting for it to lift.
And yet, darkness never stays dark.
But what comes after darkness?
***
"For God who said, 'Let light shine out of darkness,' has shone in our hearts to give the light of the knowledge of God's glory in the face of Jesus Christ" (2 Cor 4:6).
The earth was chaos. It was dark and empty until the voice of God rang out. "Let there be light."
It must have been brightness on overload—the Maker of light enjoying his creation.
Those four words established the days and months and years our human bodies rely upon—all built from the foundations of light and darkness.
Surely granting relief from our darkness is a small thing compared to creating a sun. Isn't it, Lord?
So, when will the light come to us?
There is hope for us still: light came, it's here, and there's more on the way.
***
"The true light, which gives light to everyone, was coming into the world" (Jn 1:9).
On Easter weekend, we turn our attention to the shift from darkness to light.
At Jesus' birth, the long foretold light shone on us for the first time. "In your light do we see light," the Psalmist says, and it's true—the light of Christ opened our eyes to a deeper, truer reality than can be seen with the naked eye.
We cannot appreciate light without coming face to face with deep darkness.
Good Friday leads us to reflect upon Jesus' death. The day he died, a mysterious darkness occurred between 12 and 3 p.m. (Matt 27:45). The light that came into the world around 33 years earlier was leaving the world.
The next three days were marked by darkness—the sun rose and set like every other day, but something had broken. Jesus' lifeless body lay in a grave, and the disciples' sat in the double grief of losing their friend and running away from him to avoid the same fate.
Yet . . .
"That light shines in the darkness, and yet the darkness did not overcome it" (Jn. 1:5).
Darkness is powerful, but it is not invincible.
The proof arrives three days after Jesus' death.
“Up from the grave he arose,
With a mighty triumph o’er his foes,
He arose a Victor from the dark domain,
And he lives forever, with his saints to reign.”
The voice that called light into existence, the voice that called Lazarus from the grave is the same voice that called Mary by name after being three days dead.
After death, resurrection.
***
"You are the light of the world. A city situated on a hill cannot be hidden. No one lights a lamp and puts it under a basket, but rather on a lampstand, and it gives light for all who are in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father in heaven" (Matt 5:14–16).
Jesus is the true light—the light saints through the ages had waited to see.
Before he returned to his Father, he invited us into his work—" I am the light of the world," and "You are the light of the world." Both are true.
His, pure and unfiltered. Ours, dim and flickering at times, but sustained forever by the Creator of light.
Jesus delivered this teaching to a community (Matt 5:1), and we can only receive it as a community. We together—the Church (universal, catholic, worldwide, collective: any way that makes the most sense to you)—are one, and we reflect the light of Christ into our dark world.
Yet we imperfectly follow Jesus' call. The Church tends to hoard the light we have received ("puts it under a basket") or turn down the light to be less intrusive ("let your light shine before others").
What does it mean for the Church to be light in the darkness right now? Next week? In six months? In two years?
The darkness as we feel it today will lift. I don't know how or when or why. But I feel a shift happening in the world and the Church.
After social distancing, together.
***
"The city does not need the sun or the moon to shine on it, because the glory of God illuminates it, and its lamp is the Lamb. The nations will walk by its light, and the kings of the earth will bring their glory into it. Its gates will never close by day because it will never be night there" (Rev 21:23–25).
Oh, for a light that will never go out!
Our pain points us to a promise: one day, our Maker will be with us, will make his home with us, will make all the broken things new. He will be our light, and we will see him as he is.
No longer will we hope for a better world or peace in our souls and our surroundings or healing for our griefs and burdens. Today's sufferings—acute as they are—will be minuscule in comparison to reality (Rom 8:18): the world as it was meant to be, led by the One who is Light.
It would be easy to put our hope in the future reality and forget about today. I've heard the saying: "you're so heavenly minded, you're no earthly good" (today I learned it's a Johnny Cash song).
Our future is motivation for our present. Hope motivates action.
Yes, our world is dark and covered in sin. Nations war against each other, kings usurp God's glory, and we make enemies of our neighbors. But it will not always be so.
***
"Get up, sleeper, and rise up from the dead, and Christ will shine on you" (Eph 5:14).
Light will come. Dawn is coming.
As sure as the sun's rising each morning, as certain as the God who sustains the world by the word of his power, light will come.
Light is an invitation—"we'll leave the light on for you," one motel chain advertises. It's a war on darkness; it's warmth and safety. It's home.
Today's darkness doesn't stand a chance.
And after darkness? Light.
"For you were once darkness, but now you are light in the Lord. Live as children of light" (Eph 5:8).
Author’s note: "After darkness, light" is translated from post tenebras lux, the rallying cry of the Protestant Reformation.
