Living with Darkness

I’ve often been struck by the fact that so many holidays around this time of year focus on light – the Christian seasons of Advent and Epiphany; Hanukkah, the Jewish festival of lights; and the Pagan celebration of Yule. The short days and long nights of this season seem to call forth some innate desire for light. Our power bills go up, as we all keep the lights on, and some of us turn to light boxes to help make up for our light deficit.

In our quest for light, especially during these winter months, darkness gets a bad rap. We construct darkness as evil, using that connotation to justify the oppression of people with dark skin. But darkness has a beauty of its own. In seeking light, we fail to glimpse the mystery that lies hidden in shadows, what mystical poet Henry Vaughan calls “a deep but dazzling darkness.” Light would have no meaning apart from darkness. In the creation story Genesis, God creates light out of the pre-existing darkness. Darkness came first, and night is the blank canvas on which the light of day is splashed.

The human desire to escape darkness and seek light is genuine But we need the darkness. Just as surely as our bodies need the night to rest, the earth needs this dormant period of winter. In the months when our part of the earth is tipped away from the sun, seeds lie beneath the ground, waiting for the warmth of spring. Trees stand bare, flowers die away, and grasses stop growing. In the midst of this dull, drab season, evergreens remind us that this period is not about death, but is simply a different phase of life – a period of rest and inactivity. Evergreens attest to the cycles that are necessary to return to a season when the earth will flourish again. So in this season, we decorate with evergreens, as well as candles.

Many people feel that our country is in a dark time as well, as we see the breakdown of institutions and the overturning of laws to protect the earth and the rights of women and people on the margins. Gains from the long, difficult movements for Civil Rights, women’s rights, and LGBTQ+ rights are in jeopardy, as many of our fellow citizens seek to return to the America of decades past.

When we take a look at the longer arc of history, we see that social change takes decades, even centuries, and there is always backlash. In fact, the more progress we make, the stronger those resisting change push back. Valerie Kaur, a Sikh American lawyer, author, and civil rights advocate, says that this dark time in our country’s history is a moment of transformation. The darkness of the tomb for what is dying coexists with the darkness of the womb for what is trying to be born.

Author and pastor Brian McLaren uses Kaur’s image to claim that what is dying is a world of “dominating, angry, greedy men without empathy” and without concern for planet Earth. Like a dying cornered animal, he says, those who hold fast to that world will destroy as much as they can before they are finished. McLaren and Kaur urge us to pay attention to what is trying to be born, and recognize that the pain we feel is not only death pangs, but also labor pains.

Hinduism recognizes that destruction coexists with creation, that birth involves death. Kali is the Hindu goddess of death, time, and destruction, often associated with violence. But she is also considered a strong mother figure and a symbol of motherly love, embodying shakti – feminine energy, creativity and fertility. In her poem “(From) The Invocation to Kali,” May Sarton writes:

Kali, be with us.
Violence, destruction, receive our homage.
Help us to bring darkness into the light,
To lift out the pain, the anger,
Where it can be seen for what it is—
The balance-wheel for our vulnerable, aching love.
Put the wild hunger where it belongs,
Within the act of creation,
Crude power that forges a balance
Between hate and love.

Help us to be the always hopeful
Gardeners of the spirit
Who know that without darkness
Nothing comes to birth
As without light
Nothing flowers.

Bear the roots in mind,
You, the dark one, Kali,
Awesome power.

In the seasons of our spiritual lives, there are times when we seek the darkness, because the inner searching we need is not possible in the bright light of day. For Christians, this is the season of Advent, a time of reflection in preparation for Christmas. Although the garish light of the commercial holiday season has been blaring for weeks, Christians seek the quiet, to contemplate the meaning of the coming holiday, using these dark days to reflect and prepare.

At other times darkness is forced upon us, whether we desire it or not. This may feel like such a time to you. The Christian mystic John of the Cross referred to the “dark night of the soul” – the times when we cannot escape darkness, but we may grow from it. These may even become our most profound spiritual experiences. Irish priest and poet John O’Donohue recognizes this in his prayer “For Light”:

Light cannot see inside things.
That is what the dark is for:
Minding the interior,
Nurturing the draw of growth
Through places where death
In its own way turns into life.

In the glare of neon times,
Let our eyes not be worn
By surfaces that shine
With hunger made attractive.

That our thoughts may be true light,
Finding their way into words
Which have the weight of shadow
To hold the layers of truth.

That we never place our trust
In minds claimed by empty light,
Where one-sided certainties
Are driven by false desire.

As we enter the month of December, the shorter winter days invite us to embrace the darkness and to balance our action with rest and quiet reflection. In our winter celebrations, we engage the wisdom of ancestors through stories of how they survived difficult times – one day’s oil miraculously lasts for eight, a peacemaker is born at the height of the Roman empire’s oppression. Through rituals of light, we look for signs of hope that, like the evergreens, promise a resurgence of life to come.

And we are called to shine our own light into the darkness. In her concession speech, Vice-President Kamala Harris quoted the adage, “Only when it is dark enough can you see the stars.” The human eye can detect a single candle burning 1.5 miles away. Even a little bit of light helps us see our way, and may provide a signal to others. Albert Schweitzer has said, “At times our own light goes out and is rekindled by a spark from another person. Each of us has cause to think with deep gratitude of those who lighted the flame within us.” And so we shine our light for others to see, and we give thanks for those whose light helps us through dark times.

This reflection was part of a service at the Unitarian Universalist Church of Meadville on December 1, 2024. Readings for the service included “A Winter Prayer: Strengthening Darkness” by Joyce Rupp and two poems by Jan Richardson: “A Blessing for Traveling in the Dark” and “Where the Light Begins,” which is the basis of a choral piece by Susan LaBarr that was the postlude for the service.