God in Darkness
The sanctuary of my church in Los Angeles is a place suffused with light. From the white walls to the towering windows, sunshine permeates every inch of the space. Neither nook nor crevice can conceal shadow in this illuminated space. It reminds me of David’s words in Psalm 139: “Where can I go from your Spirit?/ Where can I flee from your presence?” (7). Sunday mornings there are a time of seeing and being seen. The presence of God alights on me like the dove at Jesus’ baptism. I can’t walk out of there without a whisper from above: “You are my son with whom I am well pleased.” The sense of sight and affirmation buoy my spirit for the coming week, but sometimes, I miss the darkness.
The cathedrals of Europe are a dark counterpoint to the bright space of my Los Angeles church. These ancient structures rise so high that light is swallowed in the heavenward ascent of the walls. To look up is to see a ceiling ensconced in shadow. But the light isn’t absent from those places, for it is the floor that is illuminated. The sun peeking through stained glass windows refracts into a rainbow of colors cast upon the pews. And the candles lit by itinerant pilgrims and tourists halo the faces of those turned down in prayer.
Yet in these bright spots, a fringe of darkness lurks on the periphery. This demarcation reminds me of an important lesson. In the light that God has given us, he reveals the goodness of himself. “The unfolding of your words gives light,” the psalmist writes (Psalm 119:130). In Christ, I see this luminance glowing in the message from the pulpit, in the bread and wine shared from the table, and in the prayers whispered from worshippers.
But in the brilliance of what Jesus unveils, the elevated ceiling and the gloom looming around candles reminds me that there is so much of God I have yet to see. That prospect, however, doesn’t cast me into despair; it excites me with the thrill of adventure. It’s an invitation to explore the eternal God who has no end. Though the light of what I know has defined boundaries, Christ is a country and an open road without border. To know him in one moment is to realize how much more I have yet to grasp. And that’s the joy of knowing him. As I venture deeper into his character, he continues to get bigger and better.
It's with this challenge from Hilary of Poitiers that I leave you: “Penetrate into the mystery, plunge into the darkness which shrouds that birth (of Christ), where you will be alone with God the Unbegotten and God the Only-begotten. Make your start, continue, persevere. I know that you will not reach the goal, but I shall rejoice at your progress. For He who devoutly treads an endless road, though he reach no conclusion, will profit by his exertions. Reason will fail for want of words, but when it comes to a stand it will be the better for the effort made.”