“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.” John 1:5
You come from Light, and light never leaves you.
One lesson I have learned through life is that we are sometimes at a loss to see this reality for ourselves. Here is how this might unfold:
There are times when the trials of life deliver us, Dantesque, into a dark and unfamiliar wood where the way is lost, our voice is strained and quiet, and our light has dimmed, so much so that we are at odds to find the path. We search, at times groping on hands and knees, and other times by moving forward and backward over the same worn ground for what we believe are the right or necessary next steps; or we may feel stuck, paralyzed by uncertainty, inadequate. Whether we are haunted by wolves of despair, buried in airless dunes of sadness, aimless and gnashing in fallow boredom, or rote and un-alive in our everyday….we are lost all the same.
I have found that, of the many people who have entered my life, some take up residence in my heart, paint the walls luminous, plant gardens, dig wells, while others linger and leave only to return again in time, and still others pass through never to return though they leave behind a bit of candle light for comfort and remembrance…Of all of these remarkable beings, there are some whose very presence was and still is a beacon of sorts, a lighthouse for those at sea beneath a starless sky. I am reminded of the quote by St. Thomas More, “Don’t give up the ship in a storm just because you cannot control the winds,” and, that the etymology of the word “dis-aster” transliterated means without a (guiding) star. Sometimes, it feels as though shipwreck is imminent and inescapable. And then, along comes this particular person. It wasn’t so much that they guided me or that I was blindly swept along a moth-maddened course in the attraction to their bright light. It was simply that their light touched and rekindled my own different light…
“In everyone’s life, at some time, our inner fire goes out. It is then burst into flame by an encounter with another human being. We should all be thankful for those people who rekindle our inner spirit.” ~ Albert Schweitzer
I am not sure that I agree with Schweitzer completely, but the sentiment is accurate. I happen to believe that it is impossible for the light to go out because we come from light and light never leaves us. In other words, it isn’t our light to control and contain, but it flows through and from us. I suppose this uncreated light can be confused with manufactured light or that we can externalize this light with objects around us that are flashy and bright. In the end, however, those are poor substitutes for this internal radiance which can’t help but shine forth in the world through us. Maybe you’ve heard the expression, “the light has gone out,” referring to someone dying, falling out of love, or to capture the weight of darkness. We may be all too familiar with the fragility of our own light, feeling now and then that it has dimmed and flickered or that we are blind to the light stirring within us. And, sometimes it takes the presence of another to awaken us to our own light, to help us re-member, to recollect ourselves.
Here I am reminded of the work we do for those who are shut in and/or shut out; programs like pet therapy and massage in hospitals and hospice environments, ministry in prison, outreach to those who are homeless. When we are as a loss to awaken ourselves to the light within us, having someone stand with us, accompany us when we are struggling to re-emerge to the light of life in the world. One catalyst for vitality and restoration in life is love, in the broadest sense—both loving and being loved, from compassionate love to romantic/erotic love, and everything in between. Loving and being loved by someone can be uplifting, inspiring, beautiful and bright, yet disruptive and challenging at times.
On the one hand, love is concrete and grounding. On the other, love makes us vulnerable, and it is through our own vulnerability that we are able to open our hearts in love for and with this other person, even have our hearts broken open by love. So, when we feel dim and lost, the bright flame of another being, their spark and passion, may ignite our own flame—and by doing so, not only do we participate in each other’s light, but we illuminate our world, brighter together. This unique and unexpected form of sustained combustion may become a beacon for others. We have all lived through difficult times, starless nights, survived a darkened heart. Looking back at different periods in my life—loss, loneliness, transitions, death, chaos—there was always someone there for and with me. It wasn’t always immediately clear who that person was and the role they would play as life got sorted out. But their presence was necessary, fortuitous, serendipitous, life-sustaining. I like to think that these luminous people were examples of God’s loving presence in the world—bright lights in moments of darkness or confusion where the way was lost. Their presence gently and patiently called me back from the storm front, then sparked and nurtured my own internal flame.
I am not suggesting that this is the only way to be rekindled, or inspired–artistic creation, our natural world, etc. may do that for us too—but there is something deeply recurring and resonant in being loved or cared about that evokes our very best self, even though we may fail to let the light of that very best self radiate.
As I was thinking about the nature of ministry—to the sick, those in prison, those without homes, and to those who are alone or dying—I was drawn to this line of thinking about Light. Sure, it might be a perennial starting point for any reflection about the Presence and Mystery of God in the world (and in the world through us); but, more importantly, it speaks to me of the need for light-bearers, for us to be an expression of God’s loving presence in the world. While it may be true that you come from Light, and light never leaves you, when that truth is obscured, it may be the luminous presence of another person who pierces the veil or illuminates the path ahead. Being that person—a light-bearer—for another is the heart of ministry.
