Early on the first day of the week, while it was still dark, Mary Magdalene came to the tomb and saw that the stone had been removed from the tomb. John 20:1
When I ask people how they are, so often they say, “Well, I’m doing ok considering …”
Sometimes they confess to me that the world just feels so dark right now.
And I get it – I can feel this way, too. Sometimes it does seem the shadows are gathering around us and just getting scarier and more menacing and it is hard to see a path forward.
But then I am reminded of the gift of darkness.
Recently I read Conor Knighton’s book Leave Only Footprints where he talks about visiting all the national parks in a year. One of the most captivating chapters was about national parks that have been certified as Dark Sky Places. He describes areas where light pollution is carefully limited so people can experience the night sky as humans did for most of history. Standing in one of these places, the sky can be overwhelming. Stars multiply as your eyes adjust. Constellations sharpen. The universe stretches above you in breathtaking clarity. Conor says that what surprises many visitors is this: the darkness does not feel frightening. It feels beautiful. Everyone is standing shoulder to shoulder – strangers to one another in the daylight – but at night, all eyes are lifted to the heavens in wonder experiencing something extraordinary.
In these particular times that we are living in, this brings me hope. For in the light of day war is happening and people are dying and there is shouting on all sides and beliefs seem intransient and we experience and participate in the hatred and greed and selfishness and bigotry that is everywhere around us. We see our enemy. We identify our enemy. We classify our enemy. The light shines harshly.
But in the darkness of night, we gather together. In the darkness of night, we huddle close. In the darkness of night, we sigh with wonder at the beauty and majesty of the heavens. In the darkness of night, we no longer can tell who our enemy is. And, while this could be scary, this is also liberating. For we remember the beginning of the story of God and creation – that for God darkness is not chaos beyond God’s reach – it is the very place where God begins midwifing new hope, new promise, new life – in spite of what happens in the light of day.
We experience this promise in the Easter story. (Let me remind you, the resurrection did not occur at sunrise even though many of us have attended a lot of sunrise services!). For even as Mary Magdalene started hurrying towards the tomb before dawn, the resurrection had miraculously already happened. The tomb was already empty. Jesus Christ was alive! For as we read in scripture, life was rising before the dawn. This is the strange and beautiful truth at the heart of our faith - and truly at the heart of the gospel. The power of death was broken even before the sun began to shine.
This is the hope of Easter. Even when the world feels uncertain, even when grief and fear weigh heavily on our hearts, even when the shadows fall, God is at work beneath the surface of things. Life is stirring. Hope is rising.
Go find a place of darkness. And there you will see God.
Bishop Shelley Bryan Wee | bishop@lutheransnw.org
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