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For
some weeks now “darkness” has been my preoccupation but I can’t seem to
pin down the reason nor find the right words to explore it. Perhaps
darkness preoccupies me because of the recent winter solstice with its
reminder that we are only now emerging from the death throes of the
year, the time of deepest darkness in the northern hemisphere. Perhaps
I am consumed by darkness because this is a truly dark time in human
history with wars and rumors of war confronting us in every headline
and behind the choices and challenges of those of us who long for
peace. Perhaps it is the continuously unfolding scandal in the Church
that makes darkness my companion, or perhaps darkness plagues me
because of so much suffering. Some is across the globe where Malawians
are starving by the thousands, fires ravage homes in Australia,
typhoons swamp island inhabitants in Asia, and the threat of random
terror haunts the dreams of Israeli and Palestinian alike. Some is
close to home where news of family heartaches, grave illnesses, and the
death of dear friends pose the mystery of human suffering in
inexplicable ways.
Darkness has seized my imagination
because the liturgy of Advent, Christmas and Epiphany rely so
completely on the metaphor of darkness as the backdrop of our human
longing for redemption and God’s dazzling in-breaking presence and
power. “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light;
those who lived in a land of deep darkness—on them light has shone.” I
heard the words but barely dared trust the claims of Isaiah. And now we
are back to Ordinary Time—at least the liturgy would have us name it
that—and the darkness, despite God’s in-breaking presence, seems to
remain.
It was in the course of this internal meandering
that I came across a Prayer for the New Year by Janet Erskine Stuart.
Mother Stuart, daughter of an Anglican priest, convert to Catholicism
in her 20’s, intellectual giant, writer of poetry, essays, letters and
plays, was Superior General of the Society of the Sacred Heart from
1911-1914. Here are her words:
Heavenly Father, unseen
Companion of our life, give us faith and eager expectancy as we begin
this fresh stage of our journey. Take from us all fear of the unknown
and teach us to wrest treasures from the darkness. As the days come and
go, may we find that each one is laden with happy opportunities and
enriching experiences; and when this year is ended may our best hopes
be more than ever fulfilled.
Is it possible that this
very dark time in which we live is the condition for discovering anew
the meaning of faith and the mystery of God with us?
“Wresting
treasures from the darkness” suggests not a passive waiting for the
light to come but an active and even urgent discovery of the gifts that
darkness bears within itself – gifts of hope, gifts of expectation,
gifts of trust that God is greater than our human hearts, gifts of
longing for peace and the nonviolence of daily life which might make it
so half a world away, gifts of humility, gifts of knowledge that we
need one another, however difficult some relationships might be, gifts
of ever deeper relationship with the Companion of our journey.
Darkness
will not go away. But we can have a new attitude to it, not fear, but
courage, not despair but hope, not lethargy but an active-grace-filled
urgency to take some small daily step to confront the heart of darkness
and wrest from it a bit more light for our world.
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