I don’t know about you, but I have spent most of 2017 so far longing for the light to come back. Is it just me, or has our normally grey West Coast winter been even greyer? The prolonged {for us) snow and cold haven’t helped, either, I suppose. But the dark has been what I’ve really noticed. We seem to have had day after day after day made up of shadowed half-light. At certain points, I’ve wondered if spring would ever come.
It’s not just the weather. Things have been downright dark all over. Turn on the news or scroll through your social media feeds and it feels like the light has been sucked out of the world. There are the atrocities going on in Syria and northern Iraq. The United Nations has declared a famine in parts of South Sudan. Many Americans are having their own dark time, to put it mildly, with the new administration in Washington, D.C. In our country, there was the mosque shooting in Quebec City, and that sent ripples of shock and dismay throughout Canada, right here to Victoria.
So, yes, we don’t seem to be living in the cheeriest or most hopeful of times.
In the midst of all this darkness, I’ve been searching for light. But, lately, I’ve wondered if there is something to be gained from being with the dark and letting it speak.
Last Advent, someone suggested I read Barbara Brown Taylor’s “Learning to Walk in the Dark.” The U.S. election had just happened and the title seemed pretty relevant. It’s a wonderful book, and I highly recommend it. Taylor Brown writes about how we, as humans, seem to do everything we can to avoid being in the dark, both physically and metaphorically.
Looking for a way to experience complete darkness, Brown Taylor decides to go caving. As she explores the caves, she comes across some pebbles that shine brilliantly when the light from her headlamp moves over them. She’s delighted, and scoops up a few to take home. Once out of the caves and back into regular daylight, however, the pebbles refuse to sparkle even a bit and remain a dull, lifeless grey. Apparently, those small rocks only revealed their inner beauty when surrounded by complete darkness. And Brown Taylor could only spot it when light was at a premium.
That anecdote got me thinking about things that have happened lately that I might not have noticed had I not been going through a time of darkness. The week after the Quebec City mosque shooting, for example, was horrible and I felt so powerless. What could I possibly do in the face of such an evil act? And then the City of Victoria announced a vigil to support our local Muslim community. I went, and was overjoyed to see so many people turn out at 11 a.m. on a Wednesday to show that hate has no place in our city, our province, or our country. It was short, only 15 minutes, but it was a very powerful expression. For me, it provided hope against fear and light in the midst of darkness.
I left feeling better than I had in weeks.
In that darkness, people did something. They came and bore witness. Despite what may divide us, our community showed up when it counted to draw a line and say, to quote Gandalf the Grey in another dark moment, “You. Shall. Not. Pass.”
Like those pebbles in the cave, we shone in the dark. And, for that, I am grateful.
Kevin Aschenbrenner is a Victoria-based writer, poet and communications professional. He holds an M.A. in Culture and Spirituality from the Sophia Center at Holy Names University in Oakland, Calif. He blogs at www.dearpopefrancis.ca.
You can read more articles on our interfaith blog, Spirituyally Speaking. HERE
* This article was publishe din the print edition of the Times Colonist on Saturday, March 11 2017
