The Gift of Darkness

One of the things I love about summer in Pennsylvania is the influx of fireflies we experience each July.

Fireflies, for those of you deprived of these critters, are little flying glow bugs.

Or if you’re more technically minded, they’re “winged nocturnal light-producing insect[s] usually producing a bright soft intermittent light without sensible heat by oxidation of luciferin” (Merriam-Webster).

We find them flying everywhere, but particularly over open fields and lawns.

And it’s the darkest of nights that yields the most fascinating, ah-producing experience of these miniature luminaries.

Without darkness, we wouldn’t see them.

Without darkness we wouldn’t enjoy the peace of their pulsing glows.

The same could be said about man-made light. While in western PA for my brother-in-law’s wedding this spring, we enjoyed a river-boat ride through downtown Pittsburgh (his wedding reception was on the boat – great fun!). Earlier in the evening with the sun still shining we enjoyed spectacular views of the cityscape.

But these didn’t compare with Pittsburgh’s skyline at night. I didn’t even know, on first pass, that the dome in this picture (left) was lighted at night; I thought it was just another big, ugly skyscraper.

But it lit up with evening’s approach, and on our return trip, there it gleamed, golden against the night sky.

I saw this building differently in darkness.

I saw what was ordinary (even dull or ugly) in daylight as beautiful when contrasted with a dark, stormy sky.

Lately, it seems, we’ve been surrounded by darkness: not the literal kind, but the figurative darkness of difficult circumstances.

• Several friends have experienced sudden deaths in their families (and we’ve had few of our own in our extended family).
• Others have seen old psychological issues creep back into and disrupt their daily lives.
• Still more have had to deal with strange medical diagnoses or (perhaps worse) undiagnosed chronic illnesses.
• A few seem trapped in sin.
• A few have seen resurgence of cancers long in remission.
• One or two face recently diagnosed (for the first time) psychiatric disorders.
• One or two find themselves in the throws of doubt or crises of faith.
• Still others puzzle over financial challenges and job losses.
• And nearly all look forward to when their particular darknesses will cease.

Instead of allowing darkness to nurture our awareness of and appreciation for light right now, we count the days until darkness ends, perhaps completely missing night’s lights and their beauty along the way.

Darkness.

We see it as threatening and to be avoided. It frightens us.

But God redeems darkness (see Genesis 1). During Creation, He called the existing darkness “night” and assigned a light to govern the night and to mark the seasons (Genesis 1:14-19). He found use for darkness. And night and day together He called “good.”

God tells us in Isaiah 42 that He turns darkness into light. In Isaiah 45, He says He forms the light and creates darkness.

And then there are the Psalms:

Psalm 112:4 Even in darkness, light dawns…
Psalm 139:12 Even the darkness will not be dark to you…

Why? Because God penetrates our darkness with light. Sometimes it’s the soft, minute specks of light like those of the firefly; other times it’s an overpowering beacon like that of a lighthouse or illuminated skyscraper.

In either case, He, in whom there is no darkness at all (1 John 1:5), penetrates our darkness with light. He walks with us in the darkness. He gives us the light we need.

I know, for me, the darkness that terrifies most is the same darkness in which I most notice and appreciate light.

For me, it takes the darkest night sky to see the greatest beauty in a field full of fireflies.

Maybe darkness isn’t such a bad thing after all.

Maybe, instead of avoiding it or dreading it or waiting for it to end, I’ll embrace it as the opportunity- and beauty-inducing gift it can be.

‘Til next time,
Joan