Lantern.

learning to walk in the dark, Advent 2.

Give me your lantern and compass, give me a map, So I can find my way to the sacred mountain, to the place of your presence.

~ Psalm 43:3, msg

You may lose a loved one, or facet after facet of your physical health, but you can still be grateful for what you have left. And what if you lose more, and more, and more, if bad goes to worse? Perhaps at some point, all of us are reduced to despair, but my hunch is…having lost everything, one may still be able to hold on to one’s attitude, one’s practiced habit of gratitude, of turning to God in Job-like agony and saying, “For this breath, thanks. For this tear, thanks. For this memory of something I used to enjoy but now have lost, thanks. For this ability not simply to rage over what has been taken, but to celebrate what was once given, thanks.

~ Brian McLaren

Sometimes darkness feels like powerlessness.

This afternoon I tried to plan a trip (only to be foiled by poor websites), tried to brainstorm an extended family reunion (to be stymied by a host of factors), and tried to run month-end finances (to be disappointed by our side business’ performance). Glumly I sat by the fire and stewed. It’s only been recently that I have noticed so starkly my craving for a sense of power and agency.

Especially when stumped by technology, my anger rises fast… but it’s a cover for my fear of powerlessness. Powerlessness is baked into the human condition, much to our chagrin. We have control over some things, but not most. To surrender to our limitations is to lean into the darkness with hope, to trust in an unseen goodness.

Sometimes darkness feels like grief.

I know some who are entering this holiday season knowing that it will be nothing like the bright memories of the past. One friend will be at home while his wife is recently confined to assisted living to manage her Parkinsons. One friend just buried his wife. A number of my friends are separated from spouses as marriages struggle and fail. All of us know people whose Christmas this year will be cloaked in change and loss as they struggle to find something merry.

Sometimes darkness feels like starting over.

A new job, a new church, a new relationship… Certainties have fled, and only the unknown remains. We hope for a new and brighter future, but our eyes can’t penetrate the shadows. Our eyes strain for a glimmer, our hands stretch out to touch something familiar, our feet inch forward seeking solidity. Will there be a new normal?

The psalmist longs to find his way to the sacred mountain, a return to the place of consolation, security, and belonging. He raises a lantern and attempts to walk into the darkness toward Presence. Does any part of your life feel that way to you right now?

growing the soul

What is it that feels like a lantern, that pierces the darkness and invites courage? Name that gift and lift it high.

serving the world

Empathy is that precious willingness to move beyond our own losses and enter the darkness of another soul with lovingkindness. Listen to this podcast as Anderson Cooper and Stephen Colbert share how they navigated the loss of family members and received the gifts that only darkness bestows.

takeaway

lift your light.