It is in the dark that God is passing by. The bridge and our lives shake not because God has abandoned, but the exact opposite: God is passing by. God is in the tremors. Dark is in the holiest ground, the glory passing by. In the blackest, God is the closest, at work, forging his perfect and right will. Though it is black and we can’t see and our world seems to be free-falling and we feel utterly alone, Christ is most present to us.
Ann Voscamp
Even when I don’t see it, You’re working.
Even when I don’t feel it, You’re working.*
Now this expression, “He ascended,” what does it mean except that He also had descended into the lower parts of the earth? He who descended is Himself also He who ascended far above all the heavens, so that He might fill all things. (Ephesian 4:9,10 NASB)
*From “Waymaker” by Osinachi Kalu Okoro
Creative Meditations for Lent, Prompt word: Dark
This morning, about the time I was being rescued by the man with the shovel and bucket of kitty litter, the earth passed the point of increasing darkness.
Right about that time, my tires gained enough traction with the help of the kitty litter to overcome the frustrating inertia of being high-centered in the middle of our street. Right about that time, when I began to feel freedom from the clutches of ice snow and started instead to move the direction I intended to move, something shifted.
The Earth.
Winter solstice happened today. In the Northern hemisphere that means from this day the hours of daylight (or seconds of daylight, if I don’t want to annoy detailed-oriented readers) increase instead of decrease.
The hardest part of northern winter for me is not the cold or snow. It’s the darkness. Every year, on this day, I celebrate a new beginning. I know New Year’s day is not here yet, but for me, this is the sign of a new year.
Change! The bright day will soon be longer than the dark night.
These lines from a song by Stuart Townend are my holiday carol today.
Your mercy reached into the darkest night to find us,
Your blood has freed us from the curse of sin that bound us,
Your truth delivered us from all the lies that held us down
When we were overwhelmed.
Oh, out of the darkness You rescued us,
You have rescued us.
Oh, into the light of Your love for us,
Lord, You rescued us.
Here we stand, held by grace,
Knowing every day
Is a new beginning.
His light broke through the darkness and he led us out in freedom from death’s dark shadow and snapped every one of our chains.
(Psalm 107:14 The Passion Translation)
It’s dark outside as I write this, in late afternoon, but rejoice! The light is growing brighter and brighter! God promised.
And He never lies.
True worship doesn’t put on a show or make a fuss; true worship isn’t forced, isn’t half-hearted, doesn’t keep looking at its watch, doesn’t worry what the person in the next pew is doing. True worship is open to God, adoring God, waiting for God, trusting God even in the dark.
-N. T. Wright
I had something else in mind when I started writing an entry for Good Friday. I was impressed by the phrase “the time when the power of darkness reigns” in Luke 22:52-53:
“Then Jesus spoke to the leading priests, the captains of the Temple guard, and the elders who had come for him. “Am I some dangerous revolutionary,” he asked, “that you come with swords and clubs to arrest me? Why didn’t you arrest me in the Temple? I was there every day. But this is your moment, the time when the power of darkness reigns.”
At that particular moment, Jesus allowed himself to be taken captive by those powers that worked in the dark, away from the eyes of the few who would insist on proper protocol, and accountability and the checks and balances that are meant to thwart the misuse of power.
This was a misuse of power.
This morning as I woke I heard: He came to set the captives free.
I’ve been too impressed by the reign of darkness. Jesus said later that his submission to those who would kill him was voluntary.
Love is always voluntary, or it is not love.
This morning the words I heard, “He came to set the captives free,” struck me with the full beauty of irony. Jesus became a captive so he could set the captives free. Jesus died to overcome death.
Jesus died so he could overcome death.
I found a photo I took in Jerusalem at Lithostrotos (Roman Paving) under the Convent of Ecce Homo (Behold the Man – Pilates words when he handed Jesus over to be crucified). In a dark low-ceiling room now underground, it is thought to be the place where Jesus’ trial was held and where the Roman soldiers tortured him.
Our guide told us it was unusually quiet that day. I sat on a stone bench and sang, “My Jesus, I love Thee… If ever I loved Thee, my Jesus ’tis now,” with tears streaming down my face.
Of all the places we visited in Israel this place had the most emotional impact on me. I could feel the darkness, and yet I could also feel the light that rose out of this powerful yet powerless environment that once echoed with the sound of whips and jibes, knowing that it is by his stripes that we are healed.
His wounds became our health.
Jesus entered darkness to bring light. He became a man of sorrow that we might share the joy set before him. He gave up his liberty to set us free. He became sin that we might be free from sin.
Behold the Man
Charis: Subject to Change 