150: God-With-Us in the Dark
We were in London, and we had dinner reservations scheduled for 7pm at a restaurant called Dans Le Noir. A few minutes before then, we walked through the doors of the restaurant, hung our coats with care, and proceeded to place all our other belongings—hats, gloves, phones, keys, my clutch—in a secure locker. Were we about to eat a meal or ride a rollercoaster? Suddenly, I wasn’t so sure.
Empty-handed, we followed the hostess down a long hallway and were introduced to our guide for the evening, Ernesto. I say “guide” because the draw of this particular restaurant is that you dine in the dark. And let me tell you, there was absolutely no way we were going to make it through without a guide.
After exchanging hellos and names and learning that Ernesto was 100% visually impaired, we followed him through another door and up a steep flight of stairs. Upon our arrival at the top landing, he instructed me to put my hands on the back of his shoulders while Brad put his hands on the back of mine, forming a train of sorts. Once we were set, Ernesto asked if we were ready, pulled back the curtain, and led us into the deep dark beyond.
Even with eyes wide open, I could not see a thing. The darkness was thick and disorienting like I’d never experienced before. As we moved into the dining room and zigzagged through the space, I strained my eyes with all my might, trying to locate some sort of light source; however, the strain was in vain. I resigned myself to the dark as best I could.
Our train made it to our table and Ernesto helped us settle into our seats. He described for us the placement of everything on the table. All throughout the evening, we found ourselves forced to dine more slowly, more thoughtfully, more intentionally. And Ernesto was there with us every step of the way, offering his wisdom, guidance, and expertise.
As he delivered each course to our table, we obviously couldn’t see the food on our plates—where it was or even what it was. Using the flatware and actually getting food onto a fork or spoon was a whole thing; Brad actually ended up eating with his hands by the end of the night. Truly, we were a mess. And truly, it was an amazing experience.
We couldn’t see, but my goodness, could we hear. Countless conversations filled our ears all at once, along with the clinking of glasses and the clanging of flatware. Our sense of smell was heightened, too; the aroma of the food being served was extra fragrant. Speaking of the food—I’m sure it would have been delicious in a room fully lit. But in the dark, I mean, chef’s kiss! Along with our senses of hearing and smell, our taste buds were enhanced. Sensory compensation, they call it. We couldn’t see, but we could hear, we could smell, we could taste in new, enhanced ways.
When we left the restaurant that night, we realized there were things we noticed and experienced in the dark that we often take for granted in the light—things we noticed and experienced in the dark that we would have missed otherwise.
It was true that night in London, and I find it’s often true all throughout our lives: As Barbara Brown Taylor writes,
“There is a light that shines in the darkness, which is only visible there.”
More often than not, this is a reminder I need. Here’s why:
Darkness often gets a bad rap. We tend to associate it with fear, danger, disorientation. For many of us, it is a space or experience that makes us feel vulnerable. And when darkness feels like a threat, we’re convinced we need to steer clear.
Sometimes, that’s true; there are certainly evils we need no part of. However, I’m learning that darkness is not necessarily synonymous with evil; that it’s not all bad; that not all darkness needs to be feared or avoided; that as vulnerable as it might make us, darkness can and should be welcomed; maybe even embraced.
On a very practical level, literal darkness is something we need. For many of us, in order to truly rest and sleep well, the lights need to be off; on a hot sunny day, the shade of a tree or canopy offers respite and protection; and if you’ve ever had a migraine, you know the relief a dark, quiet room provides.
Even beyond us, darkness has its place, too. In our natural world, many species of both plants and animals rely on the dark night in order to survive. The regular rhythm of day turning to night helps our ecosystems thrive. And of course, a seed begins to grow only when it’s hidden underground, in the cool, rich, deep, dark soil.
All throughout our lives, we need the dark just as we need the light. As much as we might be prone to pit darkness and light against one another, I wonder if they actually go hand-in-hand. In the context of our life with God, I wonder if God is just as present and at work in the dark as God is present and at work in the light. I wonder if darkness can be holy ground, too.
It turns out, God shows up in the actual dark all throughout Scripture. We read of creation beginning in a dark void; God’s promise made to Abraham under a starry sky; Jacob wrestling with God in the dark; God calling Samuel in the middle of a sleepless night; King Solomon sensing God’s presence in the thick darkness of the temple; angels appearing to those shepherds keeping their flock by night; the list goes on. Time and time again, God shows up in the dark and interacts with God’s people there—up close and personal.
This is good news. Because when we experience dark seasons or circumstances—like fear, anxiety, uncertainty, grief, sadness, loss, loneliness, hardship, heartbreak, illness—it can be easy to believe God is distant. But what if God is right there with us in the middle of it all?
I’m not suggesting God causes these experiences or desires them for us—they are a part of the human condition, the broken edges of a world not yet made whole. What I am suggesting, though, is that these experiences do not indicate God’s absence.
In the dark, we just might experience God-With-Us in ways we wouldn’t otherwise; in the dark, through God-With-Us, we just might discover something new about ourselves we wouldn’t have otherwise; in the dark, through God-With-Us, we just might come to see and know the world and our neighbors in new ways, in ways we might not otherwise. In the dark, through God-With-Us there, we just might become the people God created us to be.
You might remember that years ago, before we could snap a high quality picture on our phone and print it out at home, photographs needed time and space to develop. And that development required a darkroom. It turns out, when you’re working with film rather than a digital image, those film negatives are extremely sensitive to light; so the development process—developing an image—must be done in the dark. In total darkness, chemicals are used to make an image appear and to help to keep that image from fading. Basically, in order to see the image captured by the photographer and turn into a real photograph, the film needs time in the dark.
I wonder if something similar might be true for us. That we can’t become only in the light; that in order for the image of God within all of us to be uniquely shaped into the image of Christ within each of us, we need time with God in the dark.
When God is present, creation and transformation are possible. As Barbara Brown Taylor reminds us in her book, Learning to Walk in the Dark,
“...new life starts in the dark. Whether it is a seed in the ground, a baby in the womb, or Jesus in the tomb, it starts in the dark.”
God is with us in the dark, indeed.
So maybe, at least for now, the light we read about in John 1 isn’t meant to eliminate the darkness, but to illuminate God-With-Us in the middle of it.
Maybe that’s part of the good news of Christmas—that even in the dark {maybe even especially in the dark} we are never alone.
And maybe keeping company with the Word Made Flesh can change us forever, for better, for good.
Today, may we remember the good news of Christmas, God-With-Us in the dark. May we know and experience God’s presence, even there, as we continue to become the people God calls and invites us to be, reflecting the image of Christ within us into the world around us.