When Darkness Comes

At mass last week, the young mother held her new baby a couple of rows up from me, while her two-year old son sat next to her.  On a few occasions he whispered to her, so low I could not hear.  And at the end of mass, she strapped her baby into the carriage and began to leave, but paused in the aisle near to me and whispered to her son: “Did you genuflect?”  And he immediately turned, came to one knee, and slowly made the sign of the cross.

I’ve had some very compelling, sad thoughts on our culture of late.  It seems people are getting used to the darkness, and can’t imagine that a light might exist.  In part, it seems to me, that people are so self-centered, so self-concerned, that they can’t perceive of a light existing beyond them.  Oh, I don’t mean that there aren’t good people in the world, I mean that when things get tough, when challenges are faced, when darkness comes, the first word which comes to their mind is: “I …”

It was a huge blessing that when one of the darkest moments of my life came I was in a church.  (Another time, I was at home in front of a crucifix.)  And, in the darkness I looked up and saw God there, and perceived a light shining in my darkness; I knew I was not alone.  And I went toward that light.  Certainly, when most people face a deep darkness, there is no church or image of Christ nearby, but there can be a faith-filled friend, readily reachable by phone, who will say: “I’ll pray for you.”  We are all meant to be a light for each other in this world.  None of us are saints, but we can be a small light, if we can show enough love to those around us that they’ll think of us, not to borrow money, not to complain to, but to be (even as a last resort) there for them to ask us: “Will you pray for me?”

The Gospel said that the friends of the paralyzed man brought him to the house where Jesus was preaching, but they couldn’t take him inside because the door was blocked by all the people.  I suppose many of us (maybe even me) at that point would have said: “Well, I guess this is not meant to be.”  But these men thought: “There must be another way in.”  They WILLED a solution; they would not give up, and eventually lowered the man through the roof, and he was healed.  When things are darkest, how often do we give in to despair?

Part of our problem is our need for immediate answers.  We want a miracle --- right now! --- but if we get one, we are totally surprised; we yelled into the dark and --- good grief!! --- someone answered.  But many of the most Godly, loving answers to our darkness are not immediate; God sees a bigger picture: there is a reason for our darkness, a reason not easily seen or understood by us lowly men.  This is where trusting in God comes in, even if you don’t see the reason for the darkness, even if you don’t see the light.  You trust it is there.  How many miracles did Jesus’ followers need to see before they believed?  How many do you?  “Blessed is the man who does not see, yet believes.” 

I was in the church the other day, praying about a darkness I didn’t understand, when I felt a bunching in my sleeve, where it rested on the pew in front of me.  I tried to straighten out my coat, but it was okay.  I reached to straighten out my sweatshirt sleeve, but it was okay.  Then I reached into my sleeve and --- pulled out a sock.  How long had that been in there?  How long had its mate sat alone in my sock drawer?  I’m sure when I pulled that one sock out of the dryer weeks ago I had said to myself, with great confidence: “Oh well, the other sock will show up.”  And now it did.  And I think it did to teach me a lesson: I believed there was a reason for the missing sock, and a solution would come.  Why can’t I believe that about dark times?  I could have torn every piece of clothing in that dryer apart until I found that missing sock, but I didn’t, and it showed up weeks later.  Why, in dark times, do we yell at God: “Where is it at, Lord?  Why is this happening?  Can’t You fix this --- now!?”  Why can’t we trust, that things will come together in the future, that there is a reason, that God knows but we can’t, or don’t need to know right now?

Lord, I believe; help my unbelief.

The tiny boy in church, who didn’t look old enough to know many words, knew what “genuflect” meant, and did so with reverence.  Even at his young age, he perceived the Light.  I wish more families instilled that knowledge in their children.  I read a study that says that families who pray together each day, stay together, and are greatly happier, than those which are a group of people “doing their own thing.”

It’s never too late for us to learn with a faith that little boy had: There is a Light, waiting to shine in our darkness.  We just need to trust, to persevere; like the men carrying their crippled friend, to know that there is a way in.