“Mirror of the Passion” Lent devotion for April 2, 2022. Photo by DerTobiSturmjagd on Pixabay
It was now about the sixth hour, and there was darkness over the whole land until the ninth hour, while the sun’s light failed. (Luke 23:44-45).
There are many reasons why you might find yourself in the dark.
It might be nighttime. But you’re still awake. Something from your day is still haunting you. You dread what’s coming up tomorrow. Your body feels so tired, but your mind has gotten its second wind.
Perhaps the power is out. There’s no glow from all your digital clocks. Without AC, the room is stuffy. No rays of light sneak in through the blinds from the streetlights. It’s dark.
You’re in the dark. It seems like everyone else knows what’s going on. But no one told you. Did they forget? Or did they purposely leave you out?
It’s different in the dark. It’s harder to drive. You trip over the sleeping dog you didn’t see. No one can see you sitting there. Noises you don’t notice during the day seem so loud in the dark – a snoring dog, the thermostat click, or the ice cube maker.
Even though it’s noon, it’s dark at Golgotha. Is it an eclipse of the sun? Are ominous dark storm clouds blocking the sunlight? We don’t know. Darkness shrouds the passion, threatening the only real light in this world. It casts a powerful shadow over the one who announced, “I am the light of the world” (John 8:12). What will happen when he breathes his last? What will happen when that light goes out?
Yes, we think about that, too. What will happen when we shut our eyes for the last time? What will happen when they close the lid of our coffin? There is no darker darkness than the darkness of death. For Jesus, it’s just moments away. Maybe for us, too. You never know.
Small LED lights built into wall outlet plates come on when I turn off the lights at night. They safely guide my way to the bathroom in the middle of the night. They get me past the sleeping dog and into the kitchen for a glass of water.
In much the same way, God declares, “Let there be light” in the pre-creation darkness. His promises guide me safely through the gloomy news of wars, disease, disasters, and death. His words are just like the first glow of morning in the pre-dawn sky. His voice reminds me that the darkness never lasts. The clouds part, the power comes back on, the sun rises, and the son rises.
So I can close my eyes and sleep. When it’s time, I’ll close my eyes in death. And it will be OK. Because when I open them, it will be light again.
Thanks for being in the darkness, Lord.