Daylight into Darkness

From Daylight into Darkness

Live Oak, December 10, 2006

Rev. Kathleen Ellis

Once upon a time I was afraid of the dark because I didn’t know what was hidden in the shadows. At bedtime I would stand in the doorway, turn off the light and leap across the shadows into bed. Only the center of the bed was safe—no arms or legs should venture over the edge until morning. Monsters stayed to themselves, either under the bed or in the closet, as long as I followed this nightly ritual.

A little older, I would sometimes take care of my little brother while our parents were out. I’d make sure all the curtains were closed, and then I’d curl up with a book in my favorite wing chair, its back to the windows and door. No one could see me there.

Though my home feels safe today in daylight or darkness, there are places where I’d rather not be alone at night. At the very least, I’ll walk quickly, keys in hand, with apparent confidence and purpose in my stride.

Through the dark nights of winter, some legends say it is best to stay indoors, as in the Wild Hunt of Germanic folklore. In the dark forest paths of Germany, wanderers may hear a sudden swishing sound through the tops of the trees. Could it be the wind, though nothing else is moving? Suddenly there’s the barking of dogs, followed by hunters yelling “Wod! Wod!” They swoop down, with fire flashing from the eyes of the black hounds and from the hooves of the black horses.

A wise traveler will hit the dirt at once, flatten out face down in a ditch, and wait for the cold feet to run across his body. A foolish traveler will be swept up with the entourage, either crushed to death or carried and dropped far from home. The ones who join the hunting party may be rewarded with a morsel of human flesh.

Many ideas about darkness are not so gruesome, but I can think of multiple associations with light and dark: weather, mood, music, racism, and religion among them. Weather and mood can be closely connected—when it’s cloudy and gloomy, lots of people become more depressed. All of us are encouraged to get enough sunlight for the production of Vitamin D. Seasonal affective disorder requires special attention. The typical symptoms of SAD include depression, lack of energy, the increased need for sleep, a craving for sweets and weight gain. Though there may be physical or mental conditions involved, exposure to light therapy may go a long way toward alleviating the problem.

The songs Rebecca and I chose for this morning highlight some of ideas about darkness and winter, both good and bad. “People, look east, the time is near of the crowning of the year”—while the weather is frosty, we’ll decorate and have a great time together. “Now the day is over” is almost a lullaby, soothing our minds and spirits.

“Dark of Winter” is another calming, peaceful song that asks for clarity of vision. “In the Bleak Midwinter,” with which we’ll close, evokes images of the far north, the frosty wind, frozen lakes, and layers of snow. Yet it also reminds us that “in this world of pain, where our hearts are open, love is born again.”

Another musical note came from the Austin Women’s Chorus Tapestry Singers. Last night we sang Benjamin Britten’s Ceremony of Carols. One of the carols, “In Freezing Winter Night,” evokes the bitterness of a legendary Christmas Eve when a child was born. The music sounds cold and dissonant and almost sets the listeners’ teeth on edge. The text begins,

“Behold, a silly tender babe, In freezing winter night, In homely manger trembling lies, Alas, a piteous sight! The inns are full; no man will yield This little pilgrim bed. But forced he is with silly beasts In crib to shroud his head. This stable is a Prince’s court, This crib his chair of State; The beasts are parcel of his pomp, The wooden dish his plate.”

The juxtaposition of a frigid winter night and a tender newborn needing shelter, gives the story tremendous impact and a beautiful image.

Winter nights provide cover for us to look within ourselves to our core values. We have an opportunity to release unwanted conditions in our lives—to let them die and to plow them under so that new seeds can be planted. We may need only subtle changes, or there may be a dramatic and obvious need for change.

Pagan religions developed rituals to bring back the sun. What would we do if the sun disappeared or if the earth stood still? I know—you engineers are already thinking about giant mirrors to warm up part of the earth. We would all move to the “sunquator” and go back and forth as needed. As things are now, though, we could survive for a while with the resources available to us—food can’t last long without some source of light. At any rate, as Christianity moved northward into pagan territory, it adopted many of the practices while adapting them to Christian theology.

Asian religions have a more comfortable relationship with light and dark, as two essential elements of a holistic view of the universe. The design of the yin and yang, darkness and light, represents the whole, but allows for elements of each centered in the eye of its opposite.

The Japanese novelist Jun’ichiro Tanazaki reflected on the different attitudes between East and West with regard to darkness and light:

“Darkness does not distress us; we surrender to it as inevitable. If light is scarce then light is scarce; we will immerse ourselves in the darkness and there discover its own particular beauty. But the progressive Westerner is set upon always to better his lot. From candle to oil lamps, from oil lamps to gaslight, and on to the electrical one. His quest for better light never ends, he spares no pains to eradicate even the slightest of shadows.”

Tanazaki also writes,

“Already as children we have felt an inexpressible chill as we peered into the dark depth of an alcove which no ray of sun ever reached. Where is the key to this mystery? Ultimately it is the magic of shadows. If the shadows were banned from its corners, the alcove would become a mere void.”

In Christian churches, the altar stands in the brightest part of the church, bathed in light. In Nepal, however, the gods reside in the dark and smoky inner shrines of the temple. A few oil lamps light the shrine from below. On special occasions these gods are ritually bathed with water and light and carried through their cities in honor, until they return once more to the darkness of their sanctuaries.

In the arena of racism, white skin enjoys more than its share of privilege. Blue-eyed blondes are much less likely to be convicted of a crime, particularly if the victim has dark skin and black eyes.

Jacqui James, director of worship resources for the UUA, wrote a provocative essay on black and white called “Dark and Light, Light and Dark.”

“Blackmail, blacklist, black mark, Black Monday, black mood, black-hearted, Black plague, black mass, black market. “Good guys wear white, bad guys wear black. We fear black cats, and the Dark Continent. But it’s okay to tell a white lie, lily-white hands are coveted, it’s great to be pure as the driven snow. Angels and brides wear white. Devil’s food cake is chocolate; angel’s food cake is white! “We shape language and we are shaped by it. In our culture, white is esteemed. It is heavenly, sun-like, clean, pure, immaculate, innocent, and beautiful. At the same time, black is evil, wicked, gloomy, depressing, angry, sullen. Ascribing negative and positive values to black and white enhances the institutionalization of this culture’s racism. “Let us acknowledge the negative connotations of whiteness. White things can be soft, vulnerable, pallid, and ashen. Light can be blinding, bleaching, enervating. Conversely, we must acknowledge that darkness has a redemptive character, that in darkness there is power and beauty. The dark nurtured and protected us before our birth. “Welcome darkness. Don’t be afraid of it or deny it. Darkness brings relief from the blinding sun, from scorching heat, from exhausting labor. Night signals permission to rest, to be with our loved ones, to conceive new life, to search our hearts, to remember our dreams. the dark of winter is a time of hibernation. Seeds grow in the dark, fertile earth. “The words black and dark don’t need to be destroyed or ignored, only balanced and reclaimed in their wholeness. The words white and light don’t need to be destroyed or ignored, only balanced and reclaimed in their wholeness. Imagine a world that had only light—or dark. We need both. Dark and light. Light and dark.”

James’ essay brings me closer to my original intention: to lift up the beauty and essential nature of darkness. Last night, after a weekend of concerts Friday and Saturday, an afterglow party, and finishing up this sermon, it was the most peaceful moment when I lay down and gently closed my eyes.

The following story comes from my friend John Havea, a native of Tonga and a seminary student with me.

Once upon a time, many moons and generations ago, there was an old woman in her late years. She remained youthful in spirit and wise even beyond her years. She and her family had always been poor, which gave her a low status. But by profession, she was a midwife and that made her very important indeed. She had delivered many chiefs and many strong young women who grew up to have babies of their own. It is said that she had magic hands--hands that could reach into the darkness of the womb and bring forth life. She was widely known as the midwife with magic hands. Though she was a woman of few words, people listened when she spoke.

The most peculiar thing about this old woman is that she traveled only at night. She went from village to village delivering babies. When it was time for her to move on, she was wealthier than when she arrived because the families would bring gifts of gratitude. But she left during the night, traveled alone, and took nothing with her.

At one village the chief confronted her about why she refused to take the gifts and why she traveled in the dark. The wise midwife answered him with respect, “Ke mu ni,” she said, using a title of respect, “Ke mu ni, gifts are given out of gratitude but it is my responsibility to do this work. You have given me wages. That I refuse. But I do take gifts--the fulfillment of my task. I travel in the dark because that is the realm of the spirits. In light, one follows a path. But in the dark, one creates a path. I do not follow.” And so once more, she slipped into the night.

Here ends the story. Most of us depend on light to find our way. I invite you now to shut out the daylight by closing your eyes.. Experience the presence of darkness, the place where one creates a path; the place where one knows one’s self; the place where one leads. It is not darkness we fear, but our own insecurity; we fear the excitement of creating paths. Let us therefore enter darkness and experience its creativity. . . .

I collected a number of black and white images that I’ll ask Nisa to display in a few moments. The first ones illustrate our earliest, safest experiences of darkness—in the womb, as infants sleeping in loving arms, and as we grow older. The rest of the images include a mixture of people, projects, and places. Sink into the light and shadow captured in black and white. . . .

May we all, through the darkness, create a path of beauty and courage.

Blessed be, Shalom, Amen