A Light not known among mere mortals

Darkness is not dark for you, and night shines as the day. (Ps 139:12). The concept continues to haunt me. When I speak of darkness, I am speaking of struggle, of unknowing, of confusion. So to have the psalm say that to God, darkness is not dark cannot mean he makes light of our human condition. I think it means that what we see as darkness can actually be a source for great light.

I think back to the benefits darkness has given me in the past. It made me stop and reflect, it destroyed preconceived ideals and notions, and I sank deeper into meditation. I stopped asking questions, because real darkness blots out even the formulation of questions. Darkness made me silence, so that I opened not my mouth. I became still before God. And because my expectations were dashed, I just sat there in silence and waited. Without knowing it, darkness forced me into contemplative prayer.

Only later in looking back do I see the rich fruits that came from such darkness. I was concerned about what I was giving to God. I'd forgotten he had something to give to me. I could only receive it after I relinquished my agenda and sat still before him. My darkness taught me a different kind of prayer, one of listening.

Perhaps that is the real meaning behind the phrase of psalm 139. The very trials that punish the soul often reveal the hidden beauty we've not tapped into. And we seem to need the darkness so that we push ourselves beyond what is comfortable, what is admirable, what is acceptable. Nothing can seem more dehumanizing than to sit before God, dumb and knowing not what to say. And even as the soul groans, "Lord, what is it you want from me?" the soul is taking flight into a new type of faith, a new form of hope, into a light not known among mere mortals. Perhaps this kind of darkness releases the soul into the divine light of grace that brings the soul into a new sphere of understanding. Maybe this kind of darkness is no more than a cocoon where transformation takes place.

Contemplative Seeing

We are in a time period of short days becoming shorter, at least in the Northern Hemisphere. Our weather is colder, our nights longer. It is nature providing us with proof of the usefulness of darkness and dormancy, and its power to prepare life even while all seems asleep.


To learn the truth of St. Teresa words: One knows God in oneself, and knows oneself in God often requires us to journey through darkness, a darkness that ultimately reveals. Perhaps we need darkness in our spiritual lives because we cannot bear the whole truth about ourselves in full light.  Perhaps in darkness we learn to look with different eyes, one that looks in rather than out. Perhaps darkness makes us stop to think, instead of rushing headlong into life.

Whatever the reason, we know that darkness is part and parcel of a spiritual life. We know that learning in darkness often illuminates our own sense of ourselves, so that we realize that helplessness, imperfection and our true unflattering selves are not a hindrance to loving God; only their denial is. And in that truth, we find we can leave the world of appearance and walk in the corridor of the inner sanctum. And there, darkness will be greater than light; we will accept our naked self; and powerlessness will not frighten us because we will know God, and in his Light we will see Light itself.