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2008-02-19 issue:

The night shines brightly

Grace and Truth column

by Rachel Gerber

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Living in winter is difficult. The daylight hours wane, and the darkness grows. One day, as dusk approached, Shawn and I headed to the park. This walk was our usual one. On this evening, we gathered with 2,000 others to walk under the shroud of darkness for those effected with leukemia and lymphoma.



Even though I was not affected by these types of cancer, with each step I found myself relating closer to those in this dark battle. I had my own type of cancer, one I had been trying to hide and ignore for some time. A part of me was being eaten up by an emptiness darker and colder than any night I had ever experienced. I could no longer feel the presence of God.

“My God, my God, why have you forsaken me? Why are you so far from helping me, from the words of my groaning? O my God, I cry by day, but you do not answer; and by night, but find no rest” (Psalm 22:1-2). Like the Psalmist, I found myself crying out in similar fashion.
My profession as a minister is to help lead people to find God, to help them create space in their lives to experience the healing river of God’s love. Yet here I was, unable to find that drink for my own spiritual thirst.

The book Come Be My Light revealed that for almost 50 years Mother Teresa lived and worked without sensing the presence of God in her daily life. This saintly woman struggled, too, with her own areas of darkness.

I take heart from her story because I understand in a new way that perhaps my darkness comes out of nothing I have done. It is not a punishment. If it can happen to Mother Teresa, then I guess no one is exempt.

Where is the hope? The Psalmist continues (vv. 3-5a): “Yet you are holy, enthroned on the praises of Israel. In you our ancestors trusted; they trusted, and you delivered them. To you they cried, and were saved.”

It seems that between these lines is a recollection of seeing God at work. From this, I cling to what I know to be true, that I have seen God at work in my past, have felt God’s presence and experienced grace, beauty and mercy in my life. From this I trust that God’s felt presence will be there again in the future.

Perhaps this period of darkness in my life is an opportunity for me to go deeper in my spiritual life. Perhaps I am realizing in a new way that my spirituality is not about me but about God. In that vein, it isn’t so much about the feeling I get from my walk with God as about my commitment to follow the path, despite the journey along the way.

As Shawn and I walked around the park that night, light speckled the sky—light in the form of balloons the participants were given, which had light bulbs in them flashing on and off. Family and friends of those with cancer carried these balloons. The metaphor moved me to tears: allowing others to hold the light for you when you are in the dark night, unable to do it yourself.

As a church community, we realize we aren’t perfect, not even pastors. But part of what makes church special is that we have one another and don’t have to journey alone in the night but can be light for one another—for the sake of the world.

In many ways I still journey in the darkness, but now the night doesn’t seem so dark. I understand in a new way that even though I may not feel the presence of God, that I can see God working in the lives of others in my congregation. From this I take heart because I know God is present, is working and truly cares. The night is still here, but dawn may be closer than I thought.

Rachel Gerber is associate pastor of faith formation at First Mennonite Church in Denver.

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