Walking in the Dark

Text: Isaiah 9:2; Philippians 1:3-11

My relationship with darkness hasn’t always been friendly. When I was young, I was afraid of the dark - a lot. Around this time of year, the church would be getting busy preparing a Christmas cantata, which was a big deal. I was part of the children’s choir as well as the band. I was playing the bass drum, so I couldn’t miss any practices. I enjoyed those sessions except walking home at night alone after. It would only take about 15 to 20 minutes, but it felt like an hour. My family and I were living up on the hill, and the church was far down the hill. So, I had to venture walking up the steep hill like climbing a mountain. Walking in the alleyways was the most challenging. The dimming streetlights made the scenery even more spooky. It was not the darkness itself but what might be hiding in the dark that I was afraid of.

In the dark, our visual sense vanishes, and we are unable to detect who or what is around us. When we can no longer rely on the sense that we use to protect us from harm, we find ourselves vulnerable. We may even forget that there are other senses available for us to explore in the dark.

I remember when my family and I went to a sweat lodge for the first time. Those of you who have been to a sweat lodge would know that our sense of sight becomes useless inside the pitch-dark dome. You can’t see a thing. As we lose one sense, other senses become more useful – like the sense of smell and hearing. In fact, I remember how my sense of intuition became stronger. It’s hard to explain but I felt a presence that was bigger than anyone in the room. After coming home, we talked about our experiences of the day. Our younger son, Jah-bi – 4 or 5-year-old at that time – surprised the rest of his family by saying that “Mom, it felt like being inside of your belly!”

What has your relationship with darkness been like? Are you anxious or scared of the dark? Or is it more like homecoming, coming back to your forgotten self – the unknown or the unknowable part within yourself?

I wonder if our fear of the dark comes from our reluctance to embrace all that we are especially those areas we don’t want to deal with, our shadow side, or parts of ourselves we never want others to know. In other words, we fear darkness precisely because we fear ourselves. We allow what we can’t name control us. It’s like running away from darkness simply because we can’t see what’s in it. Naming does the exact opposite. By naming our fears we can stop running away from them and begin to understand and accept ourselves as fully as we can – as perfectly imperfect beings. It’s hard work. And it’s a life-long process to learn to love ourselves. Instead of choosing this hard way, many of us choose what seems to be the fastest and easiest way – blaming, manipulating, or controlling others. When these things are not optional, we may use whatever coping mechanism available to us, such as overworking, overspending, overeating, or overdrinking. 

Now that the anniversary service is done, I can share one coping mechanism I used while preparing for the service. Working with so many people, I spent a lot of time waiting. For example, I tried to reach out our Moderator four times using his two email addresses and two Social Media accounts. Who says no news is the good news? All I asked for was to send me a 2-minute video with his congratulatory message on our 100th anniversary, but I hadn’t heard a thing for more than two weeks! While mentally I understood the nature of waiting – there was nothing I could do except wait – I had to do something about it. Waiting made me anxious, vulnerable, and powerless! To feel the opposite of those negative feelings, I kept myself busy by cooking. It was during this time that I bought lots of cabbages to make kimchi, the staple food from my culture. The thing is that I did not want to be in the place where I couldn’t control a thing. Waiting is hard for the same reason we don’t want to be in the dark.

If Advent is a time of waiting, that’s because this season is calling us to stay in the dark – to accept our powerlessness. Advent begins when we become aware of our own limits. Everything is imperfect. We are imperfect. Nothing we do is complete. We can only do so much. While doing the best we can to make a difference in our lives or in other people’s lives, we also need to let go of our desire to do everything. With this realization we can actually participate in Advent more meaningfully. What’s the point of waiting if we can build God’s kingdom by ourselves? Gospel can’t be good news if it’s something we can invent without going through a time of waiting. Turns out, Advent is not only the beginning of the liturgical year, but also the very foundation of our faith. Waiting in the dark as long as we can is how we allow the Holy One to enter and starts something new. As Paul says in Philippians 1:6, “the one who began a good work among you will bring it to completion by the day of Jesus Christ.” 

I am still learning to walk in the dark, but not so much literally as figuratively. I’m learning to embrace all that I am – however imperfect I am. I’m learning to welcome the circumstances I am in – however disorienting they are. I’m learning to love those around me – however annoying they are. I’m learning to hold everyone in my heart and prayers. Sometimes that’s all I can do to get through a day. But that’s the best way I can participate in this season. I believe Advent is the time when God holds everything in God’s heart before a new creation takes place – as described in Genesis 1, “darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters.” 

So, back to my fear of walking in the dark from my childhood. Someone in my long-ago choir told me to sing to overcome my fear. So, I sang while walking. I sang whatever song I could think of. Sometimes I even made a song in my head. That’s when I learned that love and fear can’t co-exist. I can’t remember the time I felt fearful as long as I was singing in the dark. Singing turned walking in the dark into dancing with the spirit. The Spirit of love filled my whole being and prepared me to welcome the greatest gift of all, Immanuel, God-with-us.