Light Wins

My dear parish,

We find ourselves at the empty tomb. Or perhaps you are reading this in the days that approach Easter morning or at some other time. We find ourselves on the brink of a new life. What has seemed all lost, all darkness, all for nothing, turns out to be a new beginning, something radical and unforeseen.

Sure, we stand in relative clarity two thousand years later, but let us suspend our familiarity and enter into the moment. Often the distance obscures the raw reality. Sure, Jesus had predicted his passion and death at least three times (see Mk 8:30, 9:30, 10:30  - for ease of memory). And those instances do not include statements about the temple being raised nor other more obscure allusions like the serpent being lifted up in the desert. Needless to say, our Easter Sunday Gospel concludes thus, “For they did not yet understand the Scripture that he had to rise from the dead.” Indeed, that is a consistent strophe! No one it seems is prepared for the newness breaking on the horizon. Maybe even we are not yet quite prepared for that newness. 

It is quite hard to imagine, really. Have you ever found yourself in the dark? I mean, really in the dark. No lights. We suffer from so much light contamination that it is quite possible you have never been in the dark.

One night on the Chilean desert altiplano outside Calama the dark found me. Hydroelectric-generated power cuts off at 9pm due to limited water resources. We were out enjoying the evening air and then suddenly, no lights. Just darkness. My heart was in my throat, yet it was stunning. As we grew accustomed to the darkness, we recognized some light, coming from the stars. The Milky Way cascaded across the cosmos like a stripe painted across the sky. We lay on the ground to try and take it in. Navigating back to the hostel was a challenge in the dark; some light from the stars made it possible. But at first, all we could see was the darkness. 

Another time traveling in Andalucia, we toured a neanderthal cave. At one point the guide invited us to turn off our torches and truly we could not tell what was up or down, back or front. We could not see our hands in front of our faces. I was completely frozen, afraid to move on the slippery ground. Then I imagined families maybe 50,000 years ago taking refuge, and even making music in the caves with dim fire light and smokey torches. 

I wonder how it was for Jesus in the tomb. Did He awake first, in the darkness, enshrouded in the burial bands? Or was the stone rolled away before He resurrected to provide a bit of light in the early morning hours? That first hour of daylight is a powerful time, between the darkness of night and dawn. Slowly the light conquers and then seems inevitable as the darkness recedes. 

It only takes a bit of light, say one candle, for it not to be dark. Just a few lumens make an enormous difference. What a good reminder if we find ourselves in dark places, struggling with hope, despairing that things might not improve, yet trying to believe that truly Jesus is risen. At times we could all use a reminder that light wins, that Jesus is alive, that love lives, and invites us to believe in Him, to hope in Him, and even to love as He loved, no matter what the darkness of the world may throw at us. 

On Easter, although we may not understand fully, we recall His words: “I am the resurrection and the life.” “I am the light of the world.” “I am the way, and the truth, and the life; no one comes to the Father except through Me.” And we ask Him to remind us, to show us, to teach us what it truly means that life wins, that love lives. 

Happy Easter!

Fr. Joel