Almighty God, grant us grace to cast
away the works of darkness, and put on the armor of light … (Book of
Common Prayer: Collect for Advent 1)
As I have gotten older, I find I need more and better light
to see what I am doing. The other day I was putting together some electronic
doo-dads and gizmos for a friend. I had all the parts and I knew where
everything was supposed to go, but no matter how I turned the pieces of
equipment to maximize what light was available, I just couldn’t draw a bead on
what I was doing.
I even tried bobbing my head up and down like a drunken
pigeon, looking through every square millimeter of my eyeglasses to find some
point – ANY point – where there might be a hint of things coming into focus,
but it was all for naught.
Amazingly, when I have good, strong light, like with those ubiquitous
LED flashlights you find everywhere, my vision improves tremendously. With
enough candle-power, I can see like a teenager (albeit, a teenager with
arthritis). Without those supplemental lumens, though, I’ve got the visual
acuity of a bat. Sadly, I don’t have the bat’s uncanny ability to “see” with my
ears. Even if I did, I’m not sure I could plug things together very well with
my ears, so it’s all a moot point, anyway.
The bottom line is, I like light and find life less painful
with good illumination.
One night I was away from home on business. The hotel
accommodations were plush, but I wasn’t as familiar with the room as I am with
my own house. I got up to enjoy a night-time pilgrimage that is required more
often these days than in the past. I didn’t want to wake up the light of my
life, so I padded forth bravely in the shadowy murkiness of the suite to take
care of business and discerned that the foot of a chair at the end of the bed
is harder than the middle toe at the end of my foot.
I don’t want to exaggerate the level of pain I experienced,
but it woke up my wife. For a brief moment she thought Godzilla had made an
unexpected visit to Billings and was rampaging through our room, looking to
devour someone. I explained to her what had happened, which helped divert my
attention from the blindingly excruciating trauma of the moment.
My wife offered to call for a toe truck, but since we didn’t
have “Triple Eh” trip insurance, and since I hadn’t tripped anyway, I declined
the offer. A year or so down the road the swelling and bruising have pretty
well gone away; I can simulate a pretty convincing limp if the situation
warrants it, although my better half suggests it is more the excuse that’s
what’s limp.
Anyway, the point is, darkness is not bad in and of itself.
The darkness did not stub my toe; I did. The chair did not assault me; I did it
to myself. I could not blame the darkness for my injury; I could only
acknowledge that I had been careless – and shall strive to be more cautious in
the future.
There is an old proverb: Better to light a candle than to
curse the darkness. I suspect that is why we take time to decorate our homes,
hang lights on our houses, and string lights on our Christmas (or “holiday”)
trees. We are “putting on the armor of light” so to speak.
The problem for human-kind, however, isn’t the lack of light
in the literal sense of the word. When needed, most of us can flip a switch,
light a candle, or pull out a kerosene lamp (or flashlight). No, the darkness
we have to watch out for is the darkness of soul.
Some people fear the dark, but I think it is fear itself
that is the darkness with which we struggle. We are afraid of people and
situations we don’t understand. We can light a lamp and seek to understand, or
we can shut our blinds, bolt our doors, and shoot our shadows.
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