Edgework

A few nights back was the longest night of the year. The winter solstice happens each year on December 21st, marking the shortest day of the year as well as the longest night.

A few years ago, Grace Mennonite Church here in Steinbach, began hosting a special service on this night, which Ruth and I attended this year. It began the year that David and Tara Klassen lost a child shortly after birth. They felt a need to seek comfort in their dark night of sorrow and opened up the church to others in the community who wanted to sit with them to reach out together for the light waiting to dawn in their present darkness.

I was deeply moved. Ruth and I each lit a candle at the front of the church and then took our places in this quiet “haven of rest” in the midst of a busy Christmas season. Soft lights and quiet music helped to open up my soul even before the service began.

This service underscored the fact that even while we proclaim the Christmas season to be a time of cheer and good will, there are many for whom this darkest time of winter reminds them of the darkness they experience in their lives. Too often they feel bypassed, even overlooked, as others around them ramp up their festive celebrations. Coming together in this way to acknowledge this darkness and draw strength from each other and our God is one of the best ideas that has come my way in a long time.

By the time one reaches my age – 68, if you are interested – one has lived long enough to have experienced the “pain of searing loss” and “the dark night of the soul” at various stages along the way. Unfortunately, the religious triumphalism that surrounded me while growing up left little room or time to stop and acknowledge such realities. Since it was said that all that happened in life was controlled by God and was designed for some unknown good, acknowledging the darkness in our souls was tantamount to unbelief. True faith called for a denial of that darkness and a need to soldier on in the light that never fades. Perhaps some people are able to move quickly past their pain following traumas experienced in life. But I have seen too many plastic grins masking a darkness not allowed to come to the surface where it would have a chance of giving way to light.

The service consisted of four segments with a candle being lit at the beginning of each one.

The first candle represented “loss and longing.” Although I have not lost nearly as much as many others, I nevertheless can identify some dark spots seeking light in my soul. On the wall behind my computer I have pictures posted of at least 30 persons dear to me in life and greatly missed in death. The one that jumps out at me most often is that of Roy Penner, my soulmate for more than a decade. How I wish I could meet him for coffee to discern together once again what God is doing in our lives and in the world. I am also aware that the robust health of my youth has begun to slip through my fingers. But these losses cause me to think of what Gerald Sittser says in his book, A Grace Disguised: “The soul is elastic, like a balloon. It can grow larger through suffering…Once enlarged, the soul is also capable of experiencing greater joy, strength, peace and love.” Last night it became clear to me once again that, probably because of my losses, my soul has indeed been enlarged – for which I am thankful.

The second candle announced to us that “we can invite God into our pain.” There is an austere kind of Christianity which assumes that sickness, death or any other kind of loss comes directly from the hand of God. If this is the final word, then how do we invite God to walk with us in our pain? Can you go for comfort to the one who inflicts the pain in the first place? But Jesus showed us that God seeks out especially those who are hurting. God finds us, embraces us and gives us hope. At this stage in my life I can see more clearly than ever how much pain wracks our human sojourn. And it is good to know that God is a God of compassion who tenderly embraces all who hurt – just like God the Father embraced his Son hanging on the cross while suffering a most cruel death.

The third candle stood for all the “tears shed and support received” while walking in our pain. It is one of those mysteries of life that true community automatically emerges in the context of crisis. How often we have experienced others coming to circle our wagon when a wheel has fallen off! Although it is not the same, I have in fact found a number of soulmates since Roy left us with whom I am free to share whatever is happening in my life. And I cannot say enough about the way my wife, Ruth, has supported me through the various valleys I have traversed over the years.

The fourth candle represented “faith and hope.” Although it can be hard to see light at the end of the tunnel when darkness seems to close in on every side, by lighting this candle and basking in its glow we were telling each other that, whatever our circumstances, we can believe that God desires to take us into a new future. A different future, for sure, but a grace-filled future nonetheless.

When the service ended, no one got up to leave for quite some time. Why would you leave such a place of place of love, joy, hope and peace on the darkest night of the year so close to Christmas?