Easter Vigil - April 4, 2015

 I sat there alone, in the darkness, in a small Catholic church, in small-town Tennessee.  

Darkness surrounded me.

I couldn’t see the faces of anyone, only their shadows.

Darkness brings fear, and fear at its worst brings anger and hatred.

I thought about darkness.

I thought about the darkness in me… how only two days ago I cussed out the developer in charge of tearing down the old house next door and building a new ugly house, putting holes in my fence, throwing shingles on to my asparagus bed. The darkness took over and I let him have it. What good did it do?

 “Just like me, he wants to be happy. Just like me, he doesn’t want to suffer.”

The mantra didn’t come to me because the darkness was too much.

I thought about the darkness in the world… the 148 souls lost at a university in Garissa, Kenya to an act of terror. I wanted those responsible to feel the darkness, the pain.

I thought, “They must already be in the darkness, for they obviously could not see the beauty of each of those 148 souls.”

Darkness brings fear, and fear at its worst brings and hatred.

I thought about the date:

April 4^th

I thought about a hero who was murdered on this date 47 years ago. I thought about his words:

“Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.”

I thought about the holy day I was there to celebrate, how Love put on some skin, showed us how to live and love, and died, executed as an enemy the state,

but death and darkness and fear and hate don’t have the final word.

Love and life and light win.

And this I believe and this I celebrate, though sometimes I get lost in the darkness and forget how to turn on the lights.

Just then the priest lit a candle and passed the flame to the deacon, who passed it to others, who passed the flame to others, and to others… until the whole church was filled with the dancing light of candles.

Light drives out the darkness.

And I am not alone, in the dark, in a small Catholic church in small-town Tennessee. They are no longer only shadows, but people.

I look around and see the faces, the humanity, of those gathered here on this dark Saturday evening; all gathered here because they believe that darkness isn’t what we are. In the end,

Love and life and light win.