Seeking Light that Does not Destroy

Walking with Zelda This Week

Zelda and I listen to Morning Edition as we drive to a park to walk, catching the day at first light to escape the heat and humidity that it will bring. This week I have been a contestant in a competition I did not plan to enter: how long can one listen to news of the current administration before one begins to sense the faint smell of one’s hair on fire? On Wednesday, it was precisely two minutes. I made it to five minutes on Thursday but only because the light on the river was so lovely and distracting. Yesterday, Linda was with us, so I took myself out of the competition altogether to talk to my spouse and dog.

In spite of knowing better, I still expect yesterday to hold the worst news of what can happen in this country, an expectation that comes from a superstitious clinging to “hope springs eternal” rather than a willingness to stare what is happening full in the face while still keeping faith that the Spirit is moving within us and this world with love and justice. As much as I wish to disengage, I want and need to know, whether what I hear is a continuing disregard for human dignity and the sacredness of creation or what sets my hair on fire most often, the absurdity and petulance of our leader and his sycophants. Could he be crueler, more bent on revenge, or more self-congratulatory today than he was yesterday? Why yes, he can! (Was that a not-so-subtle reference to a former President’s campaign slogan? Why yes, it was.) And if there is a bottom to how much harm he and his followers can do, I suspect that he won’t reach it today.

In setting up my home office this week, I found a collage that I made in September 2020 as we approached the end of That President 1.0. At the top is the word “disengagement”, as I had decided to limit my consumption of news. I also was feeling disengaged from work, which had become days full of Zoom meetings devoid of real human connection after we were sent home in March. To the images showing my despair, I added pictures and words to remind myself to stay in the present and to seek the source of peace, whose presence I was often unable to access during those days.

In the bottom left corner of the collage, I included this quote from George Sand:

“It is high time that we had lights that are not incendiary torches.”

I used Sand’s words because at that time, I and most of the people I knew longed for a respite from four years of a leader whose chief characteristic was flame throwing. That President 2.0 no longer throws flames; he launches firebombs targeting the most vulnerable here and beyond our borders. Seeing the light five years later has become ever more difficult.

Zelda and I searched for it this morning at the UT Gardens. As I walked from the car, I remembered the words I hear often from a wise friend, “creation was the first sacred text”. And if that is true, the gift of light was the first sign of God’s love for us. Though Zelda and I had missed the sunrise, the morning sun was filtering through trees and changing our perception of the colors of rose and hibiscus blossoms. It lit up the eyes of the rabbits trying to escape Zelda’s approach and allowed me to see the detail of bees dancing in shadow and sunlight. It put into perspective the transitoriness of this time in history when contained within the scope of the One who ever shines light on creation.

Still, seeing the world illuminated by sacred light does not lessen the need to love others in this precise time and place. It does not mean that I can retreat to nature to escape seeing people living on the streets in my city. It does not allow me to ignore what is happening to victims of the actions of our government and other regimes and fail to speak and resist. The sacred light, made human in Jesus and shining in us through the Spirit, pierces the transient darkness of this time, exposes opportunities for love, and assures us that the light of God cannot be extinguished.

The friend who speaks of creation as a sacred text also introduced me to a book in which the authors have taken the words of 14th century German priest and mystic, Meister Eckhart, and converted them to poetry. This poem has been a source for meditation this week, helping me remember that instead of dwelling on reasons for despair, my chief focus must be directed to the One who is calling me to love. May I hold that focus with gratitude this week, using it as a container to hold whatever news that Zelda and I hear as we drive to the park and walk into the light of each day.

The Light of God

Every night there is, or ever was, was not without light,

but the light was veiled; sun shines in the nighttime,

but its light is hidden from us. Still as the sun eclipses all

other light in this solar system, so does the light of God,

even when hidden, shine more brightly than all else.

So if you seek answers in the darkness, remember that

the true source of all light and dark is always present.

From Meister Eckhart’s Book of Darkness & Light: Meditations on the Path of the Wayless Way, John M. Sweeny and Mark S. Burrows, 2023