Remains of the Day

A Nor'easter swept through Baltimore on Friday, uprooting trees and downing power lines as it went through.

Our lights went out at 2:30 in the afternoon. The inside temperature began to fall. I put a second down comforter on our bed.

We took the dog and our electronics to our church and spent a warm evening and morning there. And then the power at the church went out.

Fortunately we have a gas stove and a gas water heater. We were still able to shower and cook. This is a picture of our table after Saturday night's dinner (good thing the Christmas candles were still out). It would have been romantic if we hadn't been shivering.

Sunday morning the church temperature was 50 degrees. Most of the faithful bundled up and went to church anyway. After the Eucharistic prayer, the priest faced the congregation and said, "The gifts of God for the people of God." At that exact moment, the lights came on!

Or so they say. Back in my neighborhood, where the new pup and I were vainly trying to keep warm, the power was still out. Most of Baltimore was back on the grid, but badly damaged areas could lack power until midweek, said the newspaper. Several big trees were down near us. I was ready to despair. We packed up the pup and drove to a warm place.

And then good news!

Rejoicing! Merriment! Celebration!

Funny how we take heat and light for granted until they're missing. Funny how grateful we are when they come back.

I suppose that's the point of Lent--a little deprivation makes Easter that much more radiant. Though I confess: I'd rather have bunnies and chocolate all the time.

Looking for light: Christmas 2016

In the beginning was the Word,

and the Word was with God,

and the Word was God...

What came to be through him was life,

and this life was the light of the human race;

the light shines in the darkness,

and the darkness has not overcome it.

The Gospel according to John, chapter 1

Take those words literally, spiritually, metaphorically, mythically, mystically, poetically, or however you can. At the end of 2016, we all need reminders that the universe is ultimately good, creative, loving, alive; that though the arc of the moral universe is long, it bends toward justice. We need to hear that light overcomes darkness.

There is so much darkness.

For most of 2016 the world has felt like Narnia before Aslan showed up: always winter, never Christmas. Even Christmas alarms us as the world perches on the edge of chaos. We read W.B.Yeats's "The Second Coming" and wonder:

...[W]hat rough beast, its hour come round at last,
Slouches towards Bethlehem to be born?

And then an angel slashes through the darkness, shouting: "Don't be afraid!"

And the shepherds, who have been diving for cover, suddenly notice that the sheep are laughing at them, and so they sheepishly crawl out from behind the rocks and begin singing "Everything's gonna be all right."  And they all live happily ever after ...

... except for those Bethlehem babies that Herod murdered, of course; and Jesus's family, who were so afraid of the new king that they hid from him in Egypt; and Jesus himself, who was executed by a Roman puppet too timid to stand up to the mob; and most of Jesus's best friends, who within a few years were dead, and not of natural causes...

There has always been so much darkness.

In noontime darkness two thousand years ago, the dying Jesus cried out, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" In this dark year, 2016, the dying Leonard Cohen cried out,

You want it darker

We kill the flame

And yet there has always been a glimmer of light in the darkness.

The world is all messed up. The nation is sick. Trouble is in the land; confusion all around.... 
But I know, somehow, that only when it is dark enough can you see the stars.

Martin Luther King Jr., "I've Been to the Mountaintop," 1968

On the year's darkest days, we light candles for Christmas, Hanukkah, Winter Solstice, Kwanzaa. Their light is faint. It flickers. It is imperfect. But still, we light them.

As we head into a possibly calamitous new year, I think of Cohen's "Anthem":

Ring the bells that still can ring

Forget your perfect offering

There is a crack in everything

That's how the light gets in.

If 2017 turns out to be even darker than 2016, I hope I can hang onto the words of Gerard Manley Hopkins in "God's Grandeur":

And though the last lights off the black West went

Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs--

Because the Holy Ghost over the bent

World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.

The light shines in the darkness, 

and the darkness has not overcome it.

Is it too much to hope?