Advent – Joy – Day 17

I love visiting caves. 

Up from the floors and down from the ceilings grow stalagmites and stalactites, formed over thousands of years by the relentless hounding of water droplets and their nanosized mineral deposits, an accumulated impact of the smallest of actions. 

Smooth flowstone formations appear to tumble over the sides of cracks in the rock, their wavy patterns an indelible memory of the water that once tumbled over the stone.

The trodden pathway is illuminated with soft, colored lighting, placed strategically to heighten the cave’s appeal. Handrails keep visitors safely on the path and provide extra security during a trail’s more treacherous lengths.

Those handrails are necessary, especially if your guide tells you that the group is about to experience total darkness—find a spot to hold on, and maybe grab the hand of your closest neighbor.

Lights out. It is more than total darkness. It is emptiness, except for the guardrail to your right and the hand of your friend ahead of you. Your pupils are dilated, reaching for the tiniest glimmer of light, anything to reorient yourself to your surroundings. 

As if to add insult to injury, the guide tells you to wave your hand in front of your face. Seeing it is impossible, and a split-second of fear takes hold of your reason—what if the lights don’t come on? What if you had to find your way out of this pit? 

Or worse, what if you were alone in the midst of this darkness? No one to help or guide, no one to talk to. It’s easy to see how those early cave explorers lost their lives. One wrong turn without a light, and your final resting place might become a notable point of interest on a cave tour.

But the guide cuts on her headlamp, and the dread is instantly gone. One light in the inky blackness drains away all fear. Then you feel ridiculous, for of course the lights will come back on. Didn’t you pay $39.99 for admission? This isn’t 1864, you’re not making saltpeter, and the sandwiches and drinks are stowed away in the cooler in the van.

Thank goodness. You won’t have to go all Donner Party or Goonies-mode up in this cave, although as you finish the tour, all lighting now restored, you kinda wish you had Sloth along for the journey. He’d have a Baby Ruth or two in his pocket, and if you’re nice to him, he might share.

One thing’s for sure: if you’ve experienced the total darkness of a cave, you don’t forget it. 

That’s why we like Christmas lights and starry nights so much: light has a way of lifting us out of the total darkness that terrifies us, and it only takes a tiny glimmer to make all the difference.

Christmas, in the Northern Hemisphere, also coincides with winter’s short days and long nights. Some people experience a condition appropriately called SAD—Seasonal Affective Disorder—due to reduced exposure to sunlight. It’s a real battle for these folks, and while symptoms are alleviated with certain strategies, the cloud never fully lifts for some until springtime, when the longer days and warmer temperatures return.

We are made to enjoy the light and the life that comes from the sun.

How much more, then, are we created to experience the life-giving power that comes from finding hope and joy in Jesus?

Don’t perish in a cave of unbelief. As your eyes are drawn to the light, let your soul be drawn to the light of the world, the promised Messiah, the one who banishes darkness and gives joy to those who believe. 

When Jesus spoke again to the people, he said, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will never walk in darkness, but will have the light of life.”

John 8:12 NIV

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Reflection and Prayer – If you’ve ever experienced the effects of SAD, you know how you long for the warmth and light of longer days. What is the “light” in your life? Pray that God would light the dark places in your soul, and remember that nothing can ever overcome His light.