As the sun was going down, a deep sleep fell upon Abram, and a deep and terrifying darkness descended upon him.
Sunset in the desert, by Erwin Bolwidt
Thus says the Old Testament reading for this coming Sunday, in words I’d never noticed before. In this passage, God is making God’s covenant promises to Abram. In return for Abram’s faith and obedience, God is giving Abram land — from the river of Egypt to the great river, the river Euphrates — as well as countless descendants; in other words, Abram will be wealthy beyond measure. When Abram expresses hesitation, some doubt, God gives him signs that this will come to be. When Abram can’t believe that God will grant him a son in his old age, God shows Abram the stars, as countless as his descendants will be. When Abram has a doubt about the promised land, God instructs him to perform a ritual sacrifice. And in the middle of this sacrifice, a deep sleep fell upon Abram, and a deep and terrifying darkness descended upon him.
These are ominous words, aren’t they? A deep sleep and a terrifying darkness are both disquieting. Even more discomfiting is that both of these things came down — the deep sleep fell and the darkness descended — we may get the sense that these are coming from God. Why would God send us such darkness and terror? This doesn’t sound like the God we see in the psalm, our light and strength and salvation. It doesn’t sound like little baby Jesus, nor like the Jesus we see in Sunday’s gospel, who wants to gather the children of Jerusalem together as a hen gathers her brood under her wings. This is confusing and kind of scary.
But it’s hard to deny that darkness does come to us. We experience pain and loss and confusion and fear. We, too, doubt God, doubt that God will (or can!) fulfill God’s promises to us. And when the terrifying darkness descends upon us, perhaps we feel like we’re separated from God, that not even God can penetrate the darkness to rescue us.
In Darkness, by WTL Photos
In Abram’s story, into this deep sleep and terrifying darkness, a light comes, in the form of a smoking fire pot and a flaming torch. This reminds me of a reading from Isaiah, which we hear each year at Christmas:
The people who walked in darkness
have seen a great light;
those who lived in a land of deep darkness—
on them light has shined.
Our scriptures are filled with examples of light shining through the darkness, and yet, we still have trouble believing and trusting that God will bring light to our own terrifying dark places. Even when we know that Jesus is the light — to outshine all other lights, to overcome any darkness — we still huddle in fear when the darkness descends. Thankfully, our scriptures give us not only stories of God’s light shining on us in the land of deep darkness, but also prayers asking God to help us and strengthen us and guide us through the darkness.
The book of Psalms gives us prayers for just about every human emotion. We have prayers of joy and celebration; we have prayers of anger, even rage; we have prayers of mourning; and we have prayers that admit our fears and ask God for help. This Sunday’s psalm is one of these prayers.
The High Desert by JayRaz
The LORD is my light and my salvation;
whom then shall I fear? *
the LORD is the strength of my life;
of whom then shall I be afraid?
…
For in the day of trouble he shall keep me safe in his shelter; *
he shall hide me in the secrecy of his dwelling
and set me high upon a rock.
God always gives us what we need, when the deep and terrifying darkness enters our lives. God is there as our light, our salvation, our crag, our stronghold. When we struggle with faith — as even Abram, named first of the great patriarchs of the Hebrew scripture, did — there are places we can turn. Not only are there stories that show God’s light shining on those who came before us, but there are prayers that we can pray. The prayers we find in psalms have been prayed for centuries, and are still prayed by Jewish and Christian people today.
I find it very difficult to pray for myself when the darkness descends on me; about all I can get out is something like, “God, please!” or “What the heck, God?” (though it may not be that clean when it comes out) or even just “HELP!” But I do find myself praying for others, interceding perhaps more passionately than when I out from under the darkness. In these times, I ask my friends to pray for me, and I pray for them. These prayers from my friends, they become the light in the darkness; they become the strength and the shelter God promises us. And I remember that God doesn’t promise that God will help and rescue us all on God’s own; sometimes that help comes wearing skin and arms and legs.
I have a prayer for you today. I pray that on Sunday, you will both speak the words of this psalm aloud and really listen to them, knowing to the depths of your heart that they are real and true. I pray that when you experience the terrifying darkness, that you will see God’s light when it comes to you. I pray that your doubts will be answered, that your faith will be upheld, and that we will meet in the true Promised Land, God’s Kingdom.
O God, whose glory it is always to have mercy:
Be gracious to all who have gone astray from your ways,
and bring them again with penitent hearts and steadfast faith
to embrace and hold fast the unchangeable truth of your Word,
Jesus Christ your Son;
who with you and the Holy Spirit lives and reigns,
one God, for ever and ever.
Amen.
an inquiring and discerning heart 