The drama of light and darkness at the Easter Vigil linger long into Easter Sunday, and beyond. That procession of candles, lead by the Easter candle, lighting up the dark church remain etched into the senses. The light of the candles together becoming gradually brighter and the darkness receding.
While the crucifixion of Christ was a thing of utter and gratuitous violence, his resurrection was silent and still, a thing of peace and calm. Almost hidden.
The whole liturgical experience of moving from the death of Christ to his rising from the dead is like the lighting of a candle. A thing unsure. Will it take, or not? Will it eventually burn, or will the flame die? Did he rise? The signs are here. The tomb is open and empty. The linen cloths, here they are. Light and darkness mingle, as in the twilight of dawn. Did it happen, or not?
Darkness is easy to see, well, to experience, to intuit. We know it very well, for it is so pervasive in our world and in our relationships. War, violence, destruction, deceit, oppression, exploitation, addiction. Darkness is so in your face. So easy to do, it ‘fixes’ things quickly, doesn’t it?
When we come face to face with it, the darkness in our own lives, away from the gaze of others, its terror overwhelms us. Its shame incapacitates us, makes us want to leave the self, breaks our heart a thousand times over. Can I get up from this? Will it take or not, the flame of the candle?
God is all too aware of the shame of sin. His Son bore the brunt of it in his passion. It made him as ugly as sin is. It was easy for onlookers to despise and reject him. It breaks the heart a thousand times over, for ours were the sins he bore.
Since God knows the shame of sin, his offer of victory over sin is not with the fist clenched and the high horse of force and violence. It is gentle as the lighting of a candle. Until it burns and fills the whole room and the darkness recedes, because now my candle burns like yours, like hers and his, and theirs.
The light shines into the darkness and the darkness could not overcome it (John 1:5).
Saint John Henry Newman’s hymn that he wrote years before he became Catholic reminds me of this gentle character of the Lord’s victory.
Lead, kindly Light,
amidst encircling gloom,
lead thou me on.
The night is dark
and I am far from home,
lead thou me on.
Keep thou my feet,
I do not ask to see
the distant scene,
one step enough for me.
God is a kindly light, not a blinding one injuring the sight.
It is a safe space there, with God,
who loved us so much that He gave his only-begotten Son so that whoever believes in Him, should not perish, but have everlasting life (John 3:16).
God loved us first, while we were still sinners, and without waiting for us to become sinless and perfect, offered His only-begotten Son, as to show us how much he loved us (see Romans 5:8).
As gentle as lighting a candle, such is the Lord’s victory over darkness, such is his resurrection. At baptism already, we received from the candle of last night, the Easter candle, the light, with the words:
Receive the light of Christ. This light is entrusted to you to be kept burning brightly.
And so we stepped out of darkness and into the light.
We are children of the light and children of the day. We are not of the night or of the darkness (1 Thessalonsians 5:5).
As a candle finally burning.