Brighter Than Sunlight.

Image © by Brian E. Faulkner

A stolen Sunday nap this day found me drifting in memories of a New England mountain lake where my family used to vacation during the late ‘50s and early ‘60s.  Seen from the air, which I was privileged to do thanks to a friend with a pilot’s license, the lake sparkled like a glittering blue diamond set in the surrounding hills.  From a rowboat in its center, I often became mesmerized by glowing shafts of sunlight descending into the water until they could be seen no more. I wondered if they would ever reach the bottom.
 
This lake appears more and more in my dreams as old age sneaks up on me. It may be that I’m yearning for a return to a time when life was unmarred by anything more demanding than rowing the boat back home in time for a picnic lunch with my mom, dad, brothers and friends from across the inlet.  Much of my young life was spent either at the lake or thinking about being at the lake – at least that’s how it seemed, although the truth was that our vacation never lasted more than a single week per summer in a rented cottage.
 
For some reason of late, I have folded memories of that lake into thoughts of the disciples in the days between Christ’s crucifixion and his reappearance on the road to Emmaus. It’s easy to imagine how they must have felt during that difficult time.  Their Messiah, whose promise had been brighter than sunlight, had been taken away and put to death in an especially cruel and public way, sending the disciples sinking into the depths of despair.  All seemed lost.  Black clouds troubled their minds, wind and rain whipping their tranquil lake into a froth of confusion.  They were about to become mere fishermen again instead of soldiers in a commanding cause led by a God-man whom they believed had come to save them from the Romans.  He had been the Promised One, but now it appeared that the Light of their world had been extinguished, lost even to hope’s most feeble grasp.
 
But we know about the Easter they did not, that the darkness of Good Friday was but the beginning of Light, that hope was not lost but about to be born anew in the reappearance of their risen Savior. 
 
The storm abates. The sun appears, sending its life-giving light deep into even the darkest waters of our lives. There is no need to despair, because that darkness has been vanquished by the Light of Christ.  Forever.
 
Prayer:  Lord, lead us out of the darkness of our lives and into the light of your Truth.  And help us live accordingly. 
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