Seeing in the Dark

On my way home from the caucus tonight I walked along a little trail through a small patch of woods in my neighborhood. I've been on this trail many times, but not lately. Because I had a small flashlight, I could see enough to keep from tripping on the rocks, but I realized that the only reason I could even find the trail at night was because it was a familiar path. I had walked that way before. In the daytime.

I have spent the last week being introduced to St. John of the Cross and his many works, including his most famous, The Dark Night. Under the captivating teaching of Dr. Susan Muto, my interest in this Christian mystic was piqued. St. John writes about the light being obscured, about being without comfort and consolation and mostly about the fact that in spite of how dark it is, God is very present in the darkness. He talks about the path in order to help the one on the journey have some familiarity with it so that when the darkness does set in, the path will be at least somewhat familiar, like mine was tonight.

As I walked this dark trail tonight, feeling fairly confident albeit a bit anxious about the path, I knew I was safe. I did call Phillip on my cell phone just as I was heading into the darkness, though, because even though this is a safe neighborhood, I wanted him to know where I was, what path I was on and about when I expected to be home. It's that phone call where you say, "If I'm not home in 10 minutes you should begin to worry." Suddenly I thought, "I wonder why we don't do that for each other spiritually?"

How many of us don't even know when we're headed down that dark path and surely wouldn't consider saying to someone, "If I don't emerge from this darkness soon, be sure to check on me." It occurs to me that we don't know very well how to be with each other soul to soul. Even those of us who without hesitation call ourselves Christians, who gladly acknowledge that we are on a spiritual path, even we don't know very well how to be with each other soul to soul.

St. John of the Cross had an entire language he used to describe life with God and how best to navigate the terrain. He was there, soul to soul with Teresa of Avila and the many sisters to whom he was spiritual director. His language is admittedly hard for us to relate to, but he did have a language that spoke to his contemporaries. How do we reclaim the language of souls?

If we want to see in the dark on the path where we find ourselves, we need to learn the language of the darkness. We need to learn the language of souls.