Learning to Walk in the Dark by Barbara Brown Taylor is a book I can't recommend highly enough.
She contrasts two expressions of spirituality, which she calls “solar” and “lunar”. If the former is characterised by certainty, a sure sense of God's presence around the clock, divine guidance in all things, and reliable answers to prayer, the latter makes room for doubt, ambiguity and holy tension. Taylor writes:
I have been given the gift of lunar spirituality, in which the divine light available to me waxes and wanes with the season. When I go out on my porch at night, the moon never looks the same way twice. Some nights it is as round and bright as a headlight; other nights it is thinner than the sickle hanging in my garage. Some nights it is high in the sky, and other nights low over the mountains. Some nights it is altogether gone, leaving a vast web of stars that are brighter in its absence. All in all, the moon is a truer mirror for my soul than the sun that looks the same way every day. After I stopped thinking that all these fluctuations meant something was wrong with me, a great curiosity opened up: what would my life with God look like if I trusted this rhythm instead of opposing it? What was I afraid of, exactly, and how much was I missing by reaching reflexively for the lights? Did I have enough faith to explore the dark instead of using faith to bar all my doors? How much more was in store for me if I could learn to walk in the dark?1
Matariki is almost upon us.
It's a good time to befriend the dark, to turn off the lights and screens, to step outside and look up. The appearance of Matariki signals the coldest, shortest days near the Winter Solstice. This evokes the Māori lunar calendar (maramataka), based on hundreds of years of observing the stars, nature and predicting weather patterns for harvesting food from the sea, fresh water, land and sky.
We live in a woven universe of interconnection, held together by a loving God. In a world that's in desperate need of re-enchantment, one remedy is to rug up, head outside and watch for the reappearance of Matariki, just before dawn.
How much might we be missing by reaching reflexively for the lights?
May we discover the treasures to be found in the darkness.
1Barbara Brown Taylor, Learning to Walk in the Dark (p. 9), HarperCollins, Kindle Edition.
Check out other articles in the
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More articles in the
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We have invited these writers to share their experiences, ideas and opinions in the hope that these will provoke thought, challenge you to go deeper and inspire you to put your faith into action. These articles should not be taken as the official view of the Nelson Diocese on any particular matter.
Learning to Walk in the Dark by Barbara Brown Taylor is a book I can't recommend highly enough.
She contrasts two expressions of spirituality, which she calls “solar” and “lunar”. If the former is characterised by certainty, a sure sense of God's presence around the clock, divine guidance in all things, and reliable answers to prayer, the latter makes room for doubt, ambiguity and holy tension. Taylor writes:
I have been given the gift of lunar spirituality, in which the divine light available to me waxes and wanes with the season. When I go out on my porch at night, the moon never looks the same way twice. Some nights it is as round and bright as a headlight; other nights it is thinner than the sickle hanging in my garage. Some nights it is high in the sky, and other nights low over the mountains. Some nights it is altogether gone, leaving a vast web of stars that are brighter in its absence. All in all, the moon is a truer mirror for my soul than the sun that looks the same way every day. After I stopped thinking that all these fluctuations meant something was wrong with me, a great curiosity opened up: what would my life with God look like if I trusted this rhythm instead of opposing it? What was I afraid of, exactly, and how much was I missing by reaching reflexively for the lights? Did I have enough faith to explore the dark instead of using faith to bar all my doors? How much more was in store for me if I could learn to walk in the dark?1
Matariki is almost upon us.
It's a good time to befriend the dark, to turn off the lights and screens, to step outside and look up. The appearance of Matariki signals the coldest, shortest days near the Winter Solstice. This evokes the Māori lunar calendar (maramataka), based on hundreds of years of observing the stars, nature and predicting weather patterns for harvesting food from the sea, fresh water, land and sky.
We live in a woven universe of interconnection, held together by a loving God. In a world that's in desperate need of re-enchantment, one remedy is to rug up, head outside and watch for the reappearance of Matariki, just before dawn.
How much might we be missing by reaching reflexively for the lights?
May we discover the treasures to be found in the darkness.
Check out other articles in the
series below.
More articles in the
series are to come.
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