“…not a sound to be heard…”
--Psalm 19:3b
Walking this morning in the hour before sunrise, I was struck by the depth of the darkness still visible; the depth of the shadows cast across the lawns and into the bushes. Looking up, part of Orion’s belt still lingered high above the treetops. I was reminded of the night before when my daughter and I had been out walking sometime between nine and ten. As we walked, I commented to her on what seemed to be a difference between the darkness of morning and the darkness of night. And it was not the one I had expected. In fact, quite the opposite; it seemed to my eye that the darkness of night was more bearable and even somewhat brighter, and that the darkness before dawn was somehow deeper and more impenetrable; perhaps even a little more unsettling. It was as if nature herself were confirming that old adage: it is always darkest before the dawn.
But another aspect of this is the silence. Before dawn, walking the streets, I am often alone. Not a soul out, except for the occasional possum slinking off to a day’s rest after a night of foraging. But at night, as Lucia and I walked, there were still sounds of life all around us. Cars coming and going, people closing up garages, or pulling trash cans to the curb, neighbors out walking their dogs or riding their bikes. There was activity, signs of life. And, Lucia pointed out, there were porch lights and driveway security lights to dim the darkness just a bit.
But back to this morning’s walk. This morning, on my walk, I was stirred by the stillness and the silence. Pausing in the middle of the street to look up into the lingering remnants of the night, I felt the wonder of the silence and the intensity of the darkness. And for a moment, a deep and impenetrable sense of my own incompleteness and isolation swept over me. For a brief moment, I felt utterly alone. Yet I was not afraid.
I don’t know how long I stood there, before I noticed the headlights of a car stopped some 20 feet away, the driver patiently waiting for me to get out of her way. I smiled and moved toward the curb and let her pass. There could only be one reason to get in your car before dawn: a doughnut emergency. And I certainly didn’t want to stand between a driver and her Shipley’s.
Her car crept past cautiously, and she nodded, then drove on. Watching her taillights disappear around the far corner, I figured it was time to head home, so I turned around and started back. And this was when I noticed something else. The world around me was stirring, scattered birds had begun calling to the dawn, the shadow of a squirrel crept down into the damp grass, testing the cold, and in the distance I could see another person out for their morning walk. Clearly, I had never been quite as alone as I felt in that moment.
Walking home, I was heading east and I could see the first rosy glow of dawn blossoming on the horizon. The darkness above it fading into a soft bruise of blue and red. It was beautiful and comforting. Curiosity made me stop and turn and look back the other direction. And with a kind of strange elation, I realized that behind me I could still see the night. At one end of the street, the sky was filled with darkness, the moon smiled, and a single star still glistened. And at the other end, the day was breaking. And in the middle was me… getting positively silly with wonder.
Psalm 19 begins with this thrilling image of God’s glory being proclaimed by creation, the day speaks of it to the day and the night to the night. Not a word is spoken, the psalmist says, but the message is clear, and it reaches the whole world. Just look around, and even in the darkness of night you will see it –the glory of God’s love is luminous. It lights the darkest of nights and even the darkness before the dawn is filled with it. But, to see it, to sense it, to hear it, to know it, we have to pause and look and really listen. We have to listen to the stillness.
“…no utterance at all, no speech,
not a sound to be heard,
but from the entire earth it arises,
a message reaching the entire world…” (cf. 19: 3-4)
And that message, sung by all of creation, that is our Light.
