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Learning to Walk in the Dark
Learning to Walk in the Dark
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Introduction -- LWD
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I used to think that if I just got on the "right" path it would be happily ever after. I wish someone had told me that, no matter now good you try to be, that destination is a myth. Darkness descends on everyone and I've decided the best path is the one we take to each other - to comfort, to understand, to join hands and face the darkness together. It seems strange that the people I entrust most with my dark side are usually not those at church - would like to change that.
Mod
I think part of the reason is that when you go to church you put your best foot forward - nice clothes, big smile. And besides - who wants to hear about my little stuff when there's so much big hurt out there that needs to be addressed. My mom told me that if you're feeling down it's because you're thinking too much about yourself; you need to do for others and you'll be happy. And church is kind of like that - put yourself second. Be the hands and feet of God and let your light shine by helping those in need. But . . . it's kind of tough to be a light when you're full of dying embers. None of my really close friends have been a part of my church. Weird.
I liked the author's discussion of how the church takes contrasts like Light/Dark and makes one side good and one bad, where she would rather think of them as opposing sides that are both necessary for balance. Sure, the good vs evil concept helps us organize our world and simplify things - always strive to defeat darkness and move toward the light - but life is not simple and it can imply to those who are struggling that there is no value in being in the darkness. It must be endured until the light returns.The concept of Solar Spirituality is interesting. I expect that most churches have some form of this tendency. And it does help to explain, Lynn, why you might not feel comfortable bringing your struggles to church. "If you can't say something positive, don't say anything at all." When we're in worship we don't want to bring everyone down or risk whining about troubles that are too small to compare to others', but perhaps that's what smaller groups are for whether they are recognized committees, etc. or just a conversational group at coffee hour or standing in the parking lot together after church. It takes time to establish those more intimate relationships where you feel safe to be who you are, and to find those who don't shy away from the dark.
What I respect about Barbara Brown Taylor is that she has been part of the religious establishment and believed in it, and in the end found that it did not feed her soul. She does not make these claims lightly or out of spite, but rather out of love for the people who struggle every day to find God.
Yep - life is not simple, yet I think we all try to find a way to make it that way . . . just find the right code, the right book of answers. You're right, small groups are a great way to drop a few bricks from the walls we construct. Like everything else, our spiritual path evolves and it's good to know that we can move on if need be. When I was in college I became involved with the Moonies (remember them?). Glad I left that in the dust!
Maybe you recall, Cindy, going up to the balcony to turn off the lights in the sanctuary when we were children and walking as quickly as possible to exit the room that had been a haven only moments prior to the flip of a switch.However, at home there were no night lights and we navigated trips to the bathroom in the night by swiftly moving from one beam of street lights streaming through the window to the next.
Treasured summer vacations at family property in Canada included no electricity and kerosene lanterns on the table tops were used for late night card games. We'd later gather on the beach, enamored by the stars filling the sky or by the occasional dance of the northern lights. Still, in the middle of the night, any trip to the outhouse seemed to double in length and shadows held ominous secrets that begged my heart to beat loudly.
It wasn't until I was older that I relished walking in the night. In fact, I realized that my one visual deficit actually served me well in allowing me to better navigate, and other times I'd chose to travel by tactile cues with eyes closed.
This paralleled a therapy modality that I learned a decade ago called acceptance and commitment therapy. I soon realized it was not just something to teach clients, but that this invaluable life approach allowed me to move towards rather than away from that which is uncomfortable or dark.
And now thinking back, this all seemed to align with a rejection by one congregation enmeshed in solar spirituality. They did not seem to truly grasp the darkness of my daughter's chronic illness or our family's needs at that time. Towards more than us, they were dismissive and further wounded many in need and caused sanctuary harm. We were unequally yoked.
Mod
Your empathy/sympathy are appreciated; and yet, I am really not saddened it occurred as what we've learned from that experience and since has been invaluable to our personal and spiritual growth on so many levels. Once your eyes are adjusted....dilated...the way is clearer.
When I read the introductory parts of BBT's book (last summer) I thought of the bible verse in Matthew about hiding light under a bushel (or bowl?). To me shining light on my darkness happens when I share my gunk with close friends. It makes the dark less scary. The value of bringing my dark thoughts to a church gathering is more private - I'm not one to vocally share my concerns or joys, but meditating on them during a service helps me feel part of the communion of the parish and brings me peace.
I had to check with my mom, because I have no memory of being afraid of the dark, and she confirmed that I wasn't. Darkness was exciting - staying up late sitting outside with the grownups on my grandparents farm (no bedtime!), walking home from trick or treating, vacations starting before dawn. I've always loved it, so his metaphor is intriguing but not something I've experienced. I'm aware that I am enormously lucky and privileged that nothing bad has ever happened to ruin the dark. That said, I find the unknown as scary as anybody.
I remember being extremely afraid of the dark as a child, partly due to being a sensitive kid, partly due to a powerful imagination, and partly due to the neighborhood we lived in that became increasingly more unsafe over the years we lived there. Our home was robbed when I was 7, and I began to consider that the world around me wasn't necessarily "safe." My parents tended to brush off my fears so I had to find ways to manage fear on my own along the way. Even now as an adult I'm still not a fan of the dark unless I can find ways to help myself feel more safe (which I have become quite good at over the years--my bag of tricks is huge!). P.S. Just wanted to introduce myself to everyone. I'm a college friend of Jennifer's, and she invited me to join your book discussion when I expressed interest in this book I saw she was reading. Thanks for having me! :)
Welcome aboard Dori! I'm glad you got ahold of a copy.
Mod
Welcome, Dori! Your comments about your childhood experiences with the dark led me to this thought: I love the way BBT started her explorations in this book by looking our childhood fears of the dark as a springboard to considering our fears of dark moments that life throws at us in our adulthood.
Debra: I agree! Approaching our adulthood fears of the dark moments in life through the lens of our fear of the dark as children makes the whole discussion so much more approachable. It's such a familiar experience for many to have been frightened of the dark as a child. Just makes it easier to start the conversation about what can potentially be a difficult subject for discussion.
2) The author says, "There is no telling what I might have said if they had asked me what color the monsters' eyes were. . . If they had, I might have learned to become more curious about what the darkness inside me was dishing up. I might have learned to look more deeply instead of looking away." How would this same theory apply to the emotional or spiritual darkness we experience? Would asking you to look more closely at your "monsters" help you to conquer them?
3) How do you feel about the author's description of "solar spirituality"? Have you been part of such a church? Did it meet your needs? Why or why not?
4) Near the end of the Introduction, the author describes different types of readers who might be attracted to this book: young people whose parents' faith doesn't work for them, those who have experienced losses they can't explain, those who are aware of their aging and lack of preparation for what is to come. Do any of these categories fit you?
What else would you like to discuss? Add it to the comments.