Days of Darkness
Twenty-five days. Two years. Three countries. Four states. And darkness all around.
As I often do, I spent the beginning of a New Year reflecting on recent and not-so-recent events. In the quiet moments of early-morning meditation, I sensed a pattern. A disturbing pattern. I began jotting down dates and details to put words to my intuition. It was the morning of January 19, 2010. I sadly realized that for the past twenty-five days, I had witnessed too much pain in the lives of too many people.
The time period that caught my attention covered two years: 2009’s final breath and 2010’s birth. The former ended with me praying with and sitting among a family whose father and husband died the day after Christmas. The latter began with news that doctors had found a tumor in the brain of the kind woman who had babysat our daughter for years when Jordan was young.
News of pain had travelled to me from four states during these twenty-five days. In New Jersey the younger sister of my step-father succumbed to breast, liver, and bone cancer. In Arizona my wife’s mother was found unconscious and unresponsive in bed one morning. In Tennessee the mother of a former youth intern from our congregation was placed in hospice for her final days. In Kentucky a longtime graduate school friend of mine was let go from his job.
I witnessed suffering in three countries during this same time. While in Manila and Bacolod, Philippines to visit missionaries, our vehicle was rushed at intersections and stop lights by young children begging for spare change. Four blocks from the middle-class neighborhood where I was staying in Bacolod, Philippines, I saw families living in shacks with no water or electricity. Later, while walking the streets of Bangkok, Thailand where my mission team was on layover, I saw several handicapped and disfigured men and women living on the streets—forgotten and forlorn. And while in Bangkok, news arrived of the unparalleled devastation and suffering from the Haitian earthquake. Hundreds of thousands dead. Millions displaced. And this, in a country where already 50% live on less than $1 a day and 80% live below the poverty line.
Twenty-five days. Two years. Three countries. Four states. And darkness all around.
During the same time period, I had been immersing myself in the Gospel accounts of the prayer-life and prayer-words of Jesus. And I began to wonder: How do you pray in the midst of pain? How do you talk to God when the words just won’t come? What kind of supplication fits times of suffering? I began to search for answers in the life of Jesus. Gratefully, I found more than I could have expected, more than I could have hoped for. I learned that Jesus was the master of praying from the pits of life.
