One of my favorite authors and teachers, Barbara Brown Taylor, writes in her book “Learning to Walk in the Dark because God often Shows up at Night,” about her experiences with “caving.” Hiking into deep, dark black holes carved over the years by the fierce waters that rage under & through the earth. Caving – Some people call that “fun.” My own father, one of those people for whom this activity is Enjoyable, helped construct the world’s longest underground swinging bridge, 10,000 pounds of steel that navigates a hidden cave system within the halls and walls of deep caverns underground—so much fun.
In her book, Taylor highlights our overuse of the dark/light (often polarizing) binary we rely on to illustrate the good vs. bad situations we face. She writes, “Christian teaching thrives on dividing reality into opposite pairs: good/evil, church/world, spirit/flesh, sacred/profane, light/dark. In every case, the language of opposition works by placing half of reality closer to God and the other half farther away.” She concludes, “I have learned things in the dark that I could never have learned in the light, things that have saved my life over and over again so that there is really only one logical conclusion. I need darkness as much as I need light.”[1]
When sharing the details of her caving story, she uses the experience of entering the physical darkness as a metaphor for diving head first into the well of our own stories—namely, our fears. Fears of what lurk in the dark shadowy streets at night, the creatures that howl, the predators that prey on the innocent, fears that seem to fade away when the dark gives way to light.
While Caving, Taylor travels with experienced spelunkers Rockwell and Marrion deep into the pitch-black darkness of a West Virginia cave where she describes an impenetrable darkness, where your hand is not visible 2 inches in front of your face, where even your mind, though well-rehearsed at illuminating the path, cannot transform the physical space into to a known, comfortable arena. And so her guide instructs her to stop and sit down.
Learning to walk in the dark can be scary.
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On this third Sunday of Advent, we find a young Jewish teenage girl on the precipice of spelunking headfirst into the deep, dark abyss of a cavern hidden somewhere between the sheets of innocence and the anger of absurdity—she is suddenly faced with navigating the underbelly of the only world she has ever known. Where trust turns to terror, time seems to slip away as quickly as daylight. Her upcoming marriage? Her family? Her reputation and livelihood all hang in the balance between the midnight cock crowing and the sunlight exposure that will surely come in the morning. A once romantic fairytale of two lovers planning a wedding turns into a bitter nightmare of scandal and ruin. Mary is at the foot of the cave, and all she can see is darkness.
The silence of impossibility encroached upon her so swiftly, the blinding lights so suddenly as if sent to shudder her into violent silence before she could find her footing. While looking up and around as darkness paled in the wake of this bright night of mystery, a voice spoke, “Do not fear, Mary…”
Mary, also called Theotokos, the bearer of God[2], the one who birthed light into the darkness, found these words of praise upon her lips (Mary’s song, Mary’s Magnificat, not because they came so easily, not because they were her words at all, but because she knew she did not walk this path alone. Mary was versed in the history of her people and the power of sacred texts as stories that live in the bones of our realities, known deeply by her memory. She opens her mouth and sings Hannah’s song, like a vessel bursting forth, pouring pounds of oil into empty lamps–light shines in the darkness.
Not only was a guide sent to comfort her amid the sudden terror she surely experienced at Gabriel’s appearance and shocking message, but the spirit guide carried with them stories of pain and power, of embodied hope and courageous faith born by many other women who had come before Mary, suffering, fighting, serving and saving God’s people one birthing stool at a time. Mary was not alone as she stood at the entrance of the cave.
The voice of the one crying out in the desert, the Hebrew Egyptian slaves whose lamenting chants speak not of a promised land but a deliverance from bondage, Rebekah and Sarah, Hannah and Rachel, Hagar, Zilpah, Bilhah, women whose voices were silenced and bodies scarred.[3] Renowned womanist theologian and Hebrew scholar Dr. Wil Gaffney of Brite Div. School implores us to ask difficult and yet necessary questions of our sacred texts, including this one.
It is in this moment between “this is what you will do, what will happen to and in your body,” and submission to what she accepts as God’s will that I ask, Does Mary have a choice here? The narrative and world that produced it may well say no.
Yet, in a world that did not necessarily recognize her sole ownership of her body and did not understand our notions of consent, this very young woman had the dignity, courage, and temerity to question a messenger of the Living God about what would happen to her body before giving her consent. That is important. That gets lost when we rush to her capitulation. Before Mary said, “Yes” (before we have her singing as if in utter bliss), she said, “Wait a minute, explain this to me.”[4]
Church, Before we can understand how to take this good news born unto us as light in the dark, before we can receive it and carry the power of this baby born to Mary to redeem the world’s suffering, as a guide to us as we learn to walk in the dark, we must understand the significance of Mary’s choice here.
The late Gloria Jean Watkins, better known by her pen name Bell Hooks, was one of the world’s leading intellectuals who published over 40 books in her lifetime; the New York Times describes, “her incisive, wide-ranging writing on gender and race helped push feminism beyond its white, middle-class worldview to include the voices of Black and working-class women, wrote: “If any female feels she need anything beyond herself to legitimate and validate her existence, she is already giving away her power to be self-defining, her agency.”[5]
Perhaps one of the most missed truths in the explanation of the gospel is that Jesus, born to save and liberate, to set the world free– from sin and death, is in the pre-tex. Without choice, there is no freedom; without liberation, there is only power and coercion.
Standing in the dark, Mary breathes in the deep suffering-born wisdom of her sisters, and song bursts from her lips—a HOPE from deep within the DNA of her spirit that compels her to take the next faithful step, an insult to injustice— she decides for herself. Demanding an explanation, “How can this be?” she discerns and finds the power within her, saying, “Here I am. Let it be…” Rather than be paralyzed by the scandalous story awaiting her the next day, she claims her agency, empowers herself, and chooses to be the mother of God—rather than a slave of man.
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These stories of Mary, the “mother of God,” of women– told and untold — have shaped and continue to shape us. Rev. Kinman calls us to see them as “part of a common narrative about the usability and disposability of human life” of those not recognized in the dust of Adam but Adama.”[6] The dehumanization of one group of people is a small step to dehumanizing another, so our narrative of usability and disposability, of progress on the backs of the untouchables expands to include people of color and people living in poverty, and LGBTQ persons, children, pregnant mothers of skin hues deep black and brown, double kissed by the sun.
There is a painfully beautiful, dissonant, and harmonious melody to these songs of lament, Hannah and Mary’s praise. Their stories remind us not to resist following those who have either been silenced or further exploited, for political or social gain, into the darkness where there and only there can the light of God’s rebirth transform a creation waiting to be re-born.
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Learning to Walk in the Dark can be traumatizing without a guide. When my Dad first said we were going to visit some cave in the middle of Kentucky and walk across an absurdly long suspension bridge (that means hanging over the deep, dark abyss), I, who feared “heights” tremendously as a child, wanted to smile and say “no thanks!”, but my Dad was so excited to take us and, of course, Sage and Quinn, were jazzed, so off we went.
Yes, It was dark. Yes, it was scary, and No, I don’t want to do it again. Still, there is something so powerful about facing the darkness head-on and willing yourself to take another step forward – even though you can’t see what’s on the other side, you are the only one, at that moment, who can choose to either take another step or to turn back. It’s ALL up to you. However, knowing you’re not alone makes all the difference.
I only found the courage to take those steps because my Dad was with me every step, guiding me with his gentle voice, speaking into the darkness, “Do not fear…..”
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Many of us find ourselves in similar positions: Standing at the entrance to the cave, facing difficult decisions. We won’t parent the next deity, but these moments can feel as heavy as carrying the whole world on our shoulders. Facing fears, possibilities, exciting opportunities, and scary life changes, we are not sure what awaits us on the other side. Maybe, like Mary, you know your world will turn upside down when you step out of the darkness into the light.
In these moments, we are so aware of darkness so vast it can swallow both our past and present and though we long to move forward, we’re scared. So how do we respond to uncertainly, fear, a brokenness that is welling up as a pregnant belly, not only within the hidden caves of our souls but in our collective humanity, a Creation that our Mother God spoke into life from the same cloth by which she means to save it? A babe lying in swaddling clothes.
Perhaps, like Barbara Brown Taylor, it is time to sit down.
Taylor describes the silence of sitting in the dark cave as unnerving yet exhilarating, as she is more fully aware of coming into a relationship with herself and the fullness of her senses. But what this new awareness and possibility ultimately depended on—in that cave, & today is the acceptance of truth. What is there in the light sits quietly, still in the dark. Women’s agency is still being threatened, our bodies are harmed, and choice is not an option for many.
The truth is most people aren’t standing at the foot of a cave “of possibility, with hopes and dreams” just beyond the horizon, but their caves are so cavernous they are lost in the halls of deep despair and suffering…looking for a light to guide their way.
Taylor said she could only choose to let the darkness take her, lead her, and let it seep into the very core of her being because she was not the first person to enter the dark. Though hidden to her eyes, Rockwell and Marrion were sitting 5 feet away, and over time, her eyes adjusted, and they became illumined as they all sat there together, silently, in the expansive realm of the unknown, holding the space—
The real power of this song to liberate Mary and the Mary in all of us is in the shared experiences of those who have walked these dark halls before and are willing to guide others on the path.
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Reflecting on the journey, Taylor said, “As long as you stay on the path, you cannot get lost—in time, maybe, but not in space. The path is circular. The way out is the way in. The path, like the cave, never changes.”[7]
We are standing at the mouth of the cave, peering into the darkness of what is both our collective past and that which beckons us onward to create a new, shared hopeful future. It is up to us to take the next faithful step.
The way out is the way in.
Remember, as Advent people, we are not the first to enter the dark on this eve of new birth. “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it…The true light which enlightens everyone is coming into the world.” Emmanuel, God is with us.
[1] Taylor, B. B. (2015). Learning to walk in the dark: Because god often shows up at night. Canterbury Press.
[2] God-bearer: Mary, mother of god | the word among us. (n.d.-a). https://wau.org/resources/article/re_god-bearer_mary_mother_of_god
[3] University of Denver Digital Commons @ DU. (n.d.-c). https://digitalcommons.du.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=2281&context=etd
[4] WilBiblical scholar in Hebrew and Hebrew Bible: special interest in translation textual plurality, 27, Rev. Dr. S. K. N., & 27, W. N. (2020, November 19). Did mary say “me too”? The Rev. Wil Gafney, Ph.D. | Womanists Wading in the WordTM. https://www.wilgafney.com/2017/11/26/did-mary-say-me-too
[5] Risen, C. (2021, December 15). Bell Hooks, pathbreaking black feminist, dies at 69. The New York Times. https://www.nytimes.com/2021/12/15/books/bell-hooks-dead.html#:~:text=bell%20hooks%2C%20whose%20incisive%2C%20wide,was%20end%2Dstage%20renal%20failure.
[6] Holeman, K. (2017, December 3). When lament is liberation: A sermon for advent one. All Saints Church, Pasadena. https://allsaints-pas.org/when-lament-is-liberation-a-sermon-for-advent-one/
[7] Taylor, B. B. (2015). Learning to walk in the dark: Because god often shows up at night. Canterbury Press.