Evil loves the darkness.

Predators lurk in shadows, luring victims into basements. Narrow alleys conceal misery from the bustling steps of progress. Televisions flicker in dark, lonely rooms; their isolated occupants desperately seeking comfort from their sitcom character friends.

The shame of our own souls crave the secrecy and privacy that empowers them.

Mourners wear black–symbolizing both their emotion and the evil that ushered in the darkness. A family close to me will always mourn the little girl they lost in the tragic darkness of cars crashing in the night. That same shroud has recently covered the community I’m now growing to call home.

It was dark the night my mother died–it was black with a darkness that burned out the light.

Like the darkness that choked the world the night Jesus died. That foreboding darkness can still be sensed, even when reading the story from a children’s Bible as I did to Drew years ago. The drawings were singed in scarlets and ominous clouds–colors carrying meaning beyond words. My boy was too young to understand words like atonement, mercy, justice, and evil. But he understood we were reading evil. He understood that evil loves darkness!

And, as we always do when reading that story, we continued without pausing to what comes next. As we turned the pages to angels and gardens, Saviors and maidens, my precious little boy gazed up and me with a eyes full of light and heart ablaze and exclaimed–


The darkness is gone indeed.

We may find ourselves joining the groans of creation, we may feel enveloped by the darkness that threatens to drown out light itself. But may we always remember God in a manger. May we never forget our Creator on a cross.

May we never forget the powerful truth grasped by a child; the rising Son has chased away the darkness.

The advent of hope has dawned. And so we HOPE. We hope because of the shards of light that have already pierced our heart. We hope because of the Kingdom that has come, and is coming, with the inexorable power and certainty of each day’s rising sun.

And we hope, even in the midst of present darkness, because of the sure promise that one day will finally be fully fulfilled.

And on that day, the darkness truly





About Tim Owens

I'm a husband, father, and Christ follower. I also live in Albany, NY, where I work as a pastor.
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One Response to Darkness

  1. Pingback: A Week of Hope | inexhaustible significance

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