Taking hold of light
But the highest minds of the world have never ceased to explore the double meaning, or, shall I say, the quadruple, or the centuple, or much more manifold meaning, of every sensuous fact... (Emerson, The Poet)
"Give him his small comforts," shouted a voice at the top of the stairs, and a red cloth was thrown into the light. The cloth hung suspended for a moment, bright red and glowing, and then the door was slammed shut again and the light disappeared and the cloth fell to the floor.
[...]
"Yes," said Roscuro. "Amen, I am a rat." He closed his eyes. He saw, again, the red cloth spinning against the backdrop of gold.
And he told himself, reader, that it was the cloth that he desired and not the light."
[...]
What a disappointment it was! Looking at it, Roscuro knew that Botticelli was wrong. What Roscuro wanted, what he needed, was not the cloth, but the light that had shone behind it.
He wanted to be filled flooded, blinded again with the light. (DiCamillo, The Tale of Despereaux)
Two weeks ago, as I sat down in an empty pew early on Sunday, I saw that the morning light which had squeezed its way in from the windows on the side of the sanctuary illuminated a spot beside me. Having trained myself to identify various light types, it was clear to me that this is what any photographer would have called "flattering light". Large and diffused, coupled with a slight glow that is unique to early sunlight, the wood backing and seat cushion glowed with warmth and welcome. It seemed to beckon someone to sit there, to be lit up. I had a great, inexplicable desire to touch it and an even greater, more ambitious thought: to take hold of the light itself, so that I could recreate the same effect, evoke the same silent awe and mysterious gravity. But I could not grasp the light any more than I could pick up the pew itself. Even if I had Samson's inhuman strength, I would not have brought the light home--just a piece of furniture.
What a simple enigma!
And what a great and almighty God who has created such a humorous mystery!
Supposing that God Himself were the light, how many times have I (or others) have claimed that the objects which reflected His light are equivalent to God Himself? How great His benefits! How mighty His power! How wondrous His creation! How humble His servants! "If I took them, or had them, then I would have God!" How often we confuse God's promises for God Himself! But He Himself ought to be our reward--and this is given, not procured. In the same way that we cannot control the sun to shine on us, we cannot control God (ha! the very idea!). We can pray, however, that God would shine His light upon us, give us Himself, that we could reflect His glory. It may be that we are as simple as wood or as base as a seat cushion, but beheld in His light, others will stop to marvel. May we then cry out, "Not to us, but to His name be the glory!"
Best Friend: I know you're reading this, because I'll direct you here--so I want to thank you "publicly" (the Internet is perpetually public) for encouraging me to blog again and to actually set this meditation down somewhere. You know the goal--let's see how this goes!
"Give him his small comforts," shouted a voice at the top of the stairs, and a red cloth was thrown into the light. The cloth hung suspended for a moment, bright red and glowing, and then the door was slammed shut again and the light disappeared and the cloth fell to the floor.
[...]
"Yes," said Roscuro. "Amen, I am a rat." He closed his eyes. He saw, again, the red cloth spinning against the backdrop of gold.
And he told himself, reader, that it was the cloth that he desired and not the light."
[...]
What a disappointment it was! Looking at it, Roscuro knew that Botticelli was wrong. What Roscuro wanted, what he needed, was not the cloth, but the light that had shone behind it.
He wanted to be filled flooded, blinded again with the light. (DiCamillo, The Tale of Despereaux)
Two weeks ago, as I sat down in an empty pew early on Sunday, I saw that the morning light which had squeezed its way in from the windows on the side of the sanctuary illuminated a spot beside me. Having trained myself to identify various light types, it was clear to me that this is what any photographer would have called "flattering light". Large and diffused, coupled with a slight glow that is unique to early sunlight, the wood backing and seat cushion glowed with warmth and welcome. It seemed to beckon someone to sit there, to be lit up. I had a great, inexplicable desire to touch it and an even greater, more ambitious thought: to take hold of the light itself, so that I could recreate the same effect, evoke the same silent awe and mysterious gravity. But I could not grasp the light any more than I could pick up the pew itself. Even if I had Samson's inhuman strength, I would not have brought the light home--just a piece of furniture.
What a simple enigma!
And what a great and almighty God who has created such a humorous mystery!
Supposing that God Himself were the light, how many times have I (or others) have claimed that the objects which reflected His light are equivalent to God Himself? How great His benefits! How mighty His power! How wondrous His creation! How humble His servants! "If I took them, or had them, then I would have God!" How often we confuse God's promises for God Himself! But He Himself ought to be our reward--and this is given, not procured. In the same way that we cannot control the sun to shine on us, we cannot control God (ha! the very idea!). We can pray, however, that God would shine His light upon us, give us Himself, that we could reflect His glory. It may be that we are as simple as wood or as base as a seat cushion, but beheld in His light, others will stop to marvel. May we then cry out, "Not to us, but to His name be the glory!"
Best Friend: I know you're reading this, because I'll direct you here--so I want to thank you "publicly" (the Internet is perpetually public) for encouraging me to blog again and to actually set this meditation down somewhere. You know the goal--let's see how this goes!