Delight in Darkness

What was the last thing that really brought you delight?

For me, it was discovering an ancient pear tree a couple of weeks ago in the midst of a thicket of vines and sumac and gray dogwood.  Its branches were mostly bare and some of them looked dead, but way up high there was still some fruit for the birds to enjoy.  I imagined the tree in bloom in the spring and felt delight welling up inside.

As Thanksgiving approaches, yet another family-based holiday that will be spent without my extended family, I have been considering that spiritual practice in difficult times is often about negotiating opposing energies.  On the one hand, I am honoring the truth of what is real in this moment, and on the other, I am working on cultivating desirable inner states.  My heart is closed, but I want to be more open.  I am grateful but I also am sad.  I want to engage in more spiritual practice, and sometimes I am also so exhausted just taking care of what needs to get done!  This is how I am feeling and that is the state of mind I would like to inhabit.  What to do?

Fortunately, Chanukah is around the corner.  It has often been observed that we celebrate the Festival of Lights at the darkest time of both the solar year and the lunar month.  When Chanukah begins, there is no moon to be seen in the nighttime sky.  But as the light of the candles grows from day to day, so does the light of moon, making her lovely but shy appearance on the western horizon on Rosh Chodesh Tevet, the sixth day of Chanukah.  And by the time we light the eighth candle, the moonlight is unmistakable.  Light kindles light!

But Chanukah is not about vanquishing the darkness.  The light of Chanukah is not a bonfire.  It’s not even a torch.  The candles we light are very small against the night.  They burn for an hour and then go out, leaving the darkness that is still very real and will still last for a long time.

So instead of thinking about the light of Chanukah as a charge to fight against the darkness, what if we look at it as a way of reminding us about delight?  Seeing the candles flicker against the backdrop of the night is so marvelous.  It occurs to me that part of what actually makes it so delightful is the unlikely juxtaposition, just like the almost dead pear tree bearing fruit among the shrubs of the woods. 

One day, God willing, perhaps even next year, we will be able to gather with all our loved ones for Thanksgiving and for Chanukah.  The pandemic will subside and we can get back to work, weaving anew the frayed fabric of our country and healing our rapidly heating world.  But for now, we have an invitation to experience delight, that respects – but doesn’t give in to – the difficulties that surround it.