The Limits of Darkness

"It was now about noon, and darkness came over the whole land until about three in the afternoon"--Luke 23:44

What a blessing it is to be able to experience most of history as history. I enjoy a good Renaissance faire as much as the next person, but I'm quite happy to merely be a visitor from the land of flush toilets and dentistry. I am exquisitely grateful that I shall never have to suffer the sack of Rome, or the Bubonic Plague, or World War Two first hand. These sufferings are already defined; limited to a space in history that I can number and name. World War Two lasted from 1939 to 1945, and it always will have those boundaries.

St. Luke must have felt the same relief when he wrote his crucifixion narrative. He did not have to flee the temple guards in the garden of Gethsemane. He did not have to weep at the foot of the cross with the Blessed Mother. He did not huddle in the upper room, wondering what was the point of giving the last three years of his life to a man who was now dead. Luke, being a post-Easter convert, already knew about the happy ending. To him, Good Friday was history that had already been endured by others (Note 1). The boundaries of darkness were defined: noon until three.

We've heard this story so many times that we tend to forget that the first time, it was not history.  They felt as uncertain as we do now.  The disciples had bet their careers, their reputations, their time, their relationships, and their own self-worth on a miracle-working itinerant rabbi in the hopes that he would be the new king of Israel. And now he was dead. What a waste! Where to go next? Did St. James think about going back to his father's fishing boat? Did St. Matthew wonder if he could get his tax collector position back? Did St. Simon think about going back to his guerilla war with the Romans? Did the unnamed "sinful woman" worry she would have to go back to prostitution? Did St. Mary Magdalene wish that the demons would return so at least she wouldn't have to be herself, feeling this grief?

Good Friday had no limits for those who lived it. No answer to the question "what to do next?" except perhaps the tiny God-whisper is every human heart. No final defined time of when it would end. No guarantee when Easter would come. No knowledge that there could be such a thing as an Easter.  (Note 2)

Our present suffering is similar, but not identical. For those of us (all of us) grieving careers, relationships, routines, goals, purpose, rest, work, loved ones, lives, we do not know how long our grief will last, but we do know that it will not last forever.  As I write this, millions of shock troops (in hospitals, research labs, farms, and grocery stores) join the battle to bind the darkness and set its limits.  The length of the battle is unknown, but victory is assured.  Easter will come, perhaps not on the third day or even on the third month, but eventually.  What a blessing to know about Easter. What a relief to know that one day, our suffering will be history.

Christ of Saint John of the Cross by Salvador Dali

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Note 1: Okay, technically the sacrifice of Christ works backwards and forwards throughout all of history, if I understand correctly.  And every Mass is that same sacrifice theologically.  So really it is more than mere history, but that's a reflection for another time.

Note 2: Yes, Jesus told the disciples about Easter, but it's pretty clear they either didn't understand or didn't believe.