What to do in the Darkness
A "FIRESTARTER"
Spiritual Essay by Rev. Dr. Benjamin Berinti, C.Pp.S.
I
find that I often return to stories in my reflections that were born during my
days in college ministry. Certainly, having spent the first 12 years of my
priesthood in this setting makes for “good reason” to return there. After
all, these experiences were a big portion of my life, and my earliest, most
formative impressions as a priest (and I am deeply thankful for that
“formation”). Aside from that, while at times quite challenging and
draining, my teaching and mentoring of college students, and the relationships
that formed during those days, were quite frankly incredibly fun and enjoyable.
Those of you who have raised college-age men and women known the “adventure”
they can bring into one’s life! No matter how often I flip the scrapbook
pages and journey back in memory to the faces and places that populated my life
during those energetic years, long-forgotten “photos” suddenly appear. And
once again, I am drawn into the joys and sorrows, the triumphs and failures, the
loves lost and gained that were so much a part of those years. To say that
my life was “full” back then is quite an understatement!
While ministering at Saint Xavier University, on
Chicago’s southwest side, amongst my many responsibilities was the care of the
residents of Pacelli Hall. When I moved on to campus as a residence hall
director/mentor, the University was beginning a period in its history of
sustained growth. After years of dormancy, Pacelli had been “reclaimed” as
a student residence hall because of the increase in residential, traditional age
students. While the refurbishing was relatively successful, Pacelli Hall
was fundamentally a 1960’s facility masquerading as “modern” campus living
quarters.
Numerous quirks in the building made for an interesting first year of life
there, but one common occurrence that I recently brought to mind was our
all-too-frequent power outages! Like most campus residences of its
“original” day, it was not electrically equipped for today’s college student.
A singular wall outlet hardly provides the amperage needed by your average
electronically-indulged campus resident! Laptops and coffee makers alone,
plugged into the same outlet, spurred brownouts on a continuous basis. I
think now, if I had a dollar for every time I had to throw a breaker switch
(since I alone held the keys) in that building over the course of three years,
my retirement cottage on Longboat Key would surely be secured by now!
Compressing all those high energy needs together, Pacelli Hall, and its
residents, were no strangers to darkness.
And
what an interesting set of dynamics in living did this create. In a
place that is primarily meant for “living”…what does one do “in the darkness”?
What I recall most vividly now is this: despite the danger and obstacles to
wandering around through impenetrable darkness in a three-story building with
135 residents, people insisted on leaving the solitude of their rooms—and coming
together. Darkness had a way of piercing the usual isolation with which
many dorm residents wrapped themselves (unless, of course, there was a big
“kegger” going on) and created more community than the best laid plans of every
college activity director or resident assistant I had ever known. While we
spent a good deal of time and energy trying to create ways and means for the
students to share and interact with each other, most of which were modestly
successful, there was nothing like a good power outage to move them, uncoerced,
outside their little enclaves, and into a joyous, energetic and pulsating
community.
As
I contemplate the darkness of our world, the diminished light that overcomes so
many people I encounter in my ministry, and the shadows that fall across my own
personal life, I think I know the answer to the question, “What does one do
in the darkness”? Simply, one seeks out others. The darkness is
not to be endured alone. Perhaps as the darkness, whatever its source may
be in our lives, falls over us, creeps into our hearts, blinds the light from
our eyes, we finally realize that we are made for each other. In the
darkness, perhaps we hear more clearly the words of our Creator: “It is not
good for people to be alone.” What does one do in the darkness?
One tentatively, yet determinedly reaches out for someone else. In the
darkness, we try to find our way to one another, and we kindle the light of
community, of communion.
In these Lenten days, we contemplate
the darkness of sin and the pains it brings to humanity. While we
contemplate the horrid “terror” that persons throughout the world are
bringing into the lives of innocent people through bombs and guns and war, we
also know the equally frightening “terror” that occurs every day in homes
and office and playgrounds and classrooms through abuse, manipulation, threats,
infidelity, and power struggles.
And
what do we do in this darkness? As Lenten pilgrims, finding our way to the
font of life, we hopefully find our way to one another. Ultimately, the
Lenten pilgrimage, in which we bind ourselves more closely to the God who
fashioned us from the dust of the earth, and to God’s Son, who shed his precious
blood for us, is not about “ME” (and my fasting, prayer and
almsgiving)—but rather, the pilgrimage is about “US”—about finding our
way back to one another, to the Body of Christ which we are.
In
this brief, but beautiful poem, I believe Marilyn Chandler McEntyre offers some
gentle and wise instruction for tending the darkness:
Go slowly
Consent to it
But don’t wallow in it
Know it as a place of germination
And growth
Remember the light
Take an outstretched hand if you find one
Exercise unused senses
Find the path by walking it
Practice trust
Watch for dawn
(“What to do in the darkness,” in Weavings, March-April 2004)
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