Night as Bright as Day
O LORD, you examine me and know me.
You know when I sit down and when I get up;
even from far away you understand my motives.
You carefully observe me when I travel or when I lie down to rest;
you are aware of everything I do.
Certainly my tongue does not frame a word
without you, O LORD, being thoroughly aware of it.
You squeeze me in from behind and in front;
you place your hand on me.
Your knowledge is beyond my comprehension;
it is so far beyond me, I am unable to fathom it.
Where can I go to escape your Spirit?
Where can I flee to escape your presence?
If I were to ascend to heaven, you would be there.
If I were to sprawl out in Sheol, there you would be.
If I were to fly away on the wings of the dawn,
and settle down on the other side of the sea,
even there your hand would guide me,
your right hand would grab hold of me.
If I were to say, “Certainly the darkness will cover me,
and the light will turn to night all around me,”
even the darkness is not too dark for you to see,
and the night is as bright as day;
darkness and light are the same to you.
Psalm 139:11-12
We are journeying through Psalm 139. To read the previous reflection, click here.
The world is groaning in the darkness. People are losing hope and compassion, weary of the incessant flood of polytrauma across the globe. No one is immune. Just last month I had a conversation with two teenagers who wanted to know how to care for their souls at a time in history when trauma seems inescapable.
Trauma damages #hope. But there’s a Healer, and the night is as bright as day to Him. Share on XCounselors and psychiatrists have identified a number of ways hope is hurt by the hard things that happen in life, the darkness that seems it will certainly cover us, the light that turns to night without warning.
Learned helplessness is when the brain is trained over time that nothing one does can change the outcome. So the wounded one stops trying to help the wounded world, or themselves.
Hypervigilance is a state of protective super-awareness, always scanning for danger, even when things are going just fine. This is common in those with Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD).
Foreshortened future is a coping mechanism that disallows dreaming and hoping, because the future just might get cut short. Good things won’t last, and planning is useless.
Catastrophizing is when, after trauma, one develops the habit of jumping to the worst possible scenario. The brain is working overtime to protect.
Some trauma survivors develop defensive pessimism. It somehow seems easier to expect a negative outcome than to hope for a good one. It feels safe.
All of these prioritize safety over hope. Every one is the soul’s cry for a Savior.
The Psalmist masterfully weaves the reality of his darkness with the truth of God’s light. Honesty about the darkness is necessary in order to begin the healing journey of seeing. I appreciate his frankness, his credibility. It surely does feel on the night one’s child is fighting for his life that certainly the darkness will cover me if this child dies. It is raw and true that the light turns to night all around the one whose thriving life is stopped by the word cancer. Yes, darkness is real.
But God, the Light!
The darkest dark is not too dark for Him to see. As you lay on your face hopeless, Jesus is holding hope for you, arms spread wide across two rough-hewn wooden beams as the sun refuses to shine on the Son of God, dying.
For Him the night is as bright as the day, because He knows that in three days He defeated the darkness and it cannot overcome His Light.
Resurrection Day is coming, beloved. The darkness simply cannot last.
Dear Lord, there seem to be two realities: the darkness, and You. As I wait for Easter, I wait for Light. You are the Light of the World, and my hope is in You alone. Amen.
Photo by Charles Tyler on Unsplash
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