Darkness

Everything new starts in darkness. The Old Testament starts with darkness, and the last of the Gospels leaves us there too.

“Darkness was upon the face of the deep,” Genesis says. That’s how it all began—nothing but darkness; the earth was formless and void.

In the Gospel of John, the disciples are out fishing on the Sea of Tiberias. It’s night. They’re not catching anything—empty nets, empty hopes. Then, they notice someone on the shore. It’s too dark to see who it is at first. But it’s Jesus.

In Genesis, the darkness is shattered by God’s majesty, speaking creation into being. “Let there be light!” And that’s all it took. There was light.

In John, the darkness is pierced not by a grand voice or gesture but by the flicker of a small charcoal fire on the beach. Jesus is there, quietly cooking breakfast for his friends. The first faint traces of the sunrise are starting to show on the horizon.

Both moments—God creating light from nothing and Jesus making a simple meal for his friends—capture the full scope of God’s power and tenderness. They reveal what Saint Paul calls the “foolishness of God.”

The creation of light itself is almost too overwhelming to grasp. And the little cookout on the beach? It's so ordinary that it’s almost too easy to overlook. But both moments carry enormous weight and still do today. Only saints or visionaries can begin to comprehend God setting the sun on fire in the sky. So God meets us in another way—by shielding a tiny flame with his hands, just enough to cook breakfast. It’s not your interest in cosmology or theology that brings you to that fire. It’s the empty feeling in your stomach, knowing you're hungry for something that fills you, sustains you, and embraces you. It’s also darkness that draws us to the light.

You don’t need to understand anything complicated. All that’s asked of you is to take a step or two forward through the darkness and further into light.

Dig deep…keep going.