The Problem of Darkness

Pain is a thing we try to avoid.  I don't particularly like to think about it, and yet it's there all the time -  in the eyes of my friends, in my own heart, and in the lives of everyone around me.  It seems like it would be easier to go on pretending as if it didn't exist at all, and run from the darkness at break-neck speed, hoping it never catches up with us.  I have learned that there is a more productive way to approach the problem of darkness, pain, and tragedy, which, as Professor Corrigan suggests in his essay, begins with approaching.  "Facing darkness is not pleasant or socially acceptable, but in this world where darkness is, the integrity of our hope depends on it."  Hope - what is that?  The kind of hope I'm thinking of I can't describe well in words.  I was displeased with the definitions I found on the internet, except for one, which comes fairly close: "hope against hope, to continue to hope, although the outlook does not warrant it."  Webster's 1828 American Dictionary of The English Language contained a few which I liked, "To desire with expectation of good, or a belief that it may be obtained," "To place confidence in; to trust in with confident expectation of good."  But my favorite is listed as not in use: "A sloping plain between ridges of mountains."  The hope is what connects two separate things together: sort of like our temporary life on earth, and Heaven.  But you can't arrive at hope, according to this definition, without climbing first.  In the same way, we cannot know the kind of hope God wants us to until we process, or "deal" with pain - and we cannot deal with it if we aren't willing even to turn around and look at it.  I have noticed that most of the encouraging Bible verses that I love all have to do with pain or problems.  "You have delivered my being from the depths of the grave," "You have turned my mourning into dancing," "Why are you downcast, my soul?  Why are you disquieted within me?  Hope in God..."  The Psalmist couldn't have praised God for deliverance if there had been nothing to deliver him from.  He now experiences and knows God in a new and deeper way than he would have if he had pretended there wasn't a problem.  As Professor Corrigan suggests, the point of processing darkness is not to meditate on the darkness itself, it is to open ourselves to healing, repentance, and a more "real" outlook on life.  "Real" is both immense suffering, and understanding that God is with us in the suffering, and that the suffering itself is temporary.  It's realizing problems in our society, while being able to reach others more significantly.  It's understanding that what we see with our physical eyes is only one plane of life, and there's another one we don't comprehend.  Real is that I'm tired and I have a lot to do, and there are angels in my room watching me blog.  Perhaps if we stop running, and turn around to face pain and suffering, we won't find a scary monster chasing us after all, but the face of our Savior, holding out His hand and gently asking us to walk up the mountain with Him.  

                  I think this piece is very important.  I think of it when I pray about these subjects.  This man's interpretation is especially significant to me.  He doesn't seem as if to say, "This piece is so famous!  Look at me!" but rather, "Listen carefully."  He savors every phrase as if it's a kind of prayer full of mixed feelings.  The beginning, climax, and resolution make me think of this process.