The cycling of day and night is strangely disturbed in the luminescence of the quiet horizon of the Arctic lake as I witness the two-hour setting of the midnight sun on this new summer morning. I experience surroundings that are supernatural — strangely a mystery to this creature of celestial habit, encompassed by the hush I associate with darkness, now invaded by light.
In the silence I shift my weight against the rough stone on which I’m seated and contemplate the awe-filled certainty that in six months there will be a frigid midnight of blackness, lightened perhaps by the cold reflection of wind-driven snow, the surface of the lake a stonelike desolation in several feet of ice.
We humans struggle for the light of comprehension amid the blackness of despair. The night-fear of childhood becomes an adult reality of apprehension, and we reach for solutions that seemingly defy illumination in spite of the struggle. Perhaps it is faith and perpetual Resurrection light that brings us to the quiet shore of decision and resolution, similar to the Lenten foreboding of lightless Good Friday fading inexorably into the dawn of Easter brilliance.
© 2013 Augsburg Fortress, Publishers