Voices in the Dark
We can all probably remember a time when we were afraid of
the dark. When our fear populated the shadows with mysterious, menacing figures.
When it rendered the groaning of the wind or the creaking of an old house into
the sounds of something more sinister. Without light to disprove its
suggestions, fear can dominate the dark.
But perhaps we have other memories of the dark. I certainly do.
I can remember as a child hearing the whispered voices of my parents as they prayed right before bed. I couldn’t hear all the words, but I heard the soft music of their blessing, and I felt peace in the faith that I was not alone.
I can remember as a child listening to the snow fall in the dark of the night. To be able to hear the snow is a surprising thing. It felt to me like being tucked into bed by God himself. I can remember as a child hearing other noises in the dark, like the hoot of an owl, or the chorus of cicadas. I can remember feeling like the world was alive, a living, breathing thing—and how great it is to be a part of it.
I can remember as a child visiting family out of town, and my brother and I would share the same room at night. I can remember talking to him after the lights went out. I don’t remember many of our conversations, but I do remember the delight I felt in being able to talk with him in the dark. We could talk about things in a way we could not talk in the light, sharing doubts and fears, joys and hopes.
I can remember in college sharing conversation with friends under the stars late at night. I can remember feeling the vastness of the future and feeling comforted not to be alone in facing it.
All of this is to say, if the dark can be a fearful setting, filled with unknown dangers, it can just as well be an intimate setting, filled with wonder and connection.
God’s “Luminous
Darkness”
Today’s scripture presents us with what is commonly known as the “transfiguration” of Jesus. It comes at a crucial juncture in the story. Peter has just declared that Jesus is the messiah (9:18-20). Jesus has responded by anticipating the suffering that he will undergo and inviting his followers to share in his way—to “deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow me” (9:23). He explains: “Those who want to save their life will lose it, and those who lose their life for my sake will save it….[T]ruly I tell you, there are some standing here who will not taste death before they see the kingdom of God” (9:24, 27). It is such a head-scratcher for the disciples, that even when Jesus repeats it a second time in today’s scripture, they do not understand it. Luke says, “[I]ts meaning was concealed from them, so that they could not perceive it” (9:45).
In this context, the transfiguration of Jesus is not a moment when everything suddenly makes sense, when knowledge suddenly becomes complete. On the contrary, the light that reveals Jesus in his glory does not simply illumine but rather “bedazzles”—which, according to Webster’s Dictionary, means “to confuse…as if by a strong light.”[1] This bedazzling or confusing light is no surprise to Gregory of Nyssa, a gentle and compassionate bishop of the fourth century, who would later be called the “Father of [Church] Fathers.” He points out that throughout the Old Testament God regularly appears in a “cloud” or “thick darkness.” So also in today’s transfiguration, where the glory of Christ is overshadowed by a cloud. Gregory of Nyssa explains that the light of God is often experienced as a “luminous darkness,”[2] comparable to the effect of looking at the sun for too long. In other words, the light of God is more than we can take. We experience it as being blinded, as being in darkness. But this darkness is not bad. It does not conceal terrors or harm. It is the darkness of unknowing and wonder, the darkness of intimacy and desire. It is the darkness of relationship, the superabundance of another person that is more than we can comprehend and that fills us with awe and longing. It is the darkness of trusting prayers, the darkness of creation breathing, the darkness of whispered hopes.
To Be Not in
Control…To Be Not Alone
What jumps out to me when I read today’s scripture is God’s absence. Did you notice? Technically speaking, God does not make an appearance in today’s scripture. “From the cloud came a voice”—but Luke never identifies this voice with God.
Now, I don’t for a second think we’re meant to identify the voice with anyone else. But I do wonder if the anonymity of the voice is not intentional. Could this not be an honest nod toward the mystery of God, an acknowledgment that God is often encountered not as a matter of certainty or knowledge but rather as a matter of trust, a matter of honest desire, a matter of awe and wonder, when it can only be we and no one else who name the encounter as an encounter with God?
Indeed, is not the mystery of God the mystery of relationship itself, in which we know another person intimately but never completely, because if we did there would be no space for love and wonder; our interactions would be like the functions of a math equation or the code of a lifeless computer program. “From the cloud came a voice” signals the mystery of God, in which there is always more than we know. And knowledge isn’t the point anyway. Relationship is the point.
I think back to all the voices I can remember hearing in the dark. My parents praying, the snow falling, my brother and I sharing our hearts, college friends confessing the unknown. “From the cloud came a voice”—which is to say, from darkness came not certainty or knowledge, but the invitation of relationship. From darkness came the invitation to be not in control but also to be not alone. From darkness came intimacy and trust.
From the Revelation
of Christ to the Mystery of Christ
Is it a coincidence that Paul regularly talks about the mystery of Christ, that he treats Christ not as an equation of knowledge but as a living miracle of intimacy and wonder? Is it a coincidence that he regularly relegates knowledge in relation to the virtues of faith, such as peace and love. He says to the Philippians, for example, that “the peace of God…surpasses all understanding [or knowledge]” (Phil 4:7). He prays for the Colossians that they would “know the love of Christ that surpasses knowledge” (Eph 3:19).
Today, Transfiguration Sunday, serves as a sort of pivot between Epiphany and Lent. It signals a transition from the revelation of Christ to the mystery of Christ. As we move toward Lent, we move from our confession of Christ to his confounding way. We enter a sort of darkness, a cloud of unknowing. But this darkness need not be a symbol of terror. It may be a symbol of intimacy. We enter the change and growth of relationship, where the point is not understanding but a peace that overshadows it, where the point is not knowledge but a love that eclipses it. We enter into the darkness of prayers, whispered hopes and fears, creation murmuring with life untold. We enter into the darkness of God.
Response
Before concluding, I would like to invite your response—only if you feel so inclined. There are grey slips of paper and pencils in the pews, and if you do write a response, you may decide for yourself whether you’d like to include your name or remain anonymous. (If you write your name, please know that I would still check with you before ever sharing your response with others.)
The question I’d like to ask is this: Have you ever encountered God as a voice in the dark? What happened? How did it affect or change you?
I’m going to set aside three minutes for us to ponder and perhaps respond. You may also take this time simply to rest in the quiet and pray.
Prayer
Whose peace we cannot understand,
Whose love we cannot grasp—
Teach us in darkness
To live not by our own plans and expectations,
But by trust in you,
In the way of Jesus Christ.
Grant us courage to leave mountaintop moments
And to follow you on the way of the cross.
In Christ, your voice in the dark: Amen.
[1] https://www.merriam-webster.com/dictionary/bedazzle,
accessed February 24, 2025.
[2] Life of Moses, 2.162-166.
See “Gregory of Nyssa: Moses Entered into the Darkness and There He Saw
God,” https://enlargingtheheart.wordpress.com/2012/03/11/gregory-of-nyssa-moses-entered-into-the-darkness-and-there-he-saw-god/,
accessed August 19, 2016.
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