Music in the dark
I step outside in the dark of predawn. Sunrise is still well over an hour away, and yet as I step out and look up in wonder at the star filled sky – a black canvas dotted with billions of pinholes of light – the music of morning plays all around me, and yet, it is still dark. Birds are beginning to stir and chatter in the trees, joyfully ringing in the morning long before dawn. Their music floods me with memories of camping trips and children sleeping outside on summer nights and countless trips to the barn before dawn to milk and tend to baby goats. Yet even in the busyness of those seasons – and in the busyness of this one – I would often pause for just a moment to listen and wonder how the birds knew that dawn was near.
I know I am not alone in my wondering because one of my favorite authors has also written about that predawn music with words that could have only come from experience. Marilynne Robinson in her book, Lila, writes, “She could hear the birds singing. What is it they know when the sky is still dark?” (Robinson, 2014)
Yes, what is it they know? I have wondered that too. How do they know dawn is coming? Most of them do not chatter all night, but sleep quietly in the trees, so how do they know to start singing almost an hour before the grey light of morning begins to creep up the eastern horizon? I’m obviously no bird expert, but perhaps they don’t know. Perhaps their bodies just sense how long they must sleep to give strength for the day. Perhaps the simple rhythms of their life so attune them to the world around them that they need no alarms to know that night will soon pass.
Can we sing in the dark?
When heartache and vexing trials disrupt our sleep and our inner peace, we may remind ourselves that ‘this too shall pass’, and most trials are only temporary. But sometimes the reminder seems trite when night seems to have lingered long and the heart feels as though it has forgotten the colors of sunrise. Sometimes grief feels endless and some trials have no simple answers or easy solutions. But for most of us, heartache does fade and dark nights of the soul do end. So how can we know when dawn is near and the heavy burdens of life will lighten – at least for a season? Perhaps like the birds, we don’t know, but I’m wondering, can we sing in the dawn even while it is still dark?
More than a decade ago, a friend introduced me to Timothy Keller, and I began to listen to his sermons online. In one of those early sermons that I listened to, Tim said, “we should preach the gospel to ourselves.” He used the example of the psalmist in Psalm 42 and 43. Those verses became my own prayer, particularly 42:5 which is repeated in verse 11 and in 43:5.
Why are you cast down, O my soul? And why are you disquieted within me? Hope in God; For I shall yet praise Him, The help of my countenance and my God.
As I linger here for a moment, I am reminded of this verse and I preach it once more to myself. As I whisper the words, I look up again at the star filled sky and I am once more awed by its beauty. There are some things, some moments, that are more beautiful in the dark and, like the stars, are forgotten in the warm light of day.
Trust that Dawn will come
Standing here, I am aware of a light breeze keeps the mosquitos at bay while it carries the smell of damp earth and cedar trees. It is summer, a season of long days and short nights, a season I dearly love, and I know that when the sun does rise it will shine its bright rays though the leafy shade of trees and bring light to a profusion of roses, four-o-clocks, and an array of potted flowers.
I remind myself that summer is a season of growth and renewal. So as I listen to the songs of the birds, I allow my heart to sing with praise for this moment in the dark. This does not diminish the dark, it is still dark, but I know that in seasons of disappointment, grief, or sorrow, there can be moments of peace and joy, and they become sweeter or sometimes bittersweet because of the pain. I also know from past experiences that just because circumstances do not change and disappointment and grief still remain, they do not hold back the dawn. Morning still comes. And surprisingly, just as a 24 hour day holds both day and night, so our hearts are also able to hold both, sometimes in the same moment.
So as the eastern sky begins to lighten, I let my heart tune in once more to the bird songs around me. Perhaps this is their secret: they simply trust that dawn will come. And so, like the birds, I too trust that dawn will come.
For our light and momentary affliction is producing for us an eternal weight of glory that is far beyond comparison. ~ 2 Corinthians 4:17 Berean standard Bible
A Note in memory of Timothy Keller
Having been raised in the church, I knew well Ephesians 2:8, but it wasn’t until I began to listen to those sermons on the gospel coalition website that the truth of that message really began to bury itself in my heart. Through the sermons of Tim Keller, the Holy Spirit began to stir in my heart. Hearing the message of the gospel over and over in every sermon, Tim’s words, “The gospel says you are simultaneously more sinful and flawed than you ever dared believe, yet more loved and accepted than you ever dared hope” gave me the courage to truly look at my sin and admit to myself the boundless depths of it. This look at my own sin exponentially expanded my understanding of grace and love, and changed my life in ways I could have never imagined.
I am eternally grateful to Tim Keller, and I pray that all who mourn his death will be comforted by the words he left behind.