Getting Lost in the Dark

 

Photo by Lanju Fotografie on Unsplash

Let’s talk about getting lost in the dark.

Way back in the day when I was a young man in high school, I went on a backpacking trip with my friends Ryan and James. We spent the morning driving farther and farther into the wilderness. The highway turned to a road. The road turned to gravel. The gravel road soon became more potholes than road. Finally, after hours and hours, we got to the trailhead. It was just a wide spot in the road with a little wooden sign marking the trail.

We slipped on our backpacks, heavy with all the things we’d need for the weekend like tents and food and sleeping bags. We started hiking. It was a pretty trail lined with trees that wound its way deeper and deeper into the woods and higher and higher into the mountains.

Fast forward several hours. Hot. Sweaty. Tired. A little grumpy. Tired of looking at trees. We finally round a corner, and there it is. The lake. A beautiful, crystal clear pool of water surrounded by tree covered mountain ridges and sheer cliff faces. On one side, a little stream made its way down the mountain back the way we came. On the other side, a little stream trickled into the lake. I dropped my backpack and felt that weightless feeling you get when you finally get to set down a heavy weight after carrying it too long.

This was good. It was time to get a little water from the stream, make dinner, and relax.

“You know, water is better from the source.” That was Ryan. We were at the base of the stream. The sun was dipping behind the ridges above us. I was tired and thirsty and ready to be done for the day.

“What?”

“Yeah. Let’s see if we can find a better spot to get water.” And then he started hiking up the mountain along the edge of the stream.

James and I followed. After a few yards, the plants on the edge of the stream were so dense we had to jump from rock to rock to move from one side to the next.  And so we climbed and climbed and climbed until at last we crested the ridge, looked down the valley beyond, and were struck with wonder. On one side, the ridge dropped away to tree filled valleys and ridges and mountains in the distance. The sky burnt orange and red with the setting sun, and the sky overhead was that deep, velvet blackness you can only get in the wilderness, away from the lights of town.

We pumped our water and started back down. But we didn’t make it far. It was rapidly getting too dark to jump from rock to rock down a stream. We stopped. The world turned black. If you’ve never been in the woods on a moonless night, it can be so dark that you can’t see your hand in front of your face. We knew that going down hill would eventually get us to the lake, but there was a problem. The hill we were on had cliffs in spots. I was getting cold and mentally preparing to spend the night freezing in the brush next to a stream.

And then there was light.

Not much light. A small beam. Tiny in the vastness of the darkness. But it…was…light.

“Guess what I found in my pocket?” That was James.

We did not need to guess. We knew. James found salvation in his pocket. Oh sure, it looked like a penlight. It was the sort of small, pencil-thin kind of flashlight you could forget about in the cargo pocket of hiking pants. But that light was salvation on that cold, dark ridge.

We found a game trail, a trail cut through the bush by the repeated passing of woodland creatures, and made our way slowly down the hillside. We could see the stars reflect on the glass-smooth surface of the lake, but the only part of the trail we could see was the part inside the small circle of light.

Eventually, after nearly walking over a cliff or two, we finally made it back to our camp. We ate cold beanie weenies straight from the can, and they were glorious because we were alive. Because that little light led us down to safety. Because James was prepared.

Photo by BBC Creative on Unsplash

In John 8:12, Jesus says, “I am the light of the world. If you follow me, you won’t have to walk in darkness, because you will have the light that leads to life.” When I hear that verse, I think about that night on that mountain and how a tiny light was enough to lead us to safety.

When people teach that verse, they often use a candle. They light it, hold it up, and say that even the smallest candle can illuminate a dark room. And that’s true. And candles are pretty. But candles are fragile. A small puff of air and… the room is dark again.

Hebrews 12:29 says that our God is a consuming fire. If we’re going to use fire analogies to describe the Lion of Judah, that seems like a better fit than a candle. I have a weed burner. I like to think of it as the love child of a jet engine and a flamethrower. It is, in a very real sense, a consuming fire. It burns away what should not be there. It is a roaring heat that causes its enemies to wither away.

In a world that is full of sin and darkness, it is reassuring to know that Christ is light. That he guides me to safety. And he is a consuming fire. He will burn away the sins of the world. He is gentle and he is fierce. He is loves us. But he is not tame.