In our Catholic liturgy, when we pray that same Psalm, we declare that for God “night shines as the day.” Not surprisingly, darkness and light get special attention at this time of year. We’re approaching the shortest day of the year in the northern hemisphere, and we are in the midst of the darkest yet most lit-up season. Many of us travel to work or school in the dark and return home in the dark.

Still, we can’t help but notice that our dark neighborhoods are ablaze with Christmas lights. From the first day of Advent, if not weeks before, yards, walkways, rooftops, trees and bushes are strung with multi-colored lights. Some of our garages have scenes flashing by in a cycle of slides or elaborate LED displays dancing to Christmas music. 

Inside, there is a romantic and familial coziness to sitting in an otherwise darkened living room by the light of a Christmas tree. Amid our Advent readings and hymns, we hear Isaiah’s prophecy, “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light” (9:1). We think of the whole Christmas story and are transported to the world hungering for something more, something lasting, something transcendent. We gift-wrap all our personal hopes and yearnings with our ultimate yearning for everlasting life with God.

This time of year is a mix of darkness and light. We see dimly and can be deceived and misled in the dark. Crimes thrive in darkness, and sins are hidden. At the same time, there is a certain charm to low light — intimate dinners or candlelight penance services, nighttime sidewalks bordered with luminaria, midnight in a backyard with a clear view of the moon and stars. 

Simply said, those of us who believe in God trust that no darkness or evil is invincible and that, as St. Paul declared, all things can work to good for those who love God (Rom 8:28). Even darkness can be transformed into light, and we can find our way. Advent, Christmas and the Christmas season are, then, simultaneous celebrations of darkness and light. 

In the middle of these darkened days, each Dec. 14 we remember a saint who was a master of holy darkness, who suffered persecution and imprisonment, St. John of the Cross. He wrote the classic poem, “The Dark Night of the Soul.” Like the biblical Song of Songs, it recounts a journey in search of the beloved. It narrates a spiritual quest undertaken “In dark when no one knows/When all my house lay long in deep repose.” It relates the possibility of finding the one sought, thanks to the light of desire: “I went without my sight/Without a light to guide/Except the heart that lit me from inside” (from a classic translation of La Noche Oscura del Alma).

What we discover, as people traveling a way of faith (Via Fidelis), is that darkness need not be oppressive and limiting. In the shadow of personal discouragement and pain, recurrent tragedies and what recent popes have called a culture of death, we can find light and life. We can find our own inner heart-light and follow our star, the Star of Bethlehem. 

Christ, our heart-light, helps us to break away from the rough news of these passing days to enjoy simple things, welcome children and decorate our homes in season or out. We can grieve the state of the world and smile with confidence. We know that, because of the Messiah, God-with-Us, evil does not have the last word or the final victory,

Christ tells us that there is always more to our temporal and temporary stories, so we can ease up a bit and look around with love and sing. It was with good reason that St. Paul called the early Christians children of light. As we proceed through the long nights of the present season, we can join St. John of the Cross for a few moments that break through the 24-hour cycle and constraints of our home planet — this pale blue dot in an immense universe. 

St. John says, as he concludes his search, “I let/My cares all fall away/Forgotten in the lilies of that day.” Our “lilies” will be holly berries, pinecones and branches, palmetto fronds, flurries of red, pink and white poinsettias and strings of lights warmly illuminating the faces of those we love.