When the going gets tough, the tough go shopping.
Or, they go out to eat.
Or out to drink.

When the road gets dark and narrow and we can no longer see where are, we lighten things up with a new shirt, a nice meal, or a binge at the bars. These things can lighten our hearts and provide a flicker of joy - before the Reality Check Repo Man comes - and the darkness we’re so trying to avoid, inevitably descends.

The shadows many of us find ourselves in are cast by mountains of bad decisions, forests of broken relationships, skyscrapers of worry, and glaciers of dashed dreams and repressed self-realizations: is this all there is?

We long to be among those mentioned in this Sunday’s Gospel who have had an amazing encounter: “The people who sat in darkness have seen a great light, 
and for those who sat in the region and shadow of death, light has dawned."

In Matthew 4, Jesus had just been baptized, spent 40 days in the desert, and heard his forerunner had been arrested - all this, effectively paving the way for the initiation of his ministry now, for the first time, revealed: to bring light to dark places – which are still around today. For we often find ourselves in the dark. Whether we walked there, were led there, or simply woke up there.

Matthew seems to say that the end to our darkness is at hand – we no longer need linger because the light that chases away the dark is here. The light that reveals who we really are; beloved, cherished, valuable, even invaluable. This light longs to envelop us in promises of the reality of love and assurance – that there is no room dark enough, no shadow big enough, no night long enough to keep away the light.

No matter what the source of our darkness, it cannot, it will not persist. That dense blanket of sadness, gloom, and despondency is not permanent. The night tremors and hopeless insomnia will pass – not because of what we do, but of who we are, a people called out of darkness into a marvelous light.

Reading
Not Your Parents Offering Plate – Clif Christopher
Crush It! – Gary Vanyerchuk
The Liturgical Year – Joan Chittister