December 2, 2002
CYBERCOLUMN:
Of caves and Christians
___By John Duncan
___I am sitting here under the old oak tree, thinking about caves. A perfect sunset hand-placed by God hangs on the western horizon. Magenta, orange, purple and blue mix together to form a picturesque sky as if hand-painted by the Master Artist himself. The sun sets low, and caves come to mind. Oh, and it's almost Christmas!
___In the days of my youth, o
ur family traveled to my father's homeplace in the mountains of North Carolina. One evening, as was our custom, we met Donald and his boys for a Jeep ride up the rugged mountains. We stopped at Chestnut Flat, a huge cavernous hole in the side of a rock. We walked in the cave and felt mother earth sending a chill in the cool, musty cave. A small pond sat back in the cave, where waters chilled a watermelon placed earlier in the day for our devouring in that moment. We sat around and picnicked in a cave. Of all the things I remember and forget, why do I remember this as if it happened yesterday? Cold watermelon in a chilled cave!
___On another occasion, we trafficked the mountains and stopped at what appeared to be a hole in the ground just big enough to fit a body through. The Jeep stopped. Old Donald turned off the lights. He loved to scare my mother like "boo!" in the night. Darkness pierced the night. An eeriness hovered for a moment. Crickets chirped. Junebugs buzzed. Some bug noised in the distance, a long, drawn-out whine in the darkness. Where was the light?
___ Donald turned on a flashlight, dropped us one by one into the cave, and led us by light through the cave. Might we get lost? Do you know the way out? Where are we? Where are you? Suddenly, with a chuckle, old Donald turned off the light. Darkness blackened the night. Who's there? Should I try to grab a hand? Whose hand? Can someone get me out of this dark, claustrophobic cave? The night clamored for light. Where was the light?
___ Old Donald turned on the light, and before long, we were out of the cave, back in the Jeep with the headlights on, driving down the steeply sloped mountain to home. Of all the things I remember and forget, why do I remember the steep slope? The Jeep headlights shining on the ground and the ground with stone shining like glitter on the kitchen floor? Why can I not forget the eeriness of darkness? Caves and dirt with glitter and flashlights turned off!
___ Oh, it's almost Christmas. Am I, like you, thinking of loved ones long since gone to glory? Those precious memories lingering in the brain, hanging around long enough to create a little nostalgia and cheer time memories in the middle years of life? After all, Christmas, for all its joy, pushes up old mind meanderings of both sadness and happiness like daisies popping up in an open field.
___ Oh, it's almost Christmas. Darkness pierces the night. In Afghanistan, soldier boys and girls huddle in cold tents waiting for what's next. In the Middle East, sophisticated high-technology tanks wired like Gameboys prepare for battle. At airports in big cities like Dallas, government security guards remind us of terror. How strange they peek in purses and backpacks for tweezers and fingernail clippers when scud missiles wait in the lurch. And in our town, a lady was found in her front yard, murdered, but no one seems to know why.
___Life's question lingers: Why? Why does anybody anywhere die? Darkness drapes the world with an eeriness like flashlights turned off in a black cave beneath the earth's surface in the mountains. Why do mountain people always call it "the mountains?" Do these mountains have a name? Hey, do you need a hand in the darkness?
___ Oh, it's almost Christmas. In a cave in Bethlehem, also known as a stable in which stinky animals and camels and goats and sheep and hay and refuse and an awful smell like the one in your barn right now, in a cave Jesus entered the world. C.S. Lewis called this birth of Jesus the "Grand Miracle." Fourth century golden-mouthed preacher John Chrysostom called it "the mystery." Jesuit priest Alfred Delp called it "the shaking reality of Advent," speaking of golden threads connecting heaven and earth and a golden seed which should shake our lives up. German theologian Dietrich Bonhoeffer called it "the coming of Jesus in our midst," adding, "The coming of God is truly not only glad tidings, but first of all frightening news for everyone who has a conscience." That Bonhoeffer, he can scare you like a loud "boo!" in the dark, but he always got around to the good news and glad tidings of the gospel. He journeyed the darkness to get to the Light.
___ Oh, it's almost Christmas. A season of shopping and parties, of bows and Christmas trees, and lights, like the ones people string on houses like they do on our street to get rid of the darkness.
___And so, I am thinking of caves and Christmas, of watermelon and decorated Christmas cookies, of Jeep rides and house lights, of flashlights and a babe crying in a cave, of crickets chirping and pitch-black darkness, "the mountains" and Bethlehem, and for the life of me I cannot move my mind off of the glad tidings of Light.
___The people who have walked in darkness have seen a great Light (Isaiah 9:2). And I'm glad to say to you right here and right now that for all Jesus' coming, he came to deliver Light and to give you a hand in the darkness. Oh, it's almost Christmas!
___John Duncan is pastor of Lakeside Baptist Church in Granbury, Texas, and the writer of numerous articles in various journals and magazines.
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