Lectio
“You set out to find him who calls you out of nothingness to union with himself. You set out knowing that you must find God, yet the first step leaves you lost. An inner wisdom tells you that ‘to reach him whom you do not know you must go by a way you do not know.’”
— James Finley, Merton’s Palace of Nowhere
Meditatio
So much of the spiritual journey can feel like darkness, like emptiness, like being lost in the wilderness with only a vague sense of where we are going, only a hint of hope, and only a dim, flickering flame in the distance to light our way. This is the walk of faith. This is the wandering toward that which we so often cannot see — the stepping out onto the water, led by a voice we so often cannot hear, consoled by a presence we so often cannot feel — each step testing our faith beyond our ability to hold it alone.
But even when we feel alone in this darkness, uncertain of where we are or where we are going, we are assured by Scripture that we are not the first to walk this way. Abraham, called out of everything familiar, set out on a journey not knowing where he was going. Israel wandered through the wilderness that became its formation — manna that could not be stored, water struck from rock, the Torah given in the desert rather than the promised land, God doing His most intimate work in the in-between rather than on the shore. And Elijah, exhausted and undone beneath a broom tree, asking to die — met not with explanation but with bread, water, and rest, and then, in the stillness, God.
Because God does not merely watch from a distance. He enters into the darkness with us — and from within it, invites us deeper still. Mary said yes to the very darkness and uncertainty that Eve had refused — no demand for certainty, no guarantee of outcome, only a word and the quiet revolution of her own fiat. And in the garden, Jesus Himself knelt alone in the darkness, sweating blood, asking that the cup pass, yet faithful to the Father when it did not. Even He was not spared the darkness. He walked into it with His eyes open, not knowing where He was going, but trusting that love was enough, even when love does not feel like enough.
And love was enough. And love is enough.
In the two days that followed the crucifixion, no one knew they were waiting for a resurrection. The disciples huddled behind locked doors, afraid, feeling abandoned. The one they had called Lord and friend — the embodiment of Love itself — was dead. The darkness was no longer only around them. It was inside them. The women prepared spices for a body. Heaven had gone silent. Their Savior was gone.
And yet love kept moving. Love kept pouring out. Love kept drawing them toward Love. In the darkness before dawn on the third day, the women came to the tomb carrying what they had — spices, grief, and a love that did not know what else to do with itself but show up. They came to serve a dead man. And the tomb was empty.
Mary Magdalene stood outside weeping, and blinded by the grief that accompanies love lost, did not recognize the risen Jesus — not until He spoke her name. Not sight, but a voice. Not proof, but presence. She had walked all the way into the darkness, not knowing where she was going, and love had been there waiting. Love is always there waiting.
And then there was Thomas — who had not been there that first morning, who refused to believe without touching the wounds. But Jesus did not rebuke him. He came to Thomas, held out His hands, and offered not an explanation but a blessing. Not just to Thomas, but to all who would come after — to everyone who has ever said yes to the Lord without knowing why or to where, to everyone who has ever knelt alone in the darkness, sweating blood, carrying spices for what appeared to be dead, waiting without knowing what they are waiting for:
“Have you believed because you have seen me? Blessed are those who have not seen and yet have come to believe.” — John 20:29
Oratio
Unseeable Horizon
the darkness
the distance
the unseeable horizon
one step at a time
onto the sea
I dare not look down
for I know
what waits for me
in the depths beneath my feet
flailing
drowning
nor do I look back
for I know
behind me is nothing
but an empty cross
and an empty tomb
Contemplatio
What does it mean to be called out of everything familiar, to set out not knowing where you are going, and to trust that love is enough?
Related Scripture
“By faith Abraham obeyed when he was called to set out for a place that he was to receive as an inheritance; and he set out, not knowing where he was going.”
— Hebrews 11:8 (NRSVCE)
For Further Reading
If you enjoyed this post, you may also like The Soul’s Sole Longing: On Surrender, Resistance, and Returning to Love (Lectio Divina), which traces the same apophatic movement from a different angle — the soul that has turned toward God and discovers it can no longer fully turn away, drawn deeper by a love it did not initiate and cannot outrun.
Robert Van Valkenburgh
Grappling With Divinity.
Wrestling With God.
Returning To Love.
Leave a Reply