When I was in high school, my youth group took a trip to Kentucky to do some work for people who needed help. We painted someone’s house. We mowed some lawns. One group did a bit of construction. And we stayed in what had formerly been dormitories for a school. Throughout the week we had devotions together with all the groups that were there. And at the end of the week, we did some fun activities together. One of those activities was spelunking. If you are unfamiliar with that term, it means exploring a cave. When we arrived at the cave, we met our guides who would show us around the cave. They had many years of experience leading tours through this particular cave, so I felt pretty good about how the adventure would go. Each of us had been told to bring a flashlight for this very experience, so we turned them on as we began into the darkness of the cave. It was a beautiful cave. There were stalactites and stalagmites, a colony of bats (which Abby Harveson would have far more than high school me), and many other interesting features, including some flowing water at different points.

At some point, quite a ways into the cave, we came to a big open space with a high rounded ceiling. It was beautiful, but it was also a dead end. We stopped to take a rest as our guides told us a bit more about the cave. I was expecting that once the talk was over, we would head back the way we had come until we reached the mouth of the cave once more. The guides had something else in mind though. They showed us a small opening in the side of the room where we stood. It was nowhere near big enough to walk through, even if you ducked as far down as you could. The only way you could enter this opening would be to crawl into it. Then the guides told us that they were going to collect all of our flashlights, and one guide was going to lead us, in the pitch black, into that small little tunnel they’d just shown us.

If your heart just started racing a bit thinking about that, that’s exactly how I felt, times twenty. I wanted to run screaming out of that cave, but I had no idea how to get back. I was trapped, with my only option to crawl into total darkness. I was far from alone in feeling that way. Many of my fellow spelunkers were as freaked out as I was or even more. But we were left with only one option.

Now, I’d like to say that my crawl through this small, cramped, rocky tunnel in darkness so complete that I couldn’t see my hand in front of my face was not really all that bad, but I probably shouldn’t tell lies from the pulpit. It was miserable. I bumped my head on rock several times. There was one point where had to lower ourselves down into water, duck under a rock in the ceiling of the tunnel, and then climb back up out of the water into more cramped tunnel. And all I had to guide me was the person I couldn’t see that was directly in front of me. It was an experience I will never forget, but wish that I could.

The interesting thing that I found about that experience though was that the darkness was in some ways a good thing. If I had been truly able to see how cramped the space I was in was and how long and endless it looked and how there were 10 people on either side of me keeping me from escaping the tunnel, I think I would have completely lost it. I am deeply afraid of being trapped in a tight space. The darkness was actually my friend in that situation. But even so, when that first glimmer of light appeared before me, signalling the end of the tunnel, I was so relieved and excited.

Luke 1 tells the story of the birth of John the Baptist. Zechariah and Elizabeth were getting up in years and Elizabeth was barren. Zechariah was a priest. One day, he was chosen to enter the sanctuary of the Lord and offer incense. As he was doing that, he saw a vision of the angel Gabriel who told him that Elizabeth was to conceive and bear a child. Zechariah had a hard time believing that, and because of that unbelief, Gabriel caused Zechariah to become mute, unable to speak until his son was born. In due time, Elizabeth gave birth to a baby boy. Zechariah’s voice returned, and he named the boy John because the angel had told him to. The passage we read from Luke 1 for this morning was Zechariah’s prophecy that he prayed over his newborn son.

Zechariah had been in a time of darkness. He’d been unable to speak for a long time. And here we see him using his voice for the first time in a long while and he talks about salvation and the dawn breaking forth to shine upon those who sit in darkness. He has come out of his darkness and recognizes the saving grace of God. But this all leads me to ask, “Why the darkness at all?” “Why did Zechariah have to go through darkness, through the loss of his voice for so long, through the many long years of being unable to have a child?”

There are some who say that suffering builds character, and in a way that is true. But what often stems from that is believing that ALL suffering is good and that God even sometimes CAUSES us to suffer. We can see this belief within the story of Zechariah. Luke tells us that the angel Gabriel, an angel of the Lord, is the one who causes Zechariah to become mute. It was a common belief in Hebrew culture that both good and evil came from the hand of God. Job said to his wife, “Shall I accept good from God and not trouble?”

As I look at the whole of Scripture and Jesus’ life in particular, I do not really believe that God causes suffering. I believe that darkness and suffering exist in our world because of our own sinful decisions as human beings. We hurt one another, destroy our land and our seas and our air, and we ignore the needs of others in favor of lifting ourselves higher. It is the sin in our hearts and our actions that causes suffering in the world rather than God. Yet we are often quick to lay that guilt upon God because it’s easier to do that to take responsibility for our own part in the suffering or stand up against the system that continues to perpetuate the suffering.

That being said, we can also not blame all of the suffering we endure as individuals on our own sins. When my mom was sick with ALS, someone from the church asked her what sins she had committed that might have led to her being sick. That is a belief that is harmful to people who are suffering in great and terrible ways. Suffering may be the result of human sin, but our individual suffering is not always the result of our individual sins. It can be sometimes, but it can just as often not be directly correlated to our personal sins.

Now, circling back to this idea that suffering builds character, I think perhaps a better way to phrase it would be “out of suffering character can be built.” It doesn’t have the same ring to it perhaps, but I think the truth of it is stronger. Suffering can build character, but suffering won’t always build character. Sometimes we just sit in the darkness until the light comes and nothing has changed. And sometimes the light leads us out of the darkness.

That is what Zechariah prays about at the very end of his prophecy for John. He says, “Because of the tender mercy of our God, the dawn from on high will break upon us, to shine upon those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace.” Zechariah, in the wake of his recovery from muteness, speaks of the light of God leading us out of darkness, out of the shadow of death, into the light of peace. The darkness is always going to be there, but so is the one who separated the light from the darkness. So is the one who hovered over the darkness of the deep at creation. So is the one who went into the darkness of the tomb.

So, what matters when we are in the dark? Is it only the return of the light that matters? Or is there something of value for us even within the darkness? Paul writes to the Philippians, “And this is my prayer, that your love may overflow more and more with knowledge and full insight to help you to determine what really matters.” So what really matters in the darkness?

When I was in that cave and I crawled down into that tunnel, into total darkness, what mattered in that darkness to me was peace. I was scared. I was freaking out on the inside. I was afraid that I would not make it. But in that darkness, I found myself guided by peace. Zechariah prophesied, “Because of the tender mercy of our God, the dawn from on high will break upon us, to shine upon those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace.” God’s mercy for me was the darkness. The darkness kept me from the full realization of what I was afraid of. God’s mercy kept me on the right path. It guided my feet in the way of peace until I reached the light.

We are now in the second week of Advent. Last week was the week of hope and this week is the week of peace. When the darkness encroaches, when we are waiting and hoping for the dawn to break, we can rest upon God’s mercy to guide us toward peace. As I look at the conflict and violence so prevalent in our world today, all I can think to do is pray for peace. When we get a text from our child that their school has gone on lockdown, all I can do is pray for peace. When disease and death seem to be all around, all I can do is pray for peace. When the darkness surrounds, what matters is not making our way to the light, but resting in the mercy of God who will guide us toward peace until the dawn finally comes. May the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, guard your hearts and minds, in Christ Jesus. Amen!