If you get on Highway 72 in Huntsville, Alabama, and start driving east, you’ll soon find yourself in the foothills of the Appalachian Mountains.
Northeast Alabama is a breath of fresh air after so much time in the Madison County metro. In the summertime, mountains velveted in lush trees stretch on for miles. I tend to go for the Gulf in the beach-versus-mountains debate, but every drive through Jackson County makes me rethink that snap decision, even if just for a moment.
The presence of mountains, I’ve learned, also implies the presence of their (slightly creepier) counterparts: caves. There are supposedly thousands in the area; so many, in fact, that the National Speleological Society, an organization dedicated to the exploration, conservation, and understanding of caves, is headquartered right here in Huntsville.
Spelunking is pretty low on my list of must-try hobbies; anything that might require me to squeeze through small spaces or encounter critters in the dark is typically a no for me. So, I was more than a little uncomfortable when my family visited Cathedral Caverns for the first time several years ago.
Cathedral Caverns—named for the rock structures inside that resemble the soaring architecture of ancient houses of worship—covers roughly 3 acres of land. Now an Alabama State Park, it’s open for guided tours throughout the year. Guides lead tourists down a winding concrete path that reaches deep into the earth, pointing out notable geological formations (and often telling punny jokes) along the way. Within minutes, all outside light becomes a memory; the journey is illuminated only by lightbulbs marking the edges of the path and spotlights that highlight the cave’s numerous stalactite and stalagmite structures.
The experience of ambling around underground, exploring rock structures unlike anything you’ve seen above, is worth the price of admission. The pinnacle of the tour, though, is less about what you can see and more about what you can’t. Once the group reaches the end of the trail, some 3,500 feet from the entrance, the tour guide pulls out a small, keychain laser pointer.
With all the lights on, the neon green of the laser is barely visible on the wall of the cave. Then, one by one, the guide begins to turn off the lights.
The darkness that results after that final bulb is extinguished is almost suffocating. I waved my hand in front of my face, expecting some kind of visual feedback—nothing. Just utter blackness.
For about 30 seconds, the lights stay off. The “oohs” and “ahhs” and nervous giggles fade. And then, when the blanket of night starts to become overwhelming, the laser pointer swoops in to the rescue.
What was a faint green dot on the wall just minutes ago now gleams like the lightsaber of some powerful Jedi, a beam of light strong enough that it reflects off the awed (and, now, slightly relieved) faces of the tourists gathered for the show.
Slowly, the guide turns on a new set of lights, tiny LEDs that glimmer like stars in the deep recesses of the cave that are closed to casual observers. Then, the house lights start to flick back on. The guide takes her post at the back of the group, directing everyone to turn around and start the trek back to the surface. Within minutes, we’ll be blinking in the sunlight of an Alabama summer again.
But, as we pile in our vehicles and begin to head home, the beam of green light remains in my memory.
“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.”
God’s first words in scripture are, “Let there be light.” On the first day of creation, God creates light, calling it good, and separates it from the darkness.
In his gospel, John places Jesus alongside the Father during this important moment:
“In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things were made through him, and without him was not any thing made that was made. In him was life, and the life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.”
John 1:1-5
Not only does Jesus have an active role in creation; as the Father creates the light that brightens and sustains the natural world, in Jesus, the pinnacle of humanity, we find the “light of men.”
As he preaches and ministers in Jerusalem and Galilee, Jesus makes it clear that he doesn’t have a monopoly on this light; in fact, his followers are tasked with taking up the mantle as the “light of the world” in order to point others toward the Father.
“You are the light of the world. A city set on a hill cannot be hidden. Nor do people light a lamp and put it under a basket, but on a stand, and it gives light to all in the house. In the same way, let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in heaven.”
Matthew 5:14-16
Similarly, in The Problem of Pain, C.S. Lewis suggests that heaven will be filled with individuals. Each person, he argues, will have a role to fulfill that is as unique as they are:
“...each of the redeemed shall forever know and praise some one aspect of the Divine beauty better than any other creature can. Why else were individuals created, but that God, loving all infinitely, should love each differently?…Heaven is a city, and Body, because the blessed remain eternally different: a society, because each has something to tell all the others—fresh and ever fresh news of the ‘My God’ whom each finds in Him whom all praise as ‘Our God.’”
Just as your place in glory, on Lewis’ theory, is intertwined with the very essence of who you are, so is your role in “letting your light shine before others.” There is a story only you can tell; there are individuals who only you may reach; there may be some angle of the good news of Christ that you communicate with unique acuity and clarity.
God created you for a reason, and he’s been equally intentional with the gifts, talents, and opportunities you have. Your workplace, your neighbors, your family, and the person across the pump at the gas station are looking for that specific wavelength of light that you represent.
You may be the laser in the dark cave.
You may be one of many streetlights, guiding someone’s way.
You may be a singular LED bulb on a video board in Times Square.
You may be some combination of all these over the course of a week.
Regardless, your mission—to represent Christ, to glorify the Father, to proclaim the good news of the kingdom until it’s here—remains unchanged. Your light is needed in a world enamored with darkness; let it shine.
From the archives:
Help my unbelief!
Earlier this week I was lost in thought while driving to work and realized just how essential the fact of the resurrection is to this stage of my faith.