Walking in the dark

October 2026

The balance of the days shifts as the nights lengthen, the clocks change and we tip over  into a time of winter and darkness.

What might the dark say to us about God?

If God is the creator of all that exists, and if there is nothing created that does not exist in God, we surely find God’s creative genius in the dark?

And if so, will we not find that the dark can be a positive space?

Yet often we see the dark as something dangerous and forbidding, something to be avoided. We often link darkness with our fears and failures. But if the dark is also where God is, could we use the dark to deepen our relationship with God?

Dark allows us to see things we would not otherwise see – the moon and the stars, the blooms of night time flowering plants, numerous nocturnal creatures including bats and moths. Dark is the natural habitat of many creatures. Dark is restful, enabling sleep. Dark allows seeds to germinate and sprout. Dark allows things to mature, including both wine and cheeses. Dark enhances our perception of our senses. We seem to hear better, to experience smell and taste differently; we may even see more consciously in the dark.

Psalm 139:12 says “even the darkness will not be dark to you, the night will shine like the day, for darkness is as light to you.”

Let us then embrace the dark and find enrichment in this season.

Darkness

your grand circle engulfs

all the small bright circles

of the world. None

can withstand you:

meteors trailing their lights

through space, this slim

candle on a shelf.

All selves

belong to you, began

in you. You place

a hand on my shoulder, shift

hand to wrist, feel my pulse.

Your gentleness moves

me to belief: in

darkness.

Alan Payne, after Rilke

The Other

There are nights that are so still

that I can hear the small owl calling

far off and a fox barking

miles away. It is then that I lie

in the lean hours awake listening

to the swell born somewhere in the Atlantic

rising and falling, rising and falling

wave on wave on the long shore

by the village that is without light

and companionless. And the

thought comes of that other being who is

awake, too,

letting our prayers break on him,

not like this for a few hours,

but for days, years, for eternity.

R S Thomas

The Peace of the Wild Things

When despair for the world grows in me

and I wake in the night at the least sound

in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,

I go and lie down where the wood drake

rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.

I come into the peace of wild things

who do not tax their lives with forethought

of grief. I come into the presence of still water.

And I feel above me the day-blind stars

waiting with their light. For a time

I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

To know the dark

To go in the dark with a light is to know the light.

To know the dark, go dark. Go without sight,

and find that the dark, too, blooms and sings,

and is traveled by dark feet and dark wings.

Both by Wendell Berry

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Author: Judith Russenberger

Environmentalist and theologian, with husband and three grown up children plus one cat, living in London SW14. I enjoy running and drinking coffee - ideally with a friend or a book.

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