The Light (Part 3)

by Brett Westervelt

Light is really the core of life. Take away the sun and we would return to dust much more quickly than normal. Alive, my ability to see is only as good as the quality of the light shining on and around whatever I’m trying to look at.

I take the light in my life fairly for granted – with the sun by day and the light bulb (in all its glorified forms) by night. These are faithful, reliable resources that fade into the background when competing with the more pressing thoughts so often on my mind. Light stands idly by, foundational but forgotten, hardly spiritual.

I wonder if this explains a divine purpose in the rising and the setting sun. Each morning the sun makes a glorious return, each evening a vaunted exit. The light arrives, but it will not be ours to tame. It vanishes, but we can rest, hopeful of its return.

Photographers call the light in the hours right around the sun’s entrance and exit magic light, because at these times of day their subjects take on a surreal, otherworldly character. The best pictures are taken during these hours, they freeze things at their most sacred moments. There’s something spiritual about changing light. It’s magical, it’s mystical.

Take any field outside of town as an example. It’s remarkable that some grass, some rocks, and a few trees can shift from being unseen and unknowable to dreary and dead to aglow and alive, based on how a few rays interact with these idly placed objects. It’s humbling to admit that this is true of our own lives as well. It certainly puts Jesus – the light to live life by, as John calls Him - in His place.