Lights, bikes, and roadkill

I rode to work this morning between two lights: the full moon setting westward and Venus rising eastward. Both were beautiful.

Mornings I bike in dark, and some blocks are normally pitch dark – no street lights or house lights and plenty of tall trees. But today, even the darkest streets were moonly illuminated.

Lights are a big deal when biking in the dark. For starters, I want to be seen by car drivers, so I wear four separate bright flashing lights: three in back, one in front. As I said, lots of the time I can’t see the road for darkness. Well, actually, my headlight shines out about 6 feet, which allows just about enough time to see what I am going to hit but not enough time to avoid it. So far it’s not been a problem, I’ve only hit pot holes and road kill.

My point is, when cars drive by they light up the road. This is very helpful when cars come from behind, but the lights of cars coming towards me can be a real pain, especially if there is a hill. The problem is too much light – blinding light. In this case the light and the darkness have the same result – I can’t see the road.

It seems to me that spiritual light is the same. A person who is in spiritual darkness is oblivious to their depraved condition. I certainly was before I committed my life to Christ. In many conversations with non-Christians this has been a major point of departure. The concept of man’s corrupt state is the point on which the salvation message turns, for if a person doesn’t need healing he certainly doesn’t need Jesus to die for him. The problem, of course, is not that people can’t see any fault in themselves. The problem is people can’t fathom the holiness of God.

I’ve heard someone say that God only shows us a little bit of the darkness in our hearts at a time, as if we would completely crumple if we suddenly saw our heart as it really is. I think this is true. I think it would be like the headlights in my eyes – equally as blinding as darkness.

I noticed another thing this morning too. In the dark, the moon looked featureless. It looked like a flashlight – just a solid bright light. But once, while waiting at a stoplight, I could stare up at it for a while and as my eyes adjusted the dark spots and craters became recognizable.

I think this is like some people I have met who have walked with God for a long time. They often seem to become more aware of the darkness inside, more able to discern shades of light and dark. They seem to be struggling with the Christian life on a whole different level, as if God had been shining his light in them for a long time, and as they got rid of larger areas of darkness they had become aware of smaller things.

I don’t want to imply that people have only darkness in their hearts. Even the most depraved people I have met demonstrate the goodness that God put in all people. I suppose the difference is that some people are growing gradually more good, and others more dark.

Well, I must be a kinesthetic learner, because I think about this kind of stuff while I’m commuting in the dark on my bike, but not so much when I commute in the car.

The Old Tile Floor

I stood one evening years ago,
Trombone in hand,
On a polished wooden floor,
A great many people in front,waiting,
An orchestra behind,
And squeezed my soul out of the shiny bell.
In the end I put down my horn and those in front
Put hand to hand and sent back to me their gratitude.
I left the stage, they called me back, to stand again
On the polished wooden floor.
It seems something touched them.

I stood yesterday
Bass in hand
On an old tile floor
Students in front, waiting.
I squeezed my soul out of my squeaky little voice.
Two dozen souls joined in.
Slowly at first
We built a song, and sang it out
And played it too
And then the room was alive,
And no one cared that there was no breakfast
This morning or supper last night
Or that they forgot their fathers face.
No one noticed the sweat running down
Our un-air conditioned faces, or that our
Meager space was not intended for little feet
But for chairs and tables not is use.
No one remembered who is smart, who is poor
Who is dirt poor,
No one noticed that I’m old and white and
They are young and black.
In the end I put down my bass, and they
Sent back to me
Their gratitude with peaceful smiles
Through shiny eyes as we sat ourselves
On the old tile floor.
It seems something touched them.