Last night, while online with my spiritual community for a time of prayer, I felt the heaviness of all we are enduring during this pandemic: the chaos of authoritarianism, if not fascism, the small and daily losses we face, the heaviness of systemic racism and sexism in our nation. And it came to me as we were sharing and praying that in the midst of so much suffering, rage, and fear we weren’t praying any prayers of gratitude.
Gratitude is a spiritual practice that centers me. It keeps me from dropping into an abyss of hopelessness. So I invited (okay harangued) everyone to share something, one thing, even a small thing, for which they were grateful. And as we began to share small lumens flickered. Fireflies of grace blinked into view, if only for a moment.
And our tentative lights strengthened into the ‘luminous darkness’ that Howard Thurman talks about. When diving in the ocean we are first illuminated by the light from the sky. Further on, we enter deep darkness where light does not penetrate. And then. And then when we have gone deeper than we think we can bear – there is a the unexpected light at the bottom of the ocean given off by unknown sea creatures.
While not as dramatic, through our gratitude practice we encountered unexpected light. Even more, we began to hope. And the hopes we shared for a better world were glorious. I hadn’t realized how much hope I had given up. I could dream an end to this time of hate, disease, fascism, isolation, anxiety… but I hadn’t hoped for what we could be.
Last night as hope began to burn within us we dreamed of the wonderful ways this tragedy could be transformed. Eager. Excited. Animated. Things we hadn’t been or felt for so long. It was like gasping a deep breath after nearly suffocating. We were astonished by our very ability to hope – and not just little hopes, but to hope large.
So today I invite you find gratitude where you can. Small or large, let your gratitude become a place of luminous darkness. And may it carve out space in your heart for the possibility of hope.