Paul Simon had it right.
The opening line of one of his most iconic songs is Hello, darkness, my old friend; I’ve come to talk with you again. Whether Simon intended it or not, he has echoed the closing line of Psalm 88.
Darkness is my closest friend.
Written by a musician called Heman, Psalm 88 has been called “the saddest psalm” (Kidner). We have no record of the melody or how it sounded when sung, but it’s difficult to read. The words paint a desperate picture.
Overwhelmed with troubles…
The lowest pit…
The darkest depths…
Overwhelmed…
I am confined….
Grief…
Destruction…
Terrors…
Despair…
And yet somehow…Heman never stops praying.
Day and night, I cry out to you…
I cry to you for help…
In the morning my prayer comes before you.
That final line though…
Darkness is my closest friend.
Is there no hope?
Is there nothing left in life but sorrow?
Darkness is my closest friend.
It fits Paul Simon’s melody exactly.
Hello, darkness, my old friend.
It’s somber, yes. At first blush, it seems like both musicians have used the word friend in an ironic way.
And yet…what if neither Heman nor Simon are using a mocking tone?
What if darkness really is a friend?
As it turns out, the Hebrew word translated as friend in this line of the psalm is yada which means to perceive, to know by experience, to gain knowledge.
Yada connotes intimacy.
With their words and melodies, musicians like Heman and Simon and so many others help us to pause, slow down, even stop.
Our gut instinct is to flee any friend also known as darkness.
But, what if…
What if we sat with the darkness?
Like we would sit with a close friend.
Not in the darkness, but with the darkness.
What if….sitting with the darkness leads to intimate knowledge?
What if revelation lies just beyond the darkness?
Impossible? Maybe not…
“While it was still dark, Jesus…went off to a solitary place to pray” (Mark 1:35). And as darkness gave way to light, he moved on to teach and to heal and to drive out demons.
“While it was still dark, Mary Magdalene went to the tomb and saw that the stone had been removed” (John 20:1) to reveal the empty tomb of the risen Christ.
In her book Learning to Walk in the Dark, Episcopal priest Barbara Brown Taylor says this: “I have learned things in the dark that I could never have learned in the light, things that have saved my life over and over again, so that there is really only one logical conclusion. I need darkness as much as I need light.”
After experiencing my own season of darkness, I agree. In the darkness, I found a deeper knowledge of myself and a deeper knowledge of God. I am forever changed. And though I’d not have chosen the surrounding circumstances, I’m grateful for the friend called darkness.
Darkness is not a space to run past. Darkness is not a place to land.
Darkness is a friend who offers intimacy for a season. A friend who gives you space to feel what you feel and to notice what you notice. A friend who listens to you without trying to fix you. A friend whose mere presence offers comfort.
Never doubt for a moment that God is not in the dark.
In the beginning, God hovered over the darkness (Genesis 1).
Moses approached the thick darkness where God was (Exodus 20).
David described darkness as a canopy for God (Psalm 18:11).
Hello, darkness, my old friend.
Darkness is my closest friend.
The very next line in the Bible?
It’s Psalm 89:1.
I will sing of the Lord’s great love forever.
Darkness has things to teach you. But darkness isn’t the end of your story.
Joy comes in the morning.
