I had a laugh this afternoon when my daughter scrunched up her eyes and recoiled at the bright sunshine. She was appalled at its audacious intensity. She had forgotten the sun.
Her reaction reminded me of the young Latvian child sitting behind me on a flight from Riga once. The winters in the Baltic are cold and very, very, very, dark. It snows nearly every day in the winter, and as a result, the sky is usually clouded over. (In fact, when I lived in Latvia we were issued "happy lamps," bright fluorescent bulbs meant to simulate sunlight and chase away the winter doldrums.)
The young child gazed out the window as the plane ascended. After several minutes, the plane broke through the cloud cover and flew into the always sunny upper atmosphere. With a voice of pure joy the child turned to her mother and cried, "Saulite!" "The little sun!" She too had forgotten the sun.
There are so many dark places in the world: Dark winters in the Baltics. Dark nights of the soul. The dark hours after a thwarted revolution. Dark hospital rooms.
There are places that remain dark until they are finally pierced by the light of the sun. By the warmth of spring and renewal. By the light of hope. By the eternal glory of everlasting life.
The sunshine today brought a smile to my face and the hope that the weather tomorrow will be fine; that the sick will be well; that the light of grace will shine on, shine on us all.
Amen.
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