Post Tenebras Lux
I believe that light will prevail, despite bountiful evidence to the contrary.
Post tenebras lux.
After darkness, light.
It was John Calvin who first popularized that phrase, taking it as the motto of his adopted city of Geneva. He borrowed the phrase from the biblical Book of Job, chapter seventeen, verse twelve. “Noctem verterunt in diem, et rursum post tenebras spero lucem,” it read in the Latin Vulgate. English translations vary, but nearly all of them interpret Job’s words as somewhat sarcastic. Take this one, for example.
But come again all of you now,
For I do not find a wise man among you.
My days are past, my plans are torn apart,
Even the wishes of my heart.
They make night into day, saying,
‘The light is near,’ in the presence of darkness.
If I look for Sheol as my home,
I make my bed in the darkness;
If I call to the pit, ‘You are my father’;
To the worm, ‘my mother and my sister’;
Where now is my hope?
And who regards my hope?
Will it go down with me to Sheol?
Shall we together go down into the dust?1
These are not the words of a confident man, but one given over to the deepest darkness imaginable. Robbed of his children, his fortune, and his health, he could do little but lament. Only the faintest of hopes led him to believe that there might ever be another bright day in his life.
I have certainly not suffered as Job did. My child is still with me, my financial needs are met, and I am in reasonably good health. Yet, the past few years of my life have felt exceedingly dark at times.
Chronic pain and fatigue stretching on for months unending. Visits to specialists and laboratories, always searching for an answer, and always fearing the answer.
A depression deeper and more all-consuming than any I had previously known. A darkness of the soul that robbed me of joy and made me hate myself. A constant shadow hanging over me, digging into my flesh, refusing to let me go.
Anxiety. Yes, constant anxiety! Wondering if my nation would be torn apart. Wondering how many would be killed by a novel plague. Wondering if the war between Russia and Ukraine would lead to a wider conflict. Sitting down and counting the number of miles between my house and the nearest U.S. military base to determine if we would be within the blast zone.
Watching family members die. Fearing that other family members would die. Watching those close to me suffer terrible hardships. Wanting to do something to help them, but not knowing how to do so. Questioning the limits and duties of love.
Then there was the loss of friends. First a few, then an avalanche. People I loved—people I still love, but fear to speak with due to what has occurred. Having to bid farewell without even saying farewell. Wondering if there was anything I could have done to avoid it all.
Darkness. Terrible darkness.
In the midst of such times, it takes the most perceptive eyes to locate the light: eyes that have been trained to see goodness where it still exists. There is no belief dearer to me than my belief in the ultimate triumph of the light. That is why my son’s Telugu name is Jaideep, which means “victory of the light.” In that terrible darkness which I was experiencing, I wanted to declare what was most precious to me: that not only in my own life, but also that of my son, I eagerly awaited the victory of light over darkness.
I am still waiting. There have been sudden breaks in the clouds—moments when the light has managed to peak through. Yet, the rain comes hard and steady, provoking in me a terrible longing for those moments of sunshine. It takes an act of faith to look at rain clouds and believe they will eventually pass into the distance.
Post tenebras lux: my deepest and dearest confession of faith. There will be an end to war and plague. There will be new friends and new opportunities. Indeed, there already have been. And one day—one glorious day—there will be restoration, reconciliation, and resurrection.
To confess post tenebras lux is to confess the resurrection of the dead and the restoration of all things, and that is my great hope, even when all others fade.
As for me, I know that my Redeemer lives,
And at the last He will take His stand on the earth.
Even after my skin is destroyed,
Yet from my flesh I shall see God;
Whom I myself shall behold,
And whom my eyes will see and not another.
My heart faints within me!2
Job 17:10-16 in the 1995 New American Standard Bible, copyright The Lockman Foundation
Job 19:25-27 NASB95