Chasing dusk’s light

Pastor Eric Kregel

One night, a man had a dream. He found himself in a middle of a desert with the supernatural ability of speed, giving him the opportunity to barely outrun the sun. He could, as long as he ran with all of his strength, always see daylight as he chased the horizon. However, if he slowed own or even stopped, the sun would set and daylight would escape him. The sun turned into an orange ember, sinking behind the horizon of the desert. As the pain of night brushed against his skin, he set to run: chasing the remaining daylight. He ran, leaping over hills and charging through valleys. The sun’s setting was fast, but he could keep up. He ran down a series of dunes, sand splashing from his feet as he crashed through the burning light of dusk. In his distance, he saw a figure of a man approach him. The figure was also moving fast, yet it was not running. As it approached the man, he felt the pain of night’s darkness tickle his back. No, he resolved. Night must not find me. The darkness, the confusion, the doubt, the loss of control, the pain. Must run, must ran faster to catch the remaining light of dusk. So he ran faster toward the sunset, charging up a mountain’s side and away from the night and the approaching stranger. Looking over his shoulder, he soon realized the stranger was still close on his trail. And with the figure, night followed. “No!” he screamed inside of his head. “I will not lose the light, the comfort of day. I shall not be found in the darkness of night! Must run ... faster.” He looked behind him and saw the figure had vanished. His spirit soared as he believed he had escaped, at last, his pursuer. He turned around and faced a long, level plain full of sand, small trees, and the hovering, deep orange sun as it began to melt over the horizon. Ahead of him, the figure returned. It stood in between the sun setting and the runner. The man realized if he wanted to outrun night, he had to face this stranger. The figure grew and grew until finally the man recognized him. The stranger was Jesus Christ, standing and waiting for the runner to approach! As Jesus stood metres away from the man, he motioned him to stop. The man obeyed. Night soon swelled behind him as the last minutes of daylight were lost. The man grew desperate as Jesus stood, without, moving, in the heart of the desert. “You are running the wrong way,” Jesus said. “But I must, Lord,” the man said in protest. “Night is coming soon and I must escape it. Night is pain. Night is doubt. Night is having to lose control and become helpless to the darkness. I cannot enter the night.” “You must, for your race is futile,” said Jesus, putting his hand on the man’s shoulder. “Rather than running, trying to catch the last bit of sunlight of dusk, you must turn and run the opposite way. Run through the night. Run through that which you fear and I will meet you on the other side, in dawn’s glory.” The man awoke. I see too many people running, chasing the dusk of their lives. They run, making themselves busy in their jobs or families, so they never have to feel pain, experience doubt, or discover that something might be seriously wrong with themselves or their world. They run, pursuing illusions or a false front or a comfortable life ... while escaping the night that belongs to them. For some, nighttime can be pain from the past; for others, it could be the recognition of a mistake; and for many, they are running from the biggest nighttime of all: the cross of Christ (Think about it, something was so crucially wrong with us that Jesus had to die a painful death so that those, who call on his name, can be repaired). Those who run miss out on so much. True, they miss the pain of the night; but they also miss out on dawn’s light and the marvel of seeing God in a new day. For those running, stop. And for those in their own night, know that morning is coming. And for all of us, know that Christ is the master of the dusk, the night, and the morning.