John 8.12 (CEB)
Jesus spoke to the people again, saying, “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me won’t walk in darkness but will have the light of life.”
John 12.44-46
Jesus shouted, “Whoever believes in me doesn’t believe in me but in the one who sent me. Whoever sees me sees the one who sent me. I have come as a light into the world so that everyone who believes in me won’t live in darkness.”
Plato
It is the task of the enlightened not only to ascend to learning and to see the good but to be willing to descend again to those prisoners and to share their troubles and their honors, whether they are worth having or not. And this they must do, even with the prospect of death.
I was born in a cave. I didn’t know this at the time, of course, because, like all the rest born in the cave, the darkness was all I ever knew. Sure, there was the central fire, ever burning, casting its shadows on our own even more shadowy existence. The Masters of the Flame routinely stoked the central fire, and, I thought, at least in part, our fear and despair.
I spent my life in chains until you arrived. Imprisoned as I was in this eternal night, I lived (if one could call it living) in an upright, coffin-sized cocoon that barely accommodated my somewhat ample frame.
For, even undernourished and overworked, my body was (at least, judging from my shadow) rather imposing. My life was mere existence, eating, working, and sleeping in a perpetual cycle. In the cave, there was no concept of minutes, hours, days, or years. There was just time after time spent in my cramped, vertical quarters or working, and all of it in bondage.
At regular intervals, I was forced to take a turn at the large spindle. My chains were moved from the living tomb of my non-restful respite to the giant horizontal wheel. Shoved into a segment and chained to a large handle, I would push forward along with others in front of and, I assumed, behind me.
This was my life—a spectral and indistinguishable existence, I now realize, but then gave no consideration. For, born in the cave and working in the cave, I presumed that, like all the others, I would also die in the cave. And why not? This was life, or so we thought before you arrived.
We persevered. We endured. We did what we were told, never thinking of rebellion because we never contemplated the possibility that there might be anything different, much less enjoyable, outside the cave. Until you came, I didn’t realize I was in a cave, so how could I conceive a world outside?
When one never sees an opening, is it not foolish to hope one exists? How does one even imagine the idea of a door, when one has never seen a door?
What develops the imagination when all around you are only shadows?
How does one dream of something different if the only reality they’ve ever known is bondage?
And then, one day, you suddenly appeared in a blinding flash. Perhaps you had been there all along, and I just never noticed. Either way, your light shattered my world.
Admittedly, my reality was but a thinly veiled mythology of my own making. Still, it was my world, and for all the discomfort of my physical existence, I was comfortable in my ignorance of anything beyond what I securely knew.
That all changed when the cave filled with light. It was as if we were all compelled to look straight at the sun, but it gave us pain in our eyes and our heads, and we could do nothing but turn away from it. And you.
Perhaps a little reluctantly at first, with your encouragement, we made a steep and rugged ascent into the presence of the Sun itself. When we approached the light, our eyes were dazzled, and we were not able to see anything at all. At least in the cave, we had our shadows. Out here, in the light, we were blind.
For many of us, our first thought, remarkably, was to withdraw once again into the cave. The gravity of light was too much for our souls. How much simpler to retreat to the relative discomfort of our previous bondage?
Eventually, we grew accustomed to sight. At first, we still saw shadows best. Later, the reflections of people and other objects in the water came into focus. It took some time for our vision to adjust fully to the more complete, vibrant, alive, and focused reality outside the cave.
We ran around the new world in giddy stupor. We endured and developed a new character as if the cave had been the cocoon for our emergent being.
Finally, for the first time alive, we took deep breaths of nature’s lush, verdant realm. We marveled at colors! Our once soulless trudge through a spectral world, (for one could not call what we did “living” now that we understood the meaning of life), instead smelled and tasted of the Sun’s rise, glorious crimson and gold beaming across the sky blue, enlightening.
It has been many years since you first led us out of the cave and enlightened us. Now, we grow old, weary, and thankfully content watching our children and grandchildren build their lives, each of them as creators who see beyond the cave.
Creators, not captives.
Amen.
