Letter from the Editor
On the third day, “God said, ‘Let there be lights in the dome of the sky to separate the day from the night; and let them be for signs and for seasons and for days and years, and let them be lights in the dome of the sky to give light upon the earth.’ And it was so. God made the two great lights—the greater light to rule the day and the lesser light to rule the night—and the stars. God set them in the dome of the sky to give light upon the earth, to rule over the day and over the night, and to separate the light from the darkness. And God saw that it was good.” (Genesis 1:14-18)
Before I could even walk, my parents called me their “nature baby.” Though I don’t remember those early experiences with the great outdoors, I do know that throughout my childhood and adolescence, I found great consolation wandering through fields and forests, exploring the “book of Creation.” But while I loved God’s creation growing up, I think it was in college that I truly fell in love with those first chapters of Genesis. What drew me to “the beginning” was the image of the Garden, our primordial home. A garden full of green vitality, fragrant, bursting with life, long walks with God, and perfect harmony with the natural world seemed enchanting. Reflecting on these pastoral images struck a chord in me and so returning again and again to those first few pages of the Bible, I felt called home.
But as I continued reading and reflecting on the beginning pages of Genesis, I couldn’t help but see them in light of another beginning—that which starts the Gospel of John. “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” (John 1:5) From there, my focus on Genesis shifted away from the green, verdant garden and instead the images of light and darkness struck me most palpably. “Let there be light,” God says, light to bring us hope, both in the darkness of night and in the darkness of sin.
As I write this, the season of Advent is rapidly coming to its end. These days of preparation during the dark winter months will soon give way to the season of light and joy. Indeed, with Christmas we can proclaim with the prophet that “the people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness—on them light has shined.” (Isaiah 9:2)
With the Magi of old, let us turn our gaze upwards, to the heavens, and ponder the night skies. Last year our winter issue focused on the theme of “hibernating;” of passing the cold months indoors. This year, let’s sneak away into the cold night and look up. Look up to the stars with wonder. How can it be that this tapestry of light shines so brightly, even amidst the darkness?
While preparing to write this letter, I looked back over the past year, and began to recall various moments when light and beauty caught my breath, especially when I least expected it. There was that time when I pulled over to stargaze after a long day of hiking, and then suddenly the stars all seemed to fade. At first I was confused and disappointed, but then I realized what had happened—a giant moon was rising over the horizon, flooding the fields with light and leaving me speechless.
There were also moments of a different kind of starlight: a fancy evening at the opera, a spontaneous trip to an art museum, and late dinners with my siblings. These moments may not have had a celestial quality per se, but they pieced through the busy schedules and daily tasks and provided a glimmer of heavenly starlight throughout the year. Now, as we welcome the new year, with champagne and sparkles and excitement, perhaps we should make a resolution to stargaze more this year. Whether it be on a summer evening or a cold winter night, the starry skies above shine down on us, echoing those words of old: “Let there be light,” and let it “shine in the darkness,” for indeed, it is very good.
– Rachel Gerring, Executive Editor
