Post #47: The Sunrise Festival

One of the things I love about my childhood is where I grew up.  While I was born in Ontario, at the age of 4 my family moved to Rankin Inlet, Nunavut. When I was 5 we moved to Yellowknife, NWT, and at age 7 we moved to Inuvik, NWT, where we stayed until I was 11 and we moved to British Columbia.  When asked where I would place my hometown, I say Inuvik.

Inuvik is a pretty neat community and I have so many fond memories of growing up there. I remember spending many weekends, or afternoons once school let out, sledding. I remember that instead of playing "house" I used to play "whaling camp." When I close my eyes I can still see myself biking with my friends during the long summer days.

And they were long summer days.

Inuvik was the "Land of the Midnight Sun." It was above the Arctic Circle and for a period of time every summer, the sun never actually dipped beneath the horizon. You had 24 hours of light. People would drop by to visit at midnight. My brothers could play basketball with their friends at two in the morning and it was the same as if it were two in the afternoon. I hated bedtime as a kid because it was still so light out and I felt like I should be allowed to stay up.

It was a pretty incredible experience.

But there was also a flip side to this.

That flip side was that for a month in the winter, you also didn't see the sun. I can remember walking home at lunch time and the sky would lighten, but the sun never rose above the horizon.  I still loved this time, though, because it meant that there were numerous mornings when I would walk to school and see the Northern Lights.

I would pick up one of my friends on our way to school, and the two of us would do our best to whistle at the Northern Lights (because legend has it that whistling to them will make them come closer).

I wish I could adequately describe for you the awe that filled me every time I saw the Northern Lights. Trails of green literally danced across the sky (I always said their dance looked like hundreds of knives chopping as fast as they could).

A friend on Facebook is currently living in Inuvik, and she posted pictures from the Sunrise Festival. You see, to celebrate the sun's "return," the people of the community throw a festival that culminates in a night of fireworks.

So what's the point of all this reminiscing?

On Tuesday morning I went to Coffee Break, a women's bible study at my church. In the opening session before we broke off into our groups, our leader talked about hope. About how none of us, when the sun sets at night, worry about whether it will rise again. He have faith and hope that we will see the sun again and it will be soon.

Which is true.

But I think for some of us the darkness lasts longer than just the night. And that is when we lose hope. Sometimes the sun disappears for longer than several hours. Sometimes it seems to be gone for days... weeks... months... years...

R.C. Sproul refers to what is known as the "Dark Night of the Soul."  He describes this as "no ordinary fit of depression, but a depression that is linked to a crisis of faith, a crisis that comes when one senses the absence of God or gives rise to a feeling of abandonment by Him."

In my daily devotional the other day I read Psalm 6.  Here it is:

1 Lord, do not rebuke me in your anger
    or discipline me in your wrath.
2 Have mercy on me, Lord, for I am faint;
    heal me, Lord, for my bones are in agony.
3 My soul is in deep anguish.
    How long, Lord, how long?

4 Turn, Lord, and deliver me;
    save me because of your unfailing love.
5 Among the dead no one proclaims your name.
    Who praises you from the grave?

6 I am worn out from my groaning.

All night long I flood my bed with weeping
    and drench my couch with tears.
7 My eyes grow weak with sorrow;
    they fail because of all my foes.

8 Away from me, all you who do evil,
    for the Lord has heard my weeping.
9 The Lord has heard my cry for mercy;
    the Lord accepts my prayer.
10 All my enemies will be overwhelmed with shame and anguish;
    they will turn back and suddenly be put to shame.

In Keller's commentary on this Psalm, he talks about how verses 8 and 9 show that God has heard David's cry, that David gets "an assurance that God is listening even though he hasn't done anything about the circumstances--yet" (8).

I know a lot of people who are in the midst of waiting.  Who are experiencing dark nights of the soul. Who struggle to find hope and hold onto faith because it seems like God is doing nothing. They "flood their beds with weeping and drench their couches with tears." They are worn out from groaning. It seems like the sun just isn't going to rise. And with each passing, dark day, their home dwindles more.

I have been in that place on more than one occasion.

On the darkest of days in Inuvik, the Northern Lights appeared.  I see that as the picture of verses 6-9 in Psalm 6. Everything is dark and there is no light. No hope. But God still hears and is present. He doesn't always make the sun shine right away when we want it to. But He is with us in the darkness. In the sorrow and the pain. In the waiting.  That's what the Northern Lights remind me of.  God's presence even when all hope seems lost.

And eventually, the sun will shine again. That may not mean a change in circumstances, but in the same way that David's cries in Psalm 6 turn into praise in Psalm 150, our prayers and pleas will do the same.