The hours between sunrise and sunset have always been precious. That was the time when things got done, when our activity was productive. From the firelight at the mouth of a cave, to the tallow lights of candles and oil lamps was a journey spread over many centuries. Light has been a necessary reality and a vibrant metaphor.

The arrival, first of gas lighting, then of electricity to homes, towns and cities was indeed a revolution. The switch on the wall has replaced the match and candle wick. Some satellite images of our Earth at night show in spectacular fashion the myriad pin pricks of light which now brighten our darkness.

The gospel narrative of the Transfiguration of the Christ is offered to us twice in the liturgical year, first recently on the 2nd Sunday in Lent and then again later in the year, when on the 6th August we mark the feast of Transfiguration. The blinding light that accompanied the vision of Christ transfigured in the company of Moses and Elijah, was witnessed by Peter James and John. That same date, in 1945, was marked by the destructive flash of the first atomic explosion over the city of Hiroshima. The introit for the Feast day opens with these fateful words from psalm 76 'all the world shone with your lightning and the troubled earth shook'.

The experience of the three apostles must have been a significant and, to a degree, a frightening demonstration of the power of God. But from such a moment came change and new life.

Alongside the illumination of our planet come the natural shadows where light cannot reach. Joni Mitchell's beautiful song 'Shadows and Light' opens with these few words.

'Every picture has its shadows and it has some source of light
blindness, blindness and sight, the perils of benefactors
the blessings of parasites blindness, blindness and sight.'

We talk of 'being enlightened', of understanding a difficult issue often quite suddenly after a long journey in the shadows of doubt and confusion. The emergence into daylight after a train leaves a tunnel comes with a sudden burst of sunlight that can make us blink.

Often after a national tragedy, along with flowers laid at a significant place, are small jars containing candles their light flickering in the wind. A mark of remembrance and a light to show that hope has not died, even if it is momentarily diminished.

In the natural span of years that we have in our time of journey on this earth, a mere second of time in the calendar of existence, we mark our transition with a time often called 'our twilight years'. It is a time when frailty begins to become apparent, when our physical frame is weakened by the passing of years. Our fading sight no longer accommodates the detail of day to day jobs as the light fades. Loss of sight, whether in old age or for others through injury or illness in earlier years is significant and limiting.

Passing from our life experience through death is the personal challenge that all of us must face. In one of Mary Oliver's poems she writes 'maybe death isn't darkness after all but so much light, wrapping itself around us'.

We often talk about others as bringing light into our lives, not because they go around carrying torches, but because of what they offer and  willingly share with others. Something of joy and a sparkle of brightness is experienced in their presence. They lift painful moments, offering consolation and hope just by being who they are. When words don't come easily, then the comfort of caring arms and the holding of hands can give reassurance. Names might not be known but no matter. There is an understanding between us that is expressed through touch and light flickers again after darkness. Strangers share and offer care.

At our baptism, a candle was lit from the flame of the Pascal candle, the light that shows us the Risen Christ. As we grow up we carry that inner flame to guide us on a stony and hazardous road. Our pathway can also be an occasion of sharing with others, the light of our baptism should not be a matter of selfish possession but is a matter of sharing the experience of our gift with others.

The famous painting by the English Pre-Raphaelite artist, Holman Hunt, painted in the mid 19th Century, shows the figure of the Christ preparing to knock on an overgrown and long-unopened door, his shadowy  figure lit by a hand-held lamp, Jesus brings his light to illuminate darkness in our difficult times.

Darkness is never total, even though the shadows are deep and long. It is often said that the darkest hours come just before dawn and the breaking of a new day and the brilliance of another sunrise.

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