“Move over the face of
my deep,
my darkness,
my endless restless chaos,
and create,
O God;
trouble me,
comfort me,
stir me up,
and calm me,
but do not cease
to breathe
your Spirit into
my waking soul.”
~Jan L. Richardson

My new, preferred route to get to the office is along the East River Road which winds along the Mississippi River. I have written several times in this space about people and things I have observed as I travel this path. Since I began taking this less stressful, more grounding drive during what is known as ‘rush’ hour, I have observed leaves in their full greenness turn to whatever colors already lived in their DNA. I have watched as people moved through wearing walking or running in shorts and tanks to the many forms of layering that is a Minnesota art form. I have been present to the change of the seasons as if it were a film in which I am a mere walk-on or drive-through as the case may be.

Now that the leaves have gone through the change of colors and most have fallen to the ground, the view of the Mighty Mississippi is much clearer. I am now able to see the barges moving at their slow, metered pace guided by the humble tugboats that maneuver the loads around the many twists and turns of this water turnpike. Soon that sight will also be a memory as the waters get colder and freeze. But for now it seems pure gift to drive along as I watch cargo that is mystery to me be delivered to unknown places.

But the sight that has captured my attention from my perch above the river is the ability to see the many caves that dot the river’s edge. Caves, dug out of the sandy banks,are tucked into the landscape, like white doors leading to danger or adventure. I can imagine rowboats of pirates or bootleggers floating in, unnoticed, to hide their booty. I can see lovers slowly disappear into the mouth of the cave for a kiss or a well-planned romantic proposal. I can imagine that over time many teenagers have found their way into these caves searching for the kind of rebellious shirking of rules and defiance that is the purview of the young.

We are people who once knew caves. Through a series of geological movement that is lost on me, caves formed and made the perfect home. No building. No gathering wood. No hard labor. Caves seemed to be the easiest place to move in and set up housekeeping. Build a little fire. Scare away the bats. Decorate the walls with a little mud tinged by the color of this plant or the other. Tell the story of the lives lived so, later, others will know a little bit about who called the cave, and the time, home.

Perhaps I am fascinated by the caves because my own Celtic ancestry was peppered with those who made their homes in stone hives, human-made caves, built along the water. Stacking stones gathered and hauled from the countryside, these early ones kept watch from their cave-like structures. They kept watch for those who would be friend and those who sought to conquer. From their rounded doorways, they sent their prayers out on the fierce wind to be carried by the water to the One who would hear them.

Soon we will walk into the season of Advent, a time of waiting and watching for the coming of the Light after the darkest days of the year. I often equate Advent with going into a cave. We enter the darkness, carrying only what we need. We enter the darkness, hoping to discover within ourselves the light the Holy One planted within each of us. We enter the small space we can call home for a while, as we remember the Light which came into the world. The darkness has its own gifts. Like the cave, it offers a place to rest awhile, to call home, a place of safety, rest and reflection. Advent invites us to rest in these darkest days we know in this northern hemisphere in November and December. Going into the cave requires building a fire that is just large enough to warm and nourish. Going into the cave also invites us to tell our life stories once again, even paint them on the walls of this safe house.

I will continue to watch over the Mississippi caves as I move in my 21st century ways. I will watch as the water no longer laps at their doors but, instead, freezes into glistening ice crystals. I will watch as the days get shorter and the darkness deeper. I will do so knowing that in a few short weeks the light will once again increase its beam upon us.

But for the time being, I will glory in the gift of the cave-like darkness.