Light

Light. It’s one of the most beautiful words I know. You know what it is when you see it, but it isn’t so easy to describe it.

*****

I finished the last sentence, waited for the file to be stored in the computer, gathered together the large stacks of papers and placed them beside the shelf on the floor of my Brussels apartment. The morning sun had already lit up the room and I let my thoughts and body go numb. I closed the curtain and placed myself on the bed, making myself believe I was going to have a good night’s sleep.

I opened my eyes after an hour. My limbs and my brain were heavy. I was much more tired than hour before, which was good. It was the same morning, but it felt like I was waking up to a new day. The same sun was shining but it was slightly hotter. I went to shower without feeling refreshed, changed my clothes mechanically, closed the front door and lay my feet on the cobble stones of my home street.

The stones were warm from the July morning sun that had dried the light rain over the night. I half ran and half walked along the street, not quite sure whether I was too late or too early. I gasped a bit which I understood as a sign that I was running fast enough, even though of course my lungs didn’t work properly after not having slept more than an hour.

*****

Finally a stone was lifted from my heart. I was expecting my heart be now filled with joy over the soft deep green of the trees on the Sainte-Catherine square, by the warmth of the summer morning sunlight, with refreshing water of the fountains in the square, by the music of the birds. Let alone by the thought of my friends. Come to think of it, couldn’t remember how many weeks it had passed since I had read my emails.

In the meanwhile, the summer had come. I knew that in my country, at this point, the abundant light of the two summer months had finally managed to melt the last remains of snow from the hearts of the people, who could now easily breathe in the mature green scents of the July. Without hesitations they would walk with their bare feet on the warm grass, totally forgetting that the grass had ever been covered with frost. I knew it was July, I saw the light, I felt the sun on my skin, I heard the birds sing, but I didn’t know if I was warm or cold. I was gazing at the July light behind a window covered with frost patterns. I knew the summer was there but I couldn’t feel it. But at least I knew it was there.

*****

On these long wintery nights in July, my mind had started to wander back to one of those nights of February. Like that particular night, though one of many, when the four of us were standing under the starry February sky in the 10 degrees of frost. All four of us, feet frozen, noses bleak and mouths in constant smile, were standing in the crossroads of the always windy Eastern Long Street and the hilly Newland Street, and for the third hour we kept talking constantly, like on so many Sunday nights before. I hadn’t felt my feet in an hour, but of course I acted like I didn’t care. I saw by the smile in Joonatan’s eyes that even he started to have the same problem. We didn’t stop talking even for an instant. And like always, we were saying to ourselves we’d only chat for five minutes more, before we would all have to leave to different directions, me to West, Joonatan to South, Samuel to the East and Johannes to the North. Of course we knew we’d stand there for two hours more if nobody would bring up the prospect of having to wake up early tomorrow.

Samuel looked totally weird in his sandals but that didn’t stop him from smiling heroicly. For some reason, he really didn’t have cold in his feet. He had two large bags with him, where he carried two of his favorite editions in some strange languages, together with all the other equipment we never dared to ask about. Joonatan’s long hair was framed with frost that was made to shine by the street lamp behind him and the alternating green and red colours depending on the street lights that kept on blinking despite the late hour. And Johannes, the youngest of us, with his overwhelming joy and equally overwhelming authority. Who knows how long we would have stayed there, until Johannes finally broke the silence. “Come on guys, let’s take Joonatan to his place so he doesn’t have to walk alone!” Of course the idea was totally insane, we were tired and frozen and had to wake up early in the morning, and the journey would take almost an hour. All in all, this sounded probably the best idea anyone of us could have.

Around five in the morning, the three of us finally left Joonatan's place and walked back across the quiet frosty city. And in the meanwhile, the summer had come. I had to stop and turn around to look at all the four cardinal points, but still I was puzzled. I knew it was February, I could see the white streets and parks all around me, I could feel the frost nipping at my nose, I could hear the snow scrunching below my feet, but still I couldn’t convince myself. By the warmth in my heart, I knew it was a night in the middle of summer. Like the summers of my childhood.

*****

Two weeks ago on Sunday morning, I was at my church in Brussels, sitting a bit grumpy on a bench, streched to the extreme because of the long days of work. I felt so stressed and lonely that at that particular moment, I didn’t care to be polite to people. I felt a bit cold and the people next to me seemed so as well.

Having heard the words of the pastor I felt colder still. There he went on telling all about undeserved love and then suddenly started to make a fiery speech warning against the dangers of hardening your heart. Any other day I could have spent a moment, trying to do search my soul and analyze, whether I indeed had the right mindset. But today – it frankly didn’t even cross my mind to try.

Listening to the sermon, I felt my blood pressure rise and the feeling of indignation warming up the blood of my vains. In the end, the preacher asked softly whether somebody had felt there was something in their lives they needed to bring to the light, so they could come up to the front. But when it came to me, the softness was totally in vain. I marched determinedly to the front and stated bluntly to the preacher that I didn’t need a prayer but instead I had some ideas about his speech.

Being unshakeable in the justness of my cause, I asked him how on earth could he talk in such cold words and lay down burdens on peoples’ shoulders. It couldn’t possibly matter to God whether your heart happened to warm or cold, soft or hard. Well, of course he didn’t exactly react the way I would have wanted to. He was listening very reluctantly and looked like he was ready to turn away any minute.

I finally understood that it was like talking to a wall. Most certainly he was one of those pastors who thought they should do all the talking and others should stay out of this religious business, the women should keep quiet and so on. It was like I was trying to lit a match in the darkness but only created unneeded friction. In the end, he said coldly he would take into account my concern in the next sermon, but it didn’t sound to me very credible. And now additionally, I had to bear the guilt of being so disrespectful. If he didn’t understand anything, I was arguing for no reason.

Over these couple of weeks, I found myself often thinking of this frighteningly cold and condemning person and for my surprise, I felt something warm and new in my heart. That you would put your mind to your work and then hear somebody mock it down, and still endure that courageously. Seeing this, I realized what kind of person he really was. And I was waiting to see him again.

Yesterday I went to the same church again. I was thinking on my way whether I should go and apologize to him. But as I got there, I realized I was so tired I could only lean on my chair and try my best to stay awake. I could hardly concentrate on what the pastor was saying.

But all of a sudden, I saw a bright candle lighting up in his speech, I heard him use the most beautiful expressions such as sharing the word, the spirit of prophecy and the like. Upon his invitation, many people came in the front and told their stories, and over and over again, I saw a candle light up after another, till the whole room was lit. I looked at it and I recognized it, and I remembered it: the light. I wasn't sure whether I was warm or cold, whether I would dare go walking on the grass with my bare feet, but at least I knew the summer was there.