In ancient times, the deep longing of the human heart for lasting meaning and fulfillment was expressed in the images of light and rest. Early liturgies spoke, or rather sang, of lux perpetua and requiem aeternam–light everlasting and rest without end. A beautiful expression of this longing is found in John Rutter’s Requiem.
These images of longing arise, it would seem, from the experience of fearful darkness and toilsome labour. The experience of darkness reflects the cycle of night and day, of winter and spring. Darkness has been associated with the unknown, with danger and fear. Light has been said to dispel all forms of darkness. The dawning of a new day marks a new beginning. I remember a friend who lived in a dangerous situation commenting that when he awoke in the morning, his immediate feeling was gratitude. He was grateful that he had lived to see the sunrise of another day.
Spring is a time of lengthening days, a time of more light, and a time when new life emerges anew from the darkness of winter. In some stories, light marks the beginning of creation. Enlightenment marks the dawning of a new and fuller awareness. The lux perpetua of early liturgies is an image expressive of hope for a light and warmth that dispel fear, overcome betrayal and brokenness, and convey vision and awareness, caring and compassion..
In That Lucky Old Sun, Louis Armstrong sings of the struggles of work and family life, with a voice that expresses at once longing and hope: “Fuss with my woman, toil for my kids/ Sweat till I’m wrinkled and gray.” In contrast, “that lucky old sun has nothin’ to do/ But roll around heaven all day.” Here the images of light and rest are combined. Yet, in a different song, he proclaims: It’s a Wonderful World. The experience of the rainbow colours in nature, human love expressed simply, and the awakening of a newborn child, all give a glimpse and an actual experience of our longed for meaning.
The final movement of Beethoven’s Pastoral Symphony, in which a peaceful awakening and renewal following a storm, is a wonderful example. This experience is beautifully captured in the early Disney movie, Fantasia. Leonard Cohen’s words in the song, Anthem, follow a similar path: “There is a crack, a crack in everything. That’s how the light gets in.” In another song, Cohen sings of a cold and broken hallelujah. These images of light express the possibility and challenge of hope out of despair, of joy out of sorrow, of beauty out of pain, of peace out of suffering.
The image of enduring rest conveys a similar experience, as well as the understanding and caring that can emerge from such experience. The image of rest expresses the notion of a release from the striving, the longing, the hurt, the failures, all the wearying things that go to make up the struggling, wrestling, coping character of life–a rest from life’s labours, so to speak. In his book, Sabbath, Wayne Muller emphasizes the need of time where, “we are valued not for what we have done or accomplished, but simply because we have received the gentle blessing of being miraculously alive. … [where] “the sweet womb of sacred rest enfolds us, heals and restores us.”
In this context, the meaning of rest is not just ceasing from activity, from keeping busy, which is often a form of escapism. It is rather resting comfortably in who we are. This includes a recognition of limitations, tendencies, faults, yet the conviction that who we are is deeper than and finally untouched by all of these. As Meister Eckhart expresses it: “There is a place in the soul that has never been wounded.”
In her book, Bitter/Sweet, Susan Cain writes that it is “about the recognition of the both/and of life–that light and dark, birth and death, bitter and sweet, are forever paired. We need both to accept that reality and also in some way transcend it. This is our inmost longing which can be seen as a longing for home. … This idea–of transforming pain into creativity, transcendence, and love–is the heart of this book.”
The above songs and stories all reflect the both/and of life, the inseparability of love and fear, joy and sorrow, light and darkness. Containing these words in the beauty of music or the unity of a story is a concrete way of saying that they are meaningful. They express the conviction and hope that there is a lasting worth and purpose to every life. Sorrow and pain do not take away that meaning, but are somehow encompassed within it. At the same time, there are moments in life that make it difficult to feel that value.
As in Leonard Cohen’s song, we all have cracks of vulnerability, grief, and sorrow, It is perhaps in these cracks that the light of hope, love, and meaning gets in. And perhaps these cracks allow a glimpse of the sacred and beautiful self that lies beneath and is untouched by all the trials of life.
May the beauty of who you are shine forth from any darkness. May you discover and gradually live from the place in your soul that has never been wounded.”
Norman King
December 14, 2025
