In the the closing chapters of the Apocalypse, the Apostle John sees the Holy City, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God.
Then the angel showed me the river of the water of life, as clear as crystal, flowing from the throne of God and of the Lamb down the middle of the great street of the city. On each side of the river stood the tree of life, bearing twelve crops of fruit, yielding its fruit every month. And the leaves of the tree are for the healing of the nations. No longer will there be any curse. The throne of God and of the Lamb will be in the city, and his servants will serve him. They will see his face, and his name will be on their foreheads. There will be no more night.
First off, I would love to get a photograph of that marvelous tree, straddling the river of life like a great Sequoia. What sight that will be. I do love rivers and trees, and this tree and that river have fascinated me for a long, long time. I want to paddle my canoe right down the middle of it and breathe in the scent of the healing leaves.
Secondly, I do hope John is speaking metaphorically about the darkness, because I would miss it terribly.
Darkness has been a metaphor for danger and evil probably ever since that first Neanderthal got trounced upon and eaten when he stepped out of his cave at night. An awful lot of bad things happen under the cover of darkness. I'll leave the porch light on for you so you won't have to fumble for the key in the dark.
But forget about all that for a moment and think about the vibrant quiet of the night, the solitude of the darkness so absolute you can feel it. Think about the stars. You can't see them until the noisy lights fade and the roar of the city recedes. The clouds dance with the wind by the light of the moon.
Tolkein's elves awoke in the starlight, and night was ever their home, even as much as they loved their sunlight and jewels.
Have you ever been out on the water in a canoe as the evening passes into night and the world comes alive?
