Just a Sliver of Light

Tonight, I watched the lunar eclipse.

The sky was perfectly clear, and I watched as a bright, beautiful moon slowly became covered in darkness.

And somewhere in the middle of watching it, I couldn’t stop thinking about the light.

We’ve heard it said a hundred different ways.

Light overcomes darkness.

Good overcomes evil.

Be the light.

Shine your light.

They’re beautiful concepts. Biblical concepts. Things we put on signs and T-shirts and share in social media posts.

But tonight, watching the sky, it hit me differently.

Because at one point, almost the entire moon appeared dark.

Almost all of it.

And yet there was this tiny sliver of light still shining.

And somehow, that tiny sliver seemed so powerful.

Think about that.

An almost-full circle of darkness, and my eyes were still drawn to the smallest piece of light.

The darkness didn’t make the light disappear.

If anything, it made me notice the light more.

And as the moon grew darker, something else happened.

The stars seemed brighter too.

I stood there looking at the sky thinking about how beautifully that reflects so much of what God tells us throughout Scripture.

In fact, light is one of the very first things we see God speak into existence.

“And God said, ‘Let there be light,’ and there was light. God saw that the light was good, and he separated the light from the darkness. God called the light ‘day,’ and the darkness he called ‘night.’” — Genesis 1:3-5

God saw that the light was good.

There’s something about those words that felt different standing underneath that sky.

From the very beginning, God created light and separated it from darkness. And throughout Scripture, He continues to use light to show us something about who He is—and who we are called to be.

“The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” — John 1:5

I’ve read that verse before. I’ve heard it preached before.

But there’s something different about standing underneath a dark sky and actually seeing what even the smallest amount of light can do.

And it made me wonder:

Do we actually live like we believe it?

Do we really believe light is more powerful than darkness?

Do we believe goodness can overcome evil?

Do we believe kindness matters when the world feels cruel?

Do we believe forgiveness has more power than bitterness?

Do we believe grace can accomplish something anger never will?

Because sometimes I think darkness feels more powerful simply because it’s louder.

Anger is loud.

Hurt can be loud.

Bitterness is loud.

Division is loud.

Cruelty is loud.

And when we’ve been hurt, darkness can even feel justified.

We can convince ourselves that someone deserves our anger. That holding onto resentment somehow protects us. That returning someone’s energy is fair because, after all, they gave it to us first.

But light doesn’t have to be loud to change the atmosphere.

Sometimes it only takes a sliver.

A kind word.

An unexpected apology.

Choosing forgiveness when you have every reason to stay angry.

Offering grace when someone hasn’t earned it.

Showing mercy.

Loving someone who isn’t particularly easy to love.

Choosing not to say the thing you absolutely could say.

Being gentle when you could have been harsh.

Those things can feel small.

Almost insignificant.

But maybe that’s exactly what I was seeing tonight.

Light doesn’t have to be bigger than the darkness to be noticeable within it.

Think about the people in your own life.

You probably know someone who seems to carry light with them.

There’s something about being around them that feels different. They encourage people. They make people feel seen. They don’t need to dominate a room to change it. Their kindness is genuine. Their joy isn’t dependent on everything going perfectly.

And you probably know the opposite too.

Someone whose anger, bitterness, negativity or constant criticism seems to change the atmosphere the moment they enter it.

We feel both.

Which means we have to ask ourselves:

What do people feel when we walk into the room?

Not because we’re supposed to be endlessly happy.

Not because Christians aren’t allowed to hurt, grieve, get angry or have difficult days.

Jesus never asked us to pretend darkness doesn’t exist.

He asked us to shine in it.

“You are the light of the world.” — Matthew 5:14

And maybe that was part of what struck me so deeply about the sky tonight.

As the moon grew darker, the stars became easier to see.

Scripture gives us that image too.

Paul writes that we are to:

“…shine among them like stars in the sky.” — Philippians 2:15

Maybe sometimes we notice the stars most when the sky gets darker.

And maybe the same is true of us.

Maybe being the light doesn’t always mean doing something enormous.

Maybe we sometimes make it too complicated.

Maybe it means choosing kindness when cruelty would be easier.

Forgiveness when bitterness feels justified.

Mercy when judgment comes naturally.

Grace when someone doesn’t deserve it.

Love when anger would get more attention.

And maybe we underestimate what God can do with those seemingly tiny choices.

Because tonight, darkness covered almost everything I could see.

But I wasn’t staring at the darkness.

I was staring at the light.

And even as the moon darkened, the stars seemed to shine brighter around it.

Maybe that’s the reminder.

We don’t have to eliminate every bit of darkness around us before we can make a difference.

We don’t have to fix everything.

We don’t have to overpower it.

We just have to decide what we’re going to carry into it.

Because sometimes, in a world that can feel overwhelmingly dark, one tiny sliver of light is enough to remind someone that the darkness hasn’t won.

And perhaps that’s why Jesus didn’t tell us to curse the darkness.

He told us to shine.

Be the sliver of light.