What Do You See in the Darkness?

It’s 3:30 a.m. We’re on the road, heading east toward the war front in Ukraine.

It’s still dark, really dark, and quiet. Most people are asleep. We’re headed toward hurting people, tired, broken churches, and soldiers carrying burdens too heavy to explain. Early mornings like this settle you—no noise, no rush, just the road and where you’re going. As we drive, I keep thinking about Jesus’ heart of compassion.

Jesus sees people—the brokenhearted, the tired, broken people who keep going, families under constant strain, soldiers carrying grief and fear they might never say out loud, and memories that most of us could not even imagine.

Because Jesus sees, we go.

This morning, I’m also thinking of how often God asked the prophets, “What do you see?” For Jeremiah, Amos, and Zechariah, it wasn’t just about what was in front of them—it was a call to truly see and act.

That question sits with me this morning: What do we see when we imagine people engulfed in such darkness?

When Jesus saw the crowds, He was moved with compassion. He didn’t turn away from pain or ignore the weary and overwhelmed. He saw them—and moved toward them. True compassion doesn't avoid pain; it steps right into it. That’s what I want—not just to think about people surrounded by such darkness, but to truly see them, and not just to recognize suffering, but to respond with love. Oh, Jesus, may I see as you see! Scripture says we’re Christ’s ambassadors—as though God was making His appeal through us. We go because He sends us. His compassion still moves into dark places, and so we go.

“Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?” (Isaiah 6:8)

I think of Isaiah hearing God say, “Whom shall I send, and who will go for us?” And Isaiah answered, “Here am I. Send me.” Who’s really up to answer this call or even qualified except through him? Yet we’re honored to go. Honored to carry His name, His love, and His compassion to those who need to know they’re not forgotten.

In a few hours, the sun will rise over God’s beautiful earth—even a land broken and scarred by war. The evidence of war is everywhere. The reality breaks my heart, and how it must break the very heart of God. But as the sun rises over this land, my prayer is that Christ’s light would shine through us into the darkness. That somehow in this broken land, his light would shine through us.  

Scripture says, “The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of deep darkness a light has dawned.”

That’s my prayer today: Where the pain and grief have settled, let light dawn. Where fear has taken hold, let light dawn. Where hearts are crushed by grief and loss, may Christ's love shine again.

Now, as I finish writing, the sun is starting to shine—really shine, and we’re heading right towards it. It is beautiful, just like Him. May it be, Abba. “In Him was life, and that life was the light of all mankind.”

Please pray for us in the days ahead. Pray we see people as Jesus does. Pray we carry His compassion well, so that when we are ministering to hurting people, weary families, and broken soldiers, they will realize that they’re not forgotten. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.

And pray that wherever it’s dark, Christ’s light will shine. Yes, my Jesus, please shine.