Morning Reflections: The Light, the Meeting, and the Sword
This is the rhythm of spiritual life. The light comes, dazzling and undeniable, then it vanishes, and we are left to walk back down the mountain. We want to stay in the vision, to build tents and hold onto revelation, but that is not how faith works. The real work happens in the descent, in the valley, in the crowd, in the noise. When Jesus comes down, he finds chaos: a child suffering, disciples arguing, people losing hope. The mountain gives vision, but the valley demands faith.
The Meeting and the Cauldron
The Yijing joins this scene with its own kind of poetry. Today’s hexagram, Gòu (Encountering), speaks of unexpected meetings, the moment when Heaven and Earth brush against each other and things change. It warns, “Do not seize the encounter.” Life delivers us encounters that test who we are: people who challenge us, events that shake our sense of control, moments that stretch our patience to its limit.
But this hexagram transforms into Dǐng (The Cauldron), a vessel that refines what it holds through slow, steady fire. It tells us that our encounters are not random. They are the ingredients life gives us to cook into wisdom. The process is uncomfortable; fire always is, but it nourishes the soul.
Together, the Gospel and the Yijing form a complete lesson. Enlightenment on the mountain means nothing if we cannot bring its clarity into the valley. The disciple must walk back down, and the sage must let the encounter become nourishment.
The Sword and the Heart
Then comes the Dao De Jing, always gentle but uncompromising. Chapter 31 warns:
“Fine weapons are instruments of misfortune. Even in victory, they should be treated as a funeral.”
In a world addicted to outrage, conquest, and ideological warfare, this is a staggering statement. Laozi does not just condemn physical violence; he condemns the spirit of triumph itself. To delight in victory, he says, is to rejoice in killing.
We see this every day. The thrill of verbal sparring online, the pleasure of “winning” an argument, the appetite for humiliation disguised as righteousness. Whether in politics, religion, or culture, we wield our words like weapons. But the Daoist insight cuts deeper: the true warrior mourns the cost of every victory. If we emerge from conflict without compassion, we have already lost the Way.
This, too, mirrors Jesus on the mountain. The transfigured light is not a call to power; it is a call to humility. The divine voice does not say, “Follow him to glory,” but simply, “Listen to him.”
Faith Without Force
Taken together, these three readings form a single teaching for our time:
From the Gospel: Transformation is revelation, the divine light already within us, waiting for trust.
From the Yijing: Life’s encounters are not to be controlled but refined into wisdom.
From the Dao De Jing: Power without compassion is corruption; strength without humility destroys itself.
We live in an age that glorifies the opposite: quick opinions, instant outrage, victory without reflection. But these teachings point to a quieter revolution that begins within. It is the courage to see clearly, to encounter gently, to act without malice, and to walk down the mountain carrying light instead of wielding it as a sword.
Peace does not begin when the world stops fighting. It begins when we stop finding glory in the fight.
Practical Meditation
Sit quietly for a moment.
Let your shoulders drop.
Breathe in slowly and feel the light within you rise.
Breathe out and release the need to control what you meet.
Remember, not every battle is yours to fight.
Some things resolve by stillness, not force.
When you must act, act with clarity.
When you win, mourn what was lost.
When you lose, learn what was revealed.
The mountain and the valley are one. Walk both with peace.
