Have you ever been in a cavern? I mean a REAL cavern. It requires a safety briefing, hard hats, a rigorous spelunk (yes, you heard that right) into the depths of the earth squeezing your body through crevices that scratch your flesh as you pass through, but most of all, you note there is no light. Everyone requires a flashlight or headlamp because there is no natural or otherwise reflective light. In one such family adventure, I recall getting to the bottom of a cavern and the guide telling everyone to find a stable position on level ground and then he said, “turn off your lights.” Blackness, nervous throat-clearing, and your brain starts to reach for that last image your eyes took in, as if it would somehow give you a firmer foundation. It is a soul-staggering sensation. Now imagine being alone. Using everything in your power, you try to recall the way in. You think through your steps that brought you to this point, the stairways, the turns, and the rock formations that might be tangible landmarks. Like a scene from The Lord of the Rings traveling through the Dwarf realm of Moria, you’re glad that there are no such things as Cave Trolls or Balrogs, but I’m sure that your knees have had stronger moments. Light and dark are common biblical images. Light reveals and dark conceals. Light is pure where darkness is tainted. But John knows that both light and darkness can draw people. What is the anchor in the midst of darkness? God. But here’s the interesting twist—in a series of three conditional sentences that begin with “If we say,” we begin to realize that John is identifying what a child of light looks like and what a child of darkness looks like. He appeals to the reader to consider the character of God and how each persons' life looks based upon God’s character.