Winter's Light

            When the year’s shadows are heaviest, when nights become long and cold, when feelings of self-doubt, despair, and death draw near, we light candles to push back the darkness that surrounds us. 

            The flickering of the flames tonight draws us out of our normal preoccupations to focus on this moment. 

            The light of the stars, the roaring bonfires, the calm flames of candles remind us of people we’ve loved, dreams we’ve followed over the years, and the guidance of wise teachers. They call us to reclaim what stirs our passions, what brings us energy and meaning. 

            They challenge us to care for those among us for whom the light has grown dim. We set aside the burdens of life and let our hearts fill with light and with compassion for others, because when the light comes, it comes for all. Each night I light a candle and let the dreams return that I have put off for too long. 

            In this season, people find renewal of their faith. Many use lights in their rituals of remembrance and rededication, like Christian candlelight services, Jewish Hanukkah, Hindu Diwali, and the African American celebration of community in Kwanzaa.

            Waiting beneath the twinkling holiday decorations, we celebrate the message that despite the trauma of what has happened this year — bad jobs, no jobs, lost homes, struggles with health, the death of loved ones, the unrest in society — hope is not gone. Despite all the evidence to the contrary, glad news will come that we do not expect, the miraculous will happen, if we do not give in to despair and we work to keep the fires burning.

            Some will return to the rituals of ancient traditions to find a fresh breath of spirit. Others will find renewal outdoors, surrounded by mountains and forests, or in annual gatherings of family and friends. We will feel part of something greater than our individual lives, and stand in awe of nature’s majesty. Although grief has pulled our lives apart, the transcendence of nature tells us that one day we will be okay. 

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            Although the Winter Solstice signals the turning of winter back toward spring, the long hours of darkness encourage me to slow my rushing through the day to move at the meandering pace of the creeks. I feel the Presence of life around me as I watch the light glow on the top of the mountains, and reclaim the connection between my life and the Spirit of creation. 

The darkness does not do away with the light, but completes it, just as grief completes our understanding of love.

            The Sierra peaks in Yosemite give little hint that they have noticed the sun’s subtle shift back towards the Northern Hemisphere, but Half Dome will hold the day’s light a bit longer. 

            Down in the valley, along the Merced River as it winds through the meadows in its winter clothing, the American dipper (John Muir’s ouzel), swims under the water, hops up and down in the rapids, and sings its song of joy to the day’s fleeting warmth.

            May you find a place this holiday season where the sacred fire in your heart is rekindled.