January 8, 2025
On a cold Epiphany winter night at Holy Family, we joined in the Episcopal tradition of the Burning of the Greens. The Christian holy day Epiphany, on Jan. 6, is also known as the “Feast of Lights,” and some Episcopal congregations celebrate this feast quite literally, by burning Christmas trees and greens in recognition of Jesus as a light to the world.
The light from a Christmas tree fire invokes symbolism rooted in the origins of Epiphany as an alternative to pagan festivals that were held on the winter solstice – the darkest day of the year. Also known as Three Kings Day, Epiphany traditionally commemorates the day the Magi were introduced to the infant Jesus. Light also is a familiar motif in contemporary lectionary readings for Epiphany, such as Isaiah 60:1-6: “Arise, shine; for your light has come.”
Another tradition, closely associated with the winter solstice, is the burning of a Yule log in a bonfire, symbolizing the return of the sun during the darkest time of year, particularly prevalent in ancient Scandinavian cultures; people would often save a small part of the log to light the next year’s fire, signifying continuity and the cycle of life. The Germanic, Scandinavian, Norse, and Celtic peoples celebrated Yule on the winter solstice. Anciently, Yule was a celebration that, in some cases, lasted for 2 months! Norse people would celebrate Yule with evergreens, holly, wreaths, a Yule log, and bells.
In ancient customs, burning the Yule log was believed to signal the return of the sun and usher in the beginning of spring. When adopted as a Christian custom, a Yule log became symbolic of the infant Christ Child at Christmas. People would leave the Yule log burning for the 12 days of Christmas. A small portion of the log is saved to light next year’s fire, and the ashes are scattered over a garden when it is time to plant seeds.
For many years, on the night of or near the winter solstice, my running buddies and I ventured once into the darkness of the trail with our headlamps lighting the way until, we reached a place we affectionately call “Beech Cove.” Deep in the woods, alongside a lovely brook, we turned off our headlamps and let the darkness settle in around us. The water could be heard in a new way, and Orion and the Pleiades became visible in a new way above us. Wendell Berry, our American treasure, wrote this about the dark: “To go in the dark with a light is to know the light. To know the dark, go dark. Go without sight, and find that the dark, too, blooms and sings, and is traveled by dark feet, and dark wings.” Anyone who has spent time in the wood at night will know the truth of this poem, and its paradoxical lesson that we know the light, in part, because we are willing to become familiar with the dark. And sometimes we know the dark simply because we are human, and vulnerable, and in spite of this, even amid our darkest moments, we see glimpses of light.
This is where the Gospels of John and Luke speak to one another, in dialectic fashion perhaps. The incarnation we observe and celebrate in this season means nothing less than that God is no longer a God of the sky, relegated to Orion’s realm, but rather walks in the rhythm of humanity. Now, in Christ, we can gaze upon God, both human and divine, just as light—the Word—is both particle and wave, and in seeing Him we see who we were meant to be.
So, there is more to the cry of the infant in that cold, dark stable than meets the eye, and sometimes, even if through a glass darkly, we glimpse that something more. John, in his paradoxical insistence that the world cannot see the light which supposedly enlightens it, would not deny that even our unknowing, at times uncaring world sees glimpses of the light. Despite the sometimes-self-indulgent nature of the season, there are times when we can see glimpses of our own best selves reflected in the glimpses of light. We are reminded of W.H. Auden’s similarly paradoxical Christmas Oratorio in which he wrote: “To those who have seen the child, however dimly, however incredulously, The Time Being is, in a sense, the most trying time of all…we look round for something, no matter what, to inhibit our self-reflection.” This being human can be so very hard, until we remember that we are held in the hands of a God who chose not to leave us alone. Indeed, the lovely performance of Amahl and the Night Visitors, a one-act opera by Menotti, was a wonderful celebration of this same Epiphany message. We are transformed by these mysterious, Holy encounters with light, and with compassion shared and given away. I am so very grateful for our choir, led by John King Carter, and the musicians and actor/singers, and especially young Amahl, played by the remarkable Darwin Marie Dudgeon
Thanks, as well, to Bruce Elliott and the faithful Grounds Crew for, well, shepherding our own bonfire! A deep bow of gratitude to Jacques for creating the set design for the stage, and to the hospitality team for contributing the chili and hard work for the dinner, and to all who brought food for our bountiful feast. You kept us warm and fed on a cold winter’s night!
Epiphany blessings to each of you, and I’ll catch you later down the trail. I hope to see you in church! Bill+
January 1, 2025
I am a collector and connoisseur of light. I hold memories of these experiences of light deep within my soul, and they sustain and enliven and enrich my experience of being alive. On a remarkable day recently, I was running on the local trails, and I was rendered speechless by the slant of light and the beauty of the day. As Emily Dickinson said,
There’s a certain Slant of light,
Winter Afternoons –
And on Christmas morning I arrived early and sat in the chapel as the light streamed into that sacred space, soon to be filled with those gathered for the quiet Eucharist….
In one of his poems Gerard Manly Hopkins has written,
“The world is charged with the grandeur of God.
It will flame out, like shining from shook foil;”
In my mind’s eye, I have a collection of such days of remarkable light. They each involve a transformation of perspectives of some kind, perhaps even a transcendence of the ordinary, even if just for a moment. Each experience involves liminal, transitional space, where light seems to symbolize the passage to a new perspective, a surprising way of looking at the world. I recall the remarkable quality of light on a day in Maine, leaving Stonington Harbor in a kayak, looking back at the town as the sunlight, filtered through a dissipating fog, cast a beautiful glow on Penobscot Bay and reflected off the slick head of a harbor seal,
December 25, 2024
The Gospel: John 1:1-14
In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.
There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. He came as a witness to testify to the light, so that all might believe through him. He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light. The true light, which enlightens everyone, was coming into the world.
He was in the world, and the world came into being through him; yet the world did not know him. He came to what was his own, and his own people did not accept him. But to all who received him, who believed in his name, he gave power to become children of God, who were born, not of blood or of the will of the flesh or of the will of man, but of God.And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father’s only son, full of grace and truth.
Grace and peace to you all on this Christmas Day,
December 18, 2024
This coming Sunday will be the Fourth Sunday of Advent, followed by Christmas Eve on Tuesday and Christmas Day on Wednesday. It is a wonderful season, and the Gospel text for Sunday sets the stage for what is to come in such a lovely way:
The Gospel: Luke 1:39-55
In those days Mary set out and went with haste to a Judean town in the hill country, where she entered the house of Zechariah and greeted Elizabeth. When Elizabeth heard Mary’s greeting, the child leaped in her womb. And Elizabeth was filled with the Holy Spirit and exclaimed with a loud cry, “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb. And why has this happened to me, that the mother of my Lord comes to me? For as soon as I heard the sound of your greeting, the child in my womb leaped for joy. And blessed is she who believed that there would be a fulfillment of what was spoken to her by the Lord.”
And Mary said,
“My soul magnifies the Lord,
and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior,
for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant.
Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed;
for the Mighty One has done great things for me,
and holy is his name.