The longest night with more to come

This evening, Sunday, Dec. 21, is the Winter Solstice, the longest night of the year. After tonight, the darkness will be incrementally shorter and days will lengthen as the earth rotates on its axis. It is good not to just rush past it to a noisy, colorful Christmas celebration. We need darkness and light to remind us that we are connected to the earth and its cycles and thereby to every living thing. Ancient peoples and indigenous peoples knew and continue to know the importance of this elemental connection far more than we do.

In the first creation story in the first chapter of the Book of Genesis, darkness existed before light. The divine energy’s first act of creation was to create light and separate it from darkness.

It was called “good.” Subsequent ages and cultures have taken things a step further than the biblical story, which is in the Hebraic tradition and labeled the darkness “bad” or “evil.” That is not what the text says. In case you missed what I said, I will repeat it: “This is not what the text says.”  If we are going to be biblical, then let’s be accurately biblical. Mislabeling darkness as “bad” has caused a world of problems, not the least of which is the denigration of people with darker skin tones.

We need light AND darkness. In Western cultures, we are socialized to think in terms of binaries that are opposites. If we thought in terms of balance and harmony, we might be better at problem-solving and peacemaking. Darkness is not to be feared. It can be a soft enveloping, a much-needed time of rest and reflection. Darkness can be a time for womblike regeneration. After all, a baby cries when it is thrust into the glaring lights and loud noises and hands of others.

(Mark Chenowith)

My new favorite manger scene contrasts with the animated one I started my commentary with last week. This is a dark and quiet scene. Joseph has stepped into the shadows. His large hand that knows a carpenter’s labor cradles his newborn son so that the exhausted Mary can rest. This is not an image of manhood that the current Christian manosphere would promote.

There are, as of yet, no kings with gifts, no shepherds, and no drummer boy. An Aramaic Joseph's eyes are darkly rimmed from the rigors of travel and now from the birth of his son far from home. Their hometown of Nazareth lies 90 miles to the north and west of Bethlehem, south of Jerusalem. They had to travel on foot down from the hills to the valley of the Jordan River, which provided the main thoroughfare north and south. Since they lived in Roman-occupied territory, they were mandated to be counted for taxation purposes. They would not have been the only ones traveling. They carried with them whatever they needed for the journey in terms of food or shelter. Joseph probably stayed awake many nights to guard his family and their possessions from bandits. Not to be trite, but there were no Buckee’s with clean restrooms and lots of snacks. The donkey probably carried their belongings most of the way. Mary would have been on foot too. Maybe she rode the last short distance with the baby pressing down on her swollen and tired abdomen. No wonder she went into labor in Bethlehem! The biblical birth narratives are short on these details.

Mary is tired. Joseph is tired. The baby is tired. The light for the scene is from the star shining through the window in the grotto as more of a prediction of what is to come rather than what is.

Joseph’s lips are slightly parted. I want to  think he is whispering words of love and hope into his son’s ears along with his own doubts and questions. Maybe he is humming a traditional folk song from his village. It comforts him as well as the baby.

Northern Lights

The final image I share with you is of the Northern Lights casting a glow on a snowy landscape.

This is the way I like to think of darkness and light dancing together. Colors swirl in the sky and crackle with electric possibility. A friend traveled to see these lights. She set her alarm and went outside to see no other people, only cameras set on tripods with their timers on. It turns out that cameras see more colors than the human eye. The photographers didn’t even bother going out.

I urge you to be a witness, a participant in the interplay of light and darkness. Why? As artist, art educator and executive director of Yellow House in Jacksonville, Hope McMath says,” We should not rush out of the dark too quickly. To sit with truth, pain, and the vagueness of possibility is hard, yet seems necessary. We each have the capacity to shine our light so that we — and others — can emerge from what otherwise feels intractable.”