I'm sorry about this one. It came out far more dark than I intended. You might want to skip.
Today is the first day of winter, or at least that's what the calendar says. It seems that we make mental changes of seasons long before the earth is suitably aligned. No matter, somehow we got here.
Where I live, the chief characteristic of winter obviously isn't snow, or (unfortunately) rain, or even significant cold (according to my phone, it will be 79 degrees tomorrow). The chief way to know its winter is darkness. No matter the weather, come 4:00 it's well toward dark outside. Although these short days are frustrating for biking, no time after work and just too cold in the morning, I love the early dark and couldn't celebrate the season any other way. Clearly I could never live in Austrailia.
Christmas is a season of darkness. So much of what defines the season are lights whether on my house, on the tree or the four candles on my Advent wreath (which I successfully lit for the first time in ages). Without darkness, these lights have no power or beauty. Even the pre-Christian roots of this celebration were about the day conquering the darkness of night.
But I think there is more than this, I think in many ways during this time of year we confront darknesses in our lives. Fears, loneliness, loss, all feel more intense at this time of year. Even more than New Year we feel the quick passage of time, where we are relative to where we were a year ago, who's no longer at the table. Along with comfort and joy, Christmas is a time that can reveal glimpses of the fundamental sadness of life (oh my goodness, clearly the season is not the only thing in a dark place tonight).
I've yet to write about A Christmas Carol this year. Last week I watched four different versions, focusing this time on the Christmas yet to come segment. This is always the darkest portion of the story with most scenes at night in low light. The takeaway is always that it is the darkness of Scrooge's life that caused this dark future. “Are these the shadows of things that will be, or may be,” he bargains with the spirit. As we all know the story, Scrooge does make the change and rewrite the future…somewhat.
The funny thing is that many things do not change. “Tell me I may sponge the writing from that stone,” he begs. Though the stone disappears, transforms into his pillow, the writing waits there for him just the same. We are happy to discover that Tiny Tim did not die…immediately, but unless the cure he received was that of immortality, even he will succumb with time. Though the universal joy at Scrooge's death might be transformed into fond sadness, eventually the world will go on nonetheless. The yet to come segment is truly facing the darkness that is at the heart of all of our lives.
The victory for Scrooge is his willingness to bring light into the darkness. Though not changing the fundamentals, with love and generosity, he lights a lamp.
In winter we look at the darkness, and if we are lucky we can see (or light) the lights.
As always, I welcome your comments.
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