The Season of Light

 

1 December 2020

 Each year around this time I pull out a small volume from the bookshelf in my bedroom.  The book is called, Season of Light. The book is a series of short essays on, or at least peripherally related to, the season of Advent.  This tome is one of three or four books I regularly go back to over the course of the year, the others being works by Thomas Merton a hermit monk and the other by Simon Blackburn a devoutly atheistic philosopher. My reading, much like my soul, is a jumble at this time of year.

 

I will pick a couple of the writings contained in Season, and there is a writing for each day of advent, and read them. There are theological essays, possibly apocryphal stories and personal remembrances. But what I find most compelling are the essays that call us to individual action. These writings focus on us as messengers of hope, compassion and love. Living here in the north country with a fire in the Franklin stove, a cat under the tree and some coffee in hand I find the writers’ various urging for us to bridge divides and live love quite compelling.

 

There is a song that captures my feeling about this season.  It was written by the son of a Jewish mobster and an aboriginal woman.  The key lyrics go…

 

 

A shepherd on the hillside, over my flock I bide

On a cold winter night, a band of Angels sing

In a dream I heard a voice say, "Fear not, come rejoice

It's the end of the beginning, praise the new born King"

 

How a little baby boy could bring the people so much joy.

Son of a carpenter, Mary carried the light.

This must be Christmas, must be tonight.

 

Robbie Robertson- Christmas Must Be Tonight.

 

The promise of hope, the promise of peace, both captured in the Christmas story, are promises we all wish for on some level.  You could say we want other things, material things, relational things, but aren’t they all just parts of a puzzle we are trying to cobble together to bring some form of a peaceful joy to our soul?

 

I don’t worry about the war on Christmas.  Christmas has long been secular in America, divorced for most people from the arc of the story that runs from the manger to a horrific Roman execution to a heavenly ascension. Did it happen, that is something to be found in individual hearts because the historical record will never be clear. But the hopes and desires of men and women for forgiving love and balm upon our wounds and fellowship and friendship are universal. Each of us can carry a little bit of the light by listening more, loving more and overlooking the small stuff.

 

Over the next few weeks, it will be ancient music for me coupled with hot cocoa as I watch the lights on our Christmas tree.  2020 was not the year I wanted.  2020 was not the year any of us needed.  But with compassion in our hearts, we can reach out and make the holiday season better for ourselves and others. Peace.