Light My Fire

Long before Christmas or Hanukkah or many of the other festivals celebrated at this time of year, Stone Age farmers and their families entered a Neolithic passage tomb on the eve of the winter solstice. Would the sun return once again? Or would this be the year of endless night?

The place is Newgrange, in the Boyne Valley, County Meath, Ireland.  It has  a small opening above the entrance to allow a shaft of sunlight to penetrate the chamber on the longest night. The accuracy of Newgrange in marking the winter solstice is amazing, considering that it was built more than 2,000 years before Stonehenge. It marks the moment when the sun begins its return to the cold north, bringing with it the promise of warmth and new life ahead for a frozen land. 

Solstice: literally; “the sun stops.”  Which is how it seemed to those ancients. Stopped its long journey south and began to come back, promising once again fields that could be planted, when animals and birds would leave their winter homes to mate and nest once more.  When another harvest could be gathered in before the next winter.

As the bright pinpoint of light pierced the dark interior, imagine the relief and rejoicing. It’s no wonder that faith traditions adopted this time of new light as a birth.  Light is the stuff of life. Christians sing “Hail the son of righteousness, light and life to all he brings.” Light is the perfect metaphor for the sun/Son of God.

I have spent the past few days in a house on Buzzards Bay, watching the frozen sea rime creep day by day a bit farther out into the bay. It is quiet; the gulls that call in the summer are silent, the ospreys are gone, finches and sparrows hide in the trees. It is a stark and still scene.

There are many big windows in this house, wonderful for gazing out across the water and which open to cooling breezes in summer. Now, however, is a different story.  I have heat, for which I am thankful, but even so, all this glass allows the heat to leak out. So I build a fire, which warms me in a way that nothing else can.  I spend long moments watching the fire from my chair nearby, mesmerized by the flames while soaking up the warmth.  And contemplating fire and sun and light.

It reminds me of another ancient solstice ritual, when all across northern Europe, villagers gathered around blazing bonfires on the longest night, warming their bodies as they danced and sang to summon back the sun.

Imagine the long months before, when each day had grown shorter, the days increasingly colder and darkness and seemed to creep over the frozen earth a little more each night. Did they fear that the nights would become even longer; that darkness would cover the earth and never dispel the night? How would they know?

Fire and light, the presence and purpose of warmth and love, are the symbols and metaphors for Christmas, Hanukkah, and for a new year. These holy/holidays are filled with song and feasting, receiving and giving gifts, worship, prayer and promise of things to come.

Yet wonder-filled and joyful as these holydays are, they are over quickly and could soon lose their power if we fail to we carry the light of hope and the fire of love into dark and lonely places; where lives are bleak and people abandoned, forgotten and betrayed. Where justice and mercy have been swallowed by greed and power. Where bellies are empty and backs are bent over in despair. Where a hand is needed to reach out and lift up the weary and lonely; where love can help heal a wounded heart.

Let the words of this old folk song be our anthem for the season: “Don’t let the light go out, it’s lasted for so many years, don’t let the light go out, let it shine through our love and our tears.” Let the first brilliant shaft of light that pierces the cave of darkness shine in us so that others may see it and find hope once more.  And let it kindle a fire in our hearts which will burn with passion to do our part to make this hurting and broken world a better place.