The Longest Night

The Winter Solstice was yesterday – December 21. In the northern hemisphere, it is the shortest in our year for daylight, and the longest in our year for darkness. We are tilted away from the source of light and warmth in our solar system…apart. Alone. In that space of darkness night, we have time to count our losses and shortcomings, those burdens that weigh us down. What a cycle of agony we get swept into – almost like a tornado of regret and grief. What happens when that dark tornado collides with the joy and sparkle of “the most wonderful time of the year” – Christmas? Maybe it is a feeling of doom or dread. Maybe it is a storm of anger. Maybe it is a space of exacerbated depression or insecurity.

Whatever the reaction, the result is in marked contrast to what our cultural and liturgical expectations are. We may be feeling more in the Darkness Galore camp, rather than the Holly Jolly village. In truth, both poles are outside of reality. The reality is that 2020 has been a year where some have felt great joys and hopes, mingled with deep lows…and some days have just been mediocre. Many of us have experienced the discomfort of isolation and loss. Maybe this year has felt like a protracted visit to the dentist – root canals, nerve treatments, fillings.

How are we to reconnect with reality, while swept into the burdens of this year? What are we to do about our feelings of dread and apartness, as the night is so dark? Normally I would say that we can find comfort in gathering together, at least placing our bodies in proximity with others who may be sharing similar burdens or disappointments in feeling disjointed in this season. With the concerns of the spread of COVID-19, even that is not a source of possibility or comfort right now. And, while we writhe inside with thoughts that no end is in sight, we still wait for the light. We hold lightly our expectations, for our hands feel so frail and inept.

For me, Christmas 2002 was a time of darkness and feeling numb. My mother had died on Thanksgiving morning. I felt like I was without a compass, drifting. Much of that time is a blur, and that is how I felt. Blurry and out of touch. If I had not already been a member of the choir at my church, I might have simply stayed at home, alone in my apartment. To be around excitement and lights and joy was really a struggle. Music, however, served as a tether to God’s love and to a community of people striving to walk in the steps of Jesus.

And so, that brings us to 2020. There is much that is hard – in our own lives and those we love. If you are struggling in the darkness of disappointment, you are not alone. If you are feeling disjointed by the anticipation around you, when you feel there is little hope ahead, you are not alone. If you are feeling disillusioned, scared, or grief-stricken, you are not alone. The people of Saint Stephen’s are lifting you in prayer. Know that you are loved and not alone.

Prayer is a way we can stay connected and seek comfort in a safe space. Please join us on Facebook or YouTube this Wednesday, December 23, at 6:30 p.m. for our service for The Longest Night. We will have prayers, scripture, a short sermon, and space for reflection, as we are longing for light. All are welcome – and invite someone who may also be in a space of pain to join us, too.

May God’s blessings and peace shine a glimmer of hope for you this day,

Katherine+