Sunday brought the Midwinter Solstice to our Northern Hemisphere at 10:04 Eastern, in the morning. Shortest day, longest night. We’ve been on the approach to this for six months, a small decrease in light with each passing day, a small dose of change. And now things appear to stand still for two or three days (solstice meaning sun stand still). But change is the only thing that stays the same, and at these darkest nights, we begin our approach now to the next extreme: with the Midwinter Solstice’s passing, light again begins to increase, as darkness decreases, until things shift again in June at Midsummer. The dance of light and dark was here long before we came to be and will be here long after we are gone: a mystery explained in the beauty of geometry, all based on the fact that this old earth is tilted on its axis, causing the seasons, and, in a way, our response to them: what foods we eat, what stories we tell, what songs we sing. The very stuff of this blog.
The Fourth Sunday of Advent happened to coincide with this longest night, a lovely bit of exquisite timing. We’ve been lighting a new candle each Sunday since the 30th of November in a ring of light that began dimly, with the lighting of one purple candle, representing hope. We added a second purple candle the following Sunday, this one representing faith. A rose candle was added next, last Sunday: rose for joy, a distinct break from the solemnity and penitence of purple. And last night, the night of the Solstice, we added the fourth candle in the ring: another purple one, this one representing love. The Advent Wreath, of course, is not exactly celebrating the coming of the Midwinter Solstice; it is helping us prepare for the child born on Christmas Day. There is powerful imagery there, and it is no coincidence that the early Church chose this time of year to celebrate the birth of Christ: think “Jesus the Light of the World” (as the old hymn goes).
And so the darkest night came and with its passing, we enter soon into Christmastide. Here in this house, we got our tree, under the lights at the tree lot in Downtown West Palm Beach, late last week. It is illuminated now, but not yet decorated… that we’ll get to in the coming nights. Seth was up on the rooftop last night, solstice night, putting up lights there and up on the garden fence, too. We are doing our part to add our light to the sum of light, through light, but also through respect for and acknowledgment of the turning of the wheel of the year, the seasons as they pass, the tilt of this old earth, and the respect and kindness we offer the people we encounter along the way. We use our light to dispel the night, to counter all the darkness in the world, a darkness that is in no short supply these days. It is all we can do.
Thank you for this today, now. I needed your words, and from my stupor of sadness this piece along with a completely surprise Christmas cookie gift from a new neighbor has transformed this cold, gray post solticce morning into one of peace and coming contentment. How perfect…thank you so very much John.
Velma, you’re welcome. Blessings upon your new neighbor, too. It’s good to have good neighbors.
Thank you for this graceful commentary.
Merry Christmas to you and your family. I am hopeful for more light for all of us in 2026.
I’m with you, Donna. Thank you and merry Christmas.
I treasure your writings so much, John. There is always a ray of light for me here. I wanted to tell you how much I treasured your last post about the west gallery singers and promptly ran off and bought the same copy of the book that you have. I’m also listening to it on audiobook, which is a delight. Something about that tradition reminds me of Revels and how singing is for everybody. Bright solstice to you and Seth, from our house to yours, across the miles, from heart to heart.
Cari: Yes! I feel the same way about the West Gallery Choirs and Revels. They seem to me cut from the same cloth. It is very much the Shaker way, too, in my experience.
I thank you for your kind words, and I’m excited for you to read Under the Greenwood Tree, too, and the audiobook does indeed sound like a great way to experience it. Thank you for your midwinter greetings, too! We send best greetings your way, too. Thank you!