Last night a group of us sat in a circle around the fireplace in the Parish Hall for our December gathering of Ruth’s Sisters (“women navigating midlife transitions of body-mind-spirit together in community grounded in faith, spirituality and experience”). The fire crackled to the sound of a Christmas melody being played on the organ, drifting in from the church. Each sister was invited to consider two questions: What is being born in you? And what burden are you carrying? The light and heat from the fire warmed our circle as we took the time to share and to listen.
Sitting by a fire with others or by yourself can soothe and comfort in a primal way. There is something about the quality of the light that differs from other kinds of light, and it’s not just about the heat. For me, it has something to do with the interplay of light and dark, illumination and shadow, and the dancing, living quality of the flames; and how even as a fire is dying, it gives off light, however dim.
A friend shared a poem with me recently, written by Irish poet, author and priest John O’Donahue. We will hear this poem read aloud this Saturday at our Dark/Light Service at Faith@Five, a service that holds space for the reality that this holiday season can bring up a host of different emotions for many of us, sadness and grief alongside gladness and joy.
Just as we find comfort in gathering together around a fire, so too we find comfort gathering together in community to listen, sing, pray and share a meal, offering ourselves and all that we carry within us — our burdens and hopes, cares and dreams — to one another and to our God, who is big enough to hold it All.
As we prepare once again to celebrate the light of the world made flesh, let us remember the kind of light that warms and nourishes, that we may be that light for others.