Following closely the end of daylight saving time comes my recognition of just how much shorter are the passing days. Activities are now more narrowly confined to daylight hours and for some of us even the prospect of driving much after dark is less and less attractive. As soon as those realities set in for me, I begin to long for spring. Call it the foolishness of a native Californian now living for more than 50 years in New England, but truth to tell, I do feel a kinship with those peoples across time who found ways of bringing light into these darkened days.
I write this on the first Sunday of Advent, which at sunset is also the beginning of Hanukkah, the Jewish Festival of Lights. Both Christians and Jews light candles — the Advent wreath and the menorah respectively — (and again respectively) to prepare for the birth of Jesus at Christmas and to commemorate the rededication of the Second Temple.
In these days, also dark owing to the persistent lingering of the pandemic, those ancient traditions and observances carry even more significance and appeal. They can bring some sense of order to a very disordered time. How often do we hear ourselves say we hope for a return to normalcy? We are impatient for things to be set right, to have a kind of springtime in which we can carry on as we were able to do before.
In some religious traditions, symbols have such power that they actually bring about what it is they symbolize. Such are called “sacraments.” The word comes from Roman antiquity and refers to the oath a new soldier took, while grasping the Roman standard, the swearing itself making him “sacer,” “given to the gods.” In our own times as well, gestures can bring about what they symbolize: the placing of a wedding ring, for example.
I wonder if the religious ceremonies of lighting Advent candles or Hanukkah candles can be for us our individual attempts to bring order, hope and peace into our lives and those of others. We know the visual impact of hundreds, if not thousands, of individual lights held aloft at a concert. Might our own lightings be illuminative of our way — individually and collectively — into a brighter time? It would be a beginning. As the poet John O’Donohue says so beautifully, “We are never alone in our beginning as it might seem at the time, A beginning is ultimately an invitation to open toward the gifts and growth that are stored up for us.”