Season’s Greetings
Sermon given at the Brookfield Unitarian Universalist Church
December 15, 2019
by The Rev. Craig M. Nowak
I spent some time looking at polls the other day.
No, not political polls…favorite season polls.
In poll after poll spring, summer and autumn almost uniformly occupied the top three spots, though in slightly differing orders from one poll to the next. Not surprisingly, winter was dead last pretty much across the board.
Now, winter, such as we know it here in New England, is distinguished by a number of characteristics, many of which are viewed or experienced negatively. And of those two are named perhaps more than any other, cold and darkness.
It’s interesting that in summer we may complain about the heat, but I can’t recall ever hearing someone complain about the light of summer.
Is this merely a preference for light over dark or does it point to something else?
Jacqui James, a retired Unitarian Universalist educator notes, “We shape language and are shaped by it. In our culture, white is esteemed. It is heavenly, sunlike, clean, pure, immaculate, innocent, and beautiful. At the same time black is evil, wicked, gloomy, depressing, angry, sullen.” She continues, “Ascribing negative and positive values to black and white enhances the institutionalization of this culture’s racism.”
Indeed, I have often wondered and worried about my choice of words and metaphors over the years and whether or not I’m enhancing or helping to tear down the institutionalization of racism in American culture.
How does one, for example, talk about the season of light without reinforcing some of the positive and negative values commonly ascribed with light and darkness?
Do we need new language? Different metaphors?
James offers another idea. “The words black and dark, white and light don’t need to be destroyed or ignored”, she says, “only balanced and reclaimed in their wholeness.” Inviting us to, “Imagine a world that had only light- or dark,” James reminds us, “We need both. Dark and light. Light and dark.”
Reflecting on James’ words, I was reminded of a night this past summer. I was about to go upstairs to bed when I paused for a moment by a window. Staring out into the blackness of the night, I began to see tiny, brief flashes of yellow…fireflies. I stood there enthralled, for I don’t know how long, watching and waiting for the next flash and then the next and then the next to appear. It was a magical moment, connecting me with memories of my childhood while providing a sense of joy and connection in the present.
Now, this is not a story where the dark of night was an evil that has to be overcome by the goodness of light. Nor is it a story where the dark was some challenge which allows us to see the light, so to speak, and for which we can then feel a little better about, if not entirely grateful for, having endured it. Even still, hearing this story it is easy, and perhaps even feels natural, to focus on and ascribe positive value to the light…the fireflies.
And yet the dark was absolutely crucial here.
And not, as noted, as a bad for a good to counter or a challenge, once overcome, we may one day appreciate. Indeed, that summer night, darkness played not the villain nor merely a supporting role, it was a co-star.
But summer has passed and winter is fast approaching. Indeed we are now firmly in the midst of the season of light. And so with Christmas, Chanukah, Solstice, all having us focused on light, what place is there for the fullness, for the wholeness of darkness this time of year?
Well, I don’t know about you, but about this time - mid-December- each year, I start to become keenly aware another year is about end beyond which a new one awaits its unfolding. And like many, as the year approaches its end, I spend some time reviewing the year or years past and thinking about what I might change or do differently going forward. Yes, I’m talking about that thing many make, but far fewer keep, the new year’s resolution.
Now, I’ve made a fair number of these in the past and my record for keeping them is, shall we say, less than stellar. There are, of course, many reasons we don’t keep the new year’s resolution we make:
They may be unrealistic.
They may be made under duress, either socially or self-imposed.
They may be something for which we lack true passion or motivation.
They may be something we later came to see as unnecessary or even a mistake.
And so forth…
Another thing about these resolutions is they’re often “self-helpy”. That is, they’re often aimed at self improvement or changing something we deem deficient about ourselves. That we so often make such resolutions, would, on the surface seem to confirm, that many of us do in fact feel, if not fear, that we are inadequate, despite Marianne Williamson’s assertion to the contrary in our reading this morning.
And so it would seem, these resolutions reflect our determination to face that fear. Yet, a few weeks, maybe a couple of months in, many, if not most of us have surrendered, and our resolution is tossed aside. How fearful could we really be if we give up so quickly or easily?
What if our resolutions are addressing the wrong fear? What if we really are afraid, as Marianne Williamson asserts, that deep down we’re not inadequate, but powerful beyond measure?
How might that change our resolutions?
Perhaps they’d move from resolutions to improve or change ourselves to resolutions to let ourselves shine? To give ourselves permission, “to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous.”
After all, asks Marianne Williamson, “Who are we not to be?” We are children of God…Goddess, Creation…The Universe if you wish, born to make manifest the glory of that Source within us. And not just for ourselves alone, but to do so that other people may do the same. For, Williamson says, “As we're liberated from our own fear, Our presence automatically liberates others.”
Resolving to shine.
Ironically, maybe this is where the fullness of darkness can be realized this season, by greeting it and welcoming into our hopes, dreams and even our resolutions for the coming new year.
Jacqui James reminds us, “Darkness brings relief from the blinding sun, from scorching heat, from exhausting labor. Night signals permission to rest, to be with our loves ones, to conceive new life, to search our hearts, to remember our dreams. The dark of winter is a time of hibernation. Seeds grow in the dark fertile earth.”
The dark of winter then could offer just the respite we need, a “quiet calm to surround us” from the glaring commercialization, increased social and family pressure and the physically and spiritually draining hyperactivity that often accompanies the holidays…those less positive qualities of the season of light.
Welcoming in the dark of winter provides cover for suspending or even silencing the “shoulding” we’re used to doing all over ourselves the other seasons of the year that we may rest, and “let our thoughts go where they will’, freeing us to listen to, to nurture and be who and where we’re called to be and to do what’s important to us.
And, in the stillness of the dark of winter, we may hear that still, small voice, lovingly opening us to the myriad ways we are “brilliant, gorgeous, talented and fabulous… beloved, that we may focus our attention, energy and our resolutions for the year to come away from fixing and improving ourselves toward discovering and more fully being ourselves. As Marianne Williamson reminds us, “Playing small does not serve the world.” And it doesn’t do you any good either.
But this demands black and dark, white and light be, as Jacqui James says, “balanced and reclaimed in their wholeness.”
And so this season, my hope and charge to you is no different than the one I carry for myself and that is this…That we extend season’s greetings to both the light of the holidays and the dark of winter, mindful we need both light and dark, dark and light to truly shine, like fireflies on a summer night making manifest the glory of creation. And in so doing, unconsciously giving others, even a minister watching from a window seasons from now, permission to do the same.
May it be so.
My love to you all this season and all the seasons to come.
Amen and Blessed Be
Sermon given at the Brookfield Unitarian Universalist Church
December 15, 2019
by The Rev. Craig M. Nowak
I spent some time looking at polls the other day.
No, not political polls…favorite season polls.
In poll after poll spring, summer and autumn almost uniformly occupied the top three spots, though in slightly differing orders from one poll to the next. Not surprisingly, winter was dead last pretty much across the board.
Now, winter, such as we know it here in New England, is distinguished by a number of characteristics, many of which are viewed or experienced negatively. And of those two are named perhaps more than any other, cold and darkness.
It’s interesting that in summer we may complain about the heat, but I can’t recall ever hearing someone complain about the light of summer.
Is this merely a preference for light over dark or does it point to something else?
Jacqui James, a retired Unitarian Universalist educator notes, “We shape language and are shaped by it. In our culture, white is esteemed. It is heavenly, sunlike, clean, pure, immaculate, innocent, and beautiful. At the same time black is evil, wicked, gloomy, depressing, angry, sullen.” She continues, “Ascribing negative and positive values to black and white enhances the institutionalization of this culture’s racism.”
Indeed, I have often wondered and worried about my choice of words and metaphors over the years and whether or not I’m enhancing or helping to tear down the institutionalization of racism in American culture.
How does one, for example, talk about the season of light without reinforcing some of the positive and negative values commonly ascribed with light and darkness?
Do we need new language? Different metaphors?
James offers another idea. “The words black and dark, white and light don’t need to be destroyed or ignored”, she says, “only balanced and reclaimed in their wholeness.” Inviting us to, “Imagine a world that had only light- or dark,” James reminds us, “We need both. Dark and light. Light and dark.”
Reflecting on James’ words, I was reminded of a night this past summer. I was about to go upstairs to bed when I paused for a moment by a window. Staring out into the blackness of the night, I began to see tiny, brief flashes of yellow…fireflies. I stood there enthralled, for I don’t know how long, watching and waiting for the next flash and then the next and then the next to appear. It was a magical moment, connecting me with memories of my childhood while providing a sense of joy and connection in the present.
Now, this is not a story where the dark of night was an evil that has to be overcome by the goodness of light. Nor is it a story where the dark was some challenge which allows us to see the light, so to speak, and for which we can then feel a little better about, if not entirely grateful for, having endured it. Even still, hearing this story it is easy, and perhaps even feels natural, to focus on and ascribe positive value to the light…the fireflies.
And yet the dark was absolutely crucial here.
And not, as noted, as a bad for a good to counter or a challenge, once overcome, we may one day appreciate. Indeed, that summer night, darkness played not the villain nor merely a supporting role, it was a co-star.
But summer has passed and winter is fast approaching. Indeed we are now firmly in the midst of the season of light. And so with Christmas, Chanukah, Solstice, all having us focused on light, what place is there for the fullness, for the wholeness of darkness this time of year?
Well, I don’t know about you, but about this time - mid-December- each year, I start to become keenly aware another year is about end beyond which a new one awaits its unfolding. And like many, as the year approaches its end, I spend some time reviewing the year or years past and thinking about what I might change or do differently going forward. Yes, I’m talking about that thing many make, but far fewer keep, the new year’s resolution.
Now, I’ve made a fair number of these in the past and my record for keeping them is, shall we say, less than stellar. There are, of course, many reasons we don’t keep the new year’s resolution we make:
They may be unrealistic.
They may be made under duress, either socially or self-imposed.
They may be something for which we lack true passion or motivation.
They may be something we later came to see as unnecessary or even a mistake.
And so forth…
Another thing about these resolutions is they’re often “self-helpy”. That is, they’re often aimed at self improvement or changing something we deem deficient about ourselves. That we so often make such resolutions, would, on the surface seem to confirm, that many of us do in fact feel, if not fear, that we are inadequate, despite Marianne Williamson’s assertion to the contrary in our reading this morning.
And so it would seem, these resolutions reflect our determination to face that fear. Yet, a few weeks, maybe a couple of months in, many, if not most of us have surrendered, and our resolution is tossed aside. How fearful could we really be if we give up so quickly or easily?
What if our resolutions are addressing the wrong fear? What if we really are afraid, as Marianne Williamson asserts, that deep down we’re not inadequate, but powerful beyond measure?
How might that change our resolutions?
Perhaps they’d move from resolutions to improve or change ourselves to resolutions to let ourselves shine? To give ourselves permission, “to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous.”
After all, asks Marianne Williamson, “Who are we not to be?” We are children of God…Goddess, Creation…The Universe if you wish, born to make manifest the glory of that Source within us. And not just for ourselves alone, but to do so that other people may do the same. For, Williamson says, “As we're liberated from our own fear, Our presence automatically liberates others.”
Resolving to shine.
Ironically, maybe this is where the fullness of darkness can be realized this season, by greeting it and welcoming into our hopes, dreams and even our resolutions for the coming new year.
Jacqui James reminds us, “Darkness brings relief from the blinding sun, from scorching heat, from exhausting labor. Night signals permission to rest, to be with our loves ones, to conceive new life, to search our hearts, to remember our dreams. The dark of winter is a time of hibernation. Seeds grow in the dark fertile earth.”
The dark of winter then could offer just the respite we need, a “quiet calm to surround us” from the glaring commercialization, increased social and family pressure and the physically and spiritually draining hyperactivity that often accompanies the holidays…those less positive qualities of the season of light.
Welcoming in the dark of winter provides cover for suspending or even silencing the “shoulding” we’re used to doing all over ourselves the other seasons of the year that we may rest, and “let our thoughts go where they will’, freeing us to listen to, to nurture and be who and where we’re called to be and to do what’s important to us.
And, in the stillness of the dark of winter, we may hear that still, small voice, lovingly opening us to the myriad ways we are “brilliant, gorgeous, talented and fabulous… beloved, that we may focus our attention, energy and our resolutions for the year to come away from fixing and improving ourselves toward discovering and more fully being ourselves. As Marianne Williamson reminds us, “Playing small does not serve the world.” And it doesn’t do you any good either.
But this demands black and dark, white and light be, as Jacqui James says, “balanced and reclaimed in their wholeness.”
And so this season, my hope and charge to you is no different than the one I carry for myself and that is this…That we extend season’s greetings to both the light of the holidays and the dark of winter, mindful we need both light and dark, dark and light to truly shine, like fireflies on a summer night making manifest the glory of creation. And in so doing, unconsciously giving others, even a minister watching from a window seasons from now, permission to do the same.
May it be so.
My love to you all this season and all the seasons to come.
Amen and Blessed Be