Winter
Reflection for Winter Intergenerational Service at Brookfield Unitarian Universalist Church
December 16, 2018
by The Rev. Craig M. Nowak
(with some help from the congregation*)
“You can’t get too much winter in the winter.” So says Robert Frost in his poem, “Snow”. As a kid, I couldn’t have agreed with more with Frost’s declaration. The more winter, the better. And back then there was no greater measure of how much winter we were getting than the depth of the snow on the ground. Indeed, few things were as disappointing as a snow storm that didn’t materialize and awakening to the realization that school was on when you had gone to bed certain it would be cancelled.
Perhaps worst still…and this doesn’t seem to happen anymore…but forty or so years ago, when I was in grade school…sometimes when it snowed my town didn’t cancel school, but the neighboring towns did. Thankfully, the swell of righteous indignation that accompanied me on the school bus those mornings melted away faster than snow on a sunlit afternoon and my hopes for a day off to play in the snow were renewed with the next storm. Yes indeed, if you asked me as kid what I thought of winter, I’d most definitely agree with Frost, “You can’t get too much winter in the winter.”
Now, as an adult. Well…things are a little different. I have to admit I do find some aspects of winter…and even snow… a pain. Cold bothers me more than it used to. And there’s nothing especially magical about having to concern oneself with snow removal, maintain a furnace, or drive in the snow. And I know from conversations with some of you…there can in fact be too much winter, even in winter. And yet, like it or not, winter is upon us. Officially, it’s just a few days away, marked by the astronomical phenomenon known as the Winter Solstice on December 21st. Many cultures and religions celebrate this shortest day and longest night of the year, observing the birth of the new solar year with ritual and festivities. And others, as surely as they have from the earliest time to the present, will again curse, complain about or otherwise resist this recurring season.
Indeed, among the four seasons winter is the one we seem to most describe as a season we either love or hate and often passionately so. Now If, at this point you’re concerned that if you love winter, I’m going to now talk about how you’re ignoring its harsh realities… or if you hate it and are concern I’m going to talk about how you’re ignoring its magic…let me put your mind at ease. I have no plans to prosecute or defend winter.
Indeed, I’d like share another option. One offered by Henry David Thoreau, “Live in each season as it passes; breathe the air, drink the drink, taste the fruit, and resign yourself to the influence of each.”
So, what is it that Thoreau is getting at?
Well, for one thing, he’s not telling us how to feel about a particular season. Indeed, he’s saying it doesn’t matter how you feel about it. He’s not asking us to pretend or to try to feel something we don’t. Instead he’s asking us to reserve judgement, resist attaching a narrative to the season, or labeling it good or bad, and just let the season come… “resign yourself to its influence.” In other words, let the season do what it does.
And what does winter do?
Turning to our story, Grandmother Winter, winter brings children running from their homes, to catch snowflakes on their tongues and dream of flying over hills and making angel wings in the snow. Meanwhile adults build their wood piles and scurry for sweaters and mittens and skis. Winter makes cardinals and chickadees fluff themselves up against the cold, earthworms tunnel deep in the earth and black bears yawn and burrow into hillside dens until winter itself yields to spring.
The story reminds us winter, like all seasons, has a place and purpose in the cycle of life which belongs to that season. Children generally don’t catch snowflakes on their tongues in autumn. Wood is not usually not piled high for spring and animals don’t hunker down amid the verdancy of summer. These forms or qualities of play, work and rest belong uniquely to winter. And notice, like Thoreau, the story didn’t encourage us to form an opinion of winter. Rather, it simply describes winter’s influence on life.
And this is what Thoreau would have us focus or reflection on regardless of whether we love or hate it winter or simply prefer another season over it. By observing, rather than judging what winter brings to our lives, we can come to appreciate the season’s place, purpose and connection to our own lives. And not only in winter, but within the context of all the seasons of our lives.
For me with its colder temperatures and biting winds, winter commands my attention far more directly than the other seasons. I appreciate the colder temperatures and wind for the way it sharpens my focus and attention on things I might pay less attention to in a less demanding season. Things like my hands, feet and earlobes in particular and my body more generally. Or, aesthetically speaking, the melancholic beauty quietly residing in bare gray landscapes.
Shorter days motivate me to seek light elsewhere, both indoors and within myself. I appreciate the shorter days for the nudge toward light to be found closer to home, literally and metaphorically, even when the journey there is hard.
And snow, well snow, if you read my December newsletter piece, you know snow reminds me to slow down whether I feel I need to or not. I appreciate snow as a reminder to slow down when I need to. And when I don’t want to or feel I can’t slow down, I appreciate… eventually… snow reminding me I can’t….and don’t need… to control everything.
Snow also brings me back to my childhood. To the excitement, playfulness and creativity I enjoyed so freely then. I appreciate snow reminding me not to be so serious, to enjoy the here and now, and to live creatively.
And perhaps most significantly for me, winter connects me to a deep stillness. A stillness observed in nature, as I listen to sound of falling snow or gaze up at the almost black night sky when the moon and stars are as bright as ever, but experienced profoundly within. Whereas some find such stillness disturbing, I find it calming, reassuring, centering. I appreciate the stillness for the comfort it brings me and the compassion it awakens in me for those who struggle to find or hold such stillness.
This is just some of what winter brings to my life and that I have come to appreciate about winter over time. Surely there are others I’ve forgotten for now or am not yet aware.
Now on to you.
Each of you who wished to participate were invited to write in a word or two something you appreciate about winter on a small snowflake given to you with your order of service.
I’m going to read your responses. And I urge you, just let yourself hear them. Don’t latch onto, debate or question any of them, just let them fall where they will, like snow upon the landscape of your mind.
Later, at coffee hour, on the ride home or at the dinner table, I encourage you to share with someone one of the responses you heard, your own or another and talk about how or why it is something you appreciate about winter.
Ready? Okay. Here’s what you said you appreciate about winter:
*Quiet; snowball fights; quiet beauty of snowfall; beauty of landscape, unusual silence, snow sports; quiet darkness that allows for reflection; I love how beautiful our area looks under a white blanket of freshly fallen snow; beauty and replenishment, a new covering; being able to pay for heat to stay warm and cozy; I love how quiet is is after a snowfall, sparkles after the sun comes out; challenge; lights in the darkness, the firewood I stacked last year, brighter stars; playing in the snow (even at 63); silence, hush, beauty, landscapes at prayer; winter builds character; the clear, crisp air; rebirth; quiet joy; sitting before an open fire; the deep silence after a snowfall, the land magical with frost; silent; walking on clear, cold day; sunny after a storm; making snow-cats; silence of snowfall; snowshoeing in fresh fallen snow; stillness, beauty in nature; the frozen ice on the pond at night so I can lay and watch the stars; the snow; white beauty; coming in for hot cocoa; light shining though icy branches of trees; winter is a quiet time to slow down and reflect; hot soup; life’s pace slows; quiet beauty; the beauty of the snow on the trees and bushes; Christmas, hot cocoa and playing in the snow; making snow forts and snowmen; the clean smell of snow and how it sparkles at night under lights; slowing down; ability to take longer naps; family gatherings; surprise holidays from work and school; white snow covering brown grass; the sense of stillness in a snowstorm; everything looks pretty when it’s covered with snow!
Let us waste not these words, but receive and cherish them as the gifts they are. Gifts that remind us, to “Live in each season as it passes; breathe the air, drink the drink, taste the fruit, and resign ourselves to the influence of each.” May it be so.
Amen and Blessed Be
Reflection for Winter Intergenerational Service at Brookfield Unitarian Universalist Church
December 16, 2018
by The Rev. Craig M. Nowak
(with some help from the congregation*)
“You can’t get too much winter in the winter.” So says Robert Frost in his poem, “Snow”. As a kid, I couldn’t have agreed with more with Frost’s declaration. The more winter, the better. And back then there was no greater measure of how much winter we were getting than the depth of the snow on the ground. Indeed, few things were as disappointing as a snow storm that didn’t materialize and awakening to the realization that school was on when you had gone to bed certain it would be cancelled.
Perhaps worst still…and this doesn’t seem to happen anymore…but forty or so years ago, when I was in grade school…sometimes when it snowed my town didn’t cancel school, but the neighboring towns did. Thankfully, the swell of righteous indignation that accompanied me on the school bus those mornings melted away faster than snow on a sunlit afternoon and my hopes for a day off to play in the snow were renewed with the next storm. Yes indeed, if you asked me as kid what I thought of winter, I’d most definitely agree with Frost, “You can’t get too much winter in the winter.”
Now, as an adult. Well…things are a little different. I have to admit I do find some aspects of winter…and even snow… a pain. Cold bothers me more than it used to. And there’s nothing especially magical about having to concern oneself with snow removal, maintain a furnace, or drive in the snow. And I know from conversations with some of you…there can in fact be too much winter, even in winter. And yet, like it or not, winter is upon us. Officially, it’s just a few days away, marked by the astronomical phenomenon known as the Winter Solstice on December 21st. Many cultures and religions celebrate this shortest day and longest night of the year, observing the birth of the new solar year with ritual and festivities. And others, as surely as they have from the earliest time to the present, will again curse, complain about or otherwise resist this recurring season.
Indeed, among the four seasons winter is the one we seem to most describe as a season we either love or hate and often passionately so. Now If, at this point you’re concerned that if you love winter, I’m going to now talk about how you’re ignoring its harsh realities… or if you hate it and are concern I’m going to talk about how you’re ignoring its magic…let me put your mind at ease. I have no plans to prosecute or defend winter.
Indeed, I’d like share another option. One offered by Henry David Thoreau, “Live in each season as it passes; breathe the air, drink the drink, taste the fruit, and resign yourself to the influence of each.”
So, what is it that Thoreau is getting at?
Well, for one thing, he’s not telling us how to feel about a particular season. Indeed, he’s saying it doesn’t matter how you feel about it. He’s not asking us to pretend or to try to feel something we don’t. Instead he’s asking us to reserve judgement, resist attaching a narrative to the season, or labeling it good or bad, and just let the season come… “resign yourself to its influence.” In other words, let the season do what it does.
And what does winter do?
Turning to our story, Grandmother Winter, winter brings children running from their homes, to catch snowflakes on their tongues and dream of flying over hills and making angel wings in the snow. Meanwhile adults build their wood piles and scurry for sweaters and mittens and skis. Winter makes cardinals and chickadees fluff themselves up against the cold, earthworms tunnel deep in the earth and black bears yawn and burrow into hillside dens until winter itself yields to spring.
The story reminds us winter, like all seasons, has a place and purpose in the cycle of life which belongs to that season. Children generally don’t catch snowflakes on their tongues in autumn. Wood is not usually not piled high for spring and animals don’t hunker down amid the verdancy of summer. These forms or qualities of play, work and rest belong uniquely to winter. And notice, like Thoreau, the story didn’t encourage us to form an opinion of winter. Rather, it simply describes winter’s influence on life.
And this is what Thoreau would have us focus or reflection on regardless of whether we love or hate it winter or simply prefer another season over it. By observing, rather than judging what winter brings to our lives, we can come to appreciate the season’s place, purpose and connection to our own lives. And not only in winter, but within the context of all the seasons of our lives.
For me with its colder temperatures and biting winds, winter commands my attention far more directly than the other seasons. I appreciate the colder temperatures and wind for the way it sharpens my focus and attention on things I might pay less attention to in a less demanding season. Things like my hands, feet and earlobes in particular and my body more generally. Or, aesthetically speaking, the melancholic beauty quietly residing in bare gray landscapes.
Shorter days motivate me to seek light elsewhere, both indoors and within myself. I appreciate the shorter days for the nudge toward light to be found closer to home, literally and metaphorically, even when the journey there is hard.
And snow, well snow, if you read my December newsletter piece, you know snow reminds me to slow down whether I feel I need to or not. I appreciate snow as a reminder to slow down when I need to. And when I don’t want to or feel I can’t slow down, I appreciate… eventually… snow reminding me I can’t….and don’t need… to control everything.
Snow also brings me back to my childhood. To the excitement, playfulness and creativity I enjoyed so freely then. I appreciate snow reminding me not to be so serious, to enjoy the here and now, and to live creatively.
And perhaps most significantly for me, winter connects me to a deep stillness. A stillness observed in nature, as I listen to sound of falling snow or gaze up at the almost black night sky when the moon and stars are as bright as ever, but experienced profoundly within. Whereas some find such stillness disturbing, I find it calming, reassuring, centering. I appreciate the stillness for the comfort it brings me and the compassion it awakens in me for those who struggle to find or hold such stillness.
This is just some of what winter brings to my life and that I have come to appreciate about winter over time. Surely there are others I’ve forgotten for now or am not yet aware.
Now on to you.
Each of you who wished to participate were invited to write in a word or two something you appreciate about winter on a small snowflake given to you with your order of service.
I’m going to read your responses. And I urge you, just let yourself hear them. Don’t latch onto, debate or question any of them, just let them fall where they will, like snow upon the landscape of your mind.
Later, at coffee hour, on the ride home or at the dinner table, I encourage you to share with someone one of the responses you heard, your own or another and talk about how or why it is something you appreciate about winter.
Ready? Okay. Here’s what you said you appreciate about winter:
*Quiet; snowball fights; quiet beauty of snowfall; beauty of landscape, unusual silence, snow sports; quiet darkness that allows for reflection; I love how beautiful our area looks under a white blanket of freshly fallen snow; beauty and replenishment, a new covering; being able to pay for heat to stay warm and cozy; I love how quiet is is after a snowfall, sparkles after the sun comes out; challenge; lights in the darkness, the firewood I stacked last year, brighter stars; playing in the snow (even at 63); silence, hush, beauty, landscapes at prayer; winter builds character; the clear, crisp air; rebirth; quiet joy; sitting before an open fire; the deep silence after a snowfall, the land magical with frost; silent; walking on clear, cold day; sunny after a storm; making snow-cats; silence of snowfall; snowshoeing in fresh fallen snow; stillness, beauty in nature; the frozen ice on the pond at night so I can lay and watch the stars; the snow; white beauty; coming in for hot cocoa; light shining though icy branches of trees; winter is a quiet time to slow down and reflect; hot soup; life’s pace slows; quiet beauty; the beauty of the snow on the trees and bushes; Christmas, hot cocoa and playing in the snow; making snow forts and snowmen; the clean smell of snow and how it sparkles at night under lights; slowing down; ability to take longer naps; family gatherings; surprise holidays from work and school; white snow covering brown grass; the sense of stillness in a snowstorm; everything looks pretty when it’s covered with snow!
Let us waste not these words, but receive and cherish them as the gifts they are. Gifts that remind us, to “Live in each season as it passes; breathe the air, drink the drink, taste the fruit, and resign ourselves to the influence of each.” May it be so.
Amen and Blessed Be
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