Candle Night

Today is the Winter Solstice, marking the shortest day and the longest night of the year. The word solstice comes from the Latin solstitium and means “standing still sun.” Many, many cultures the world over performs solstice ceremonies, prompted by the ancient fear that the failing light would never return unless humans intervened with vigils or ritualistic celebrations. Many of our Christmas traditions derive from these ancient times, such as candles, evergreens, and feasting. My tradition is to light a candle at dusk and let it burn until bedtime.

The act of lighting a candle triggers so many memories for me. As a child, I joined in the Christmas processional of children down the aisle of a dimly lit church. The glow of candles shone on our faces as we clasped them tightly in our hands, a collar of cardboard protecting us from the melting wax. We were a tiny river of light flowing between pews; and the enthusiastic sound of young voices singing the words to “Oh Come all Ye Faithful.”

Then there was the first Christmas party I hosted as a young wife in 1965. The house was decorated with artificial greenery, a twelve-foot tall Christmas tree, red ribbons, spicy gingerbread men, and lots and lots of candles… they climbed the staircase, ran across the balcony, were grouped on tabletops, and welcomed visitors at the front door. People oohed and aahed as they arrived, all except for one guest who happened to be a volunteer firefighter. He took one look and immediately made a phone call to the fire station to put them on alert! Everyone managed to get through the evening without setting themselves, or the house afire.

Years later, I found myself lighting a candle for my son’s 21st birthday. We had not heard from him for more than a year and lighting the candle was my way of affirming his life. Several weeks went by and the phone rang – a stranger calling to say that my son was alive and well, and would soon be coming home.

1995 - Candles, candles everywhere. Tall pillars and small votives, their warm scented fragrance a delight. They flickered against the sloped ceiling in the bathroom of my Victorian house. The music of Lorenna McKennitt or Enya filled the room as I lowered myself into the bath-oiled water in the deep, old-fashioned clawfoot tub. This was my time… a time for healing the wounds that come with divorce. Candles in the darkness, the promise of new life in the ashes of an ended marriage… Candles floating in a reflecting pool. The garden glimmering with votive candles. Gathered in a wide circle on the garden verandah, close friends and family witness Bob’s and my commitment ceremony on a warm summer night, 1997.

Peace March, January 18, 2003 “… what started out as only a handful of people when we first arrived at the Courthouse, now numbered between 200 to 300 people. We began to move slowly, peacefully away from the Courthouse towards Park Street, a ribbon of candlelight wending its way up the hill to the Episcopal Church. Amazing Grace was sung, some of us humming. Bob and I were in the middle of the long stretch of people. I looked back at the sea of faces bright in candlelight. It brought a lump in my throat and it was all I could do to hold back tears.

This wasn’t the tens of thousands who marched in Washington D.C. or San Francisco on this day, but these were members of our own community, young and old, who chose to come out on a raw January night to be counted; to say NO to war, and yes to peaceful resolutions. Darkness cannot drive out darkness; only light can do that. Hate cannot drive out hate; only love can do that.”

So with all these memories, I light my candle on this Winter Solstice. Please join me and together we can spread a gentle wave of candlelight around the world to drive out the darkness.
... P. L. Morningstar
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