Winter Solstice and Newgrange

It’s easy to feel how near we are to the winter solstice. The exact time of the solstice occurs this Saturday night, December 21, at 11:48 p.m., but we each have our own internal sense of reaching this turn. As the days grow shorter and the dark descends earlier there’s a twinge of dismay. We know better than to worry—the days will lengthen soon enough—but nonetheless we light candles and extra strings of lights to ward off the dark. The hustle and bustle can be a welcome distraction from that instinctive unease.

A dramatic marking of the winter solstice was built at Newgrange in Ireland around 3200 BCE. At the solstice sunrise, the first ray of light above the horizon pierces the center of a long, narrow passage, illuminating a small, womblike room deep within the structure. There is just enough space to stand along the circular stone walls surrounding the chamber’s main feature—an enormous stone basin resting on the ground. The shaft of sunlight at the winter solstice shines directly onto a spiral design carved into the far wall.

We hold much in common with those who built this magnificent structure. Though our culture has made huge advances in science and technology, we are reliant on the same earth and the same sun to give us life. With the growing dark, we are subject to the same ancient sense of dread stirring deep in the psyche. We may not believe that our rituals cause the sun to return, but we wait expectantly and experience a sense of relief when it does.

The festival of lights in this season is something we need, whatever our religious traditions may be. In the midst of it all, there’s a pagan soul within me that insists on marking the solstice. The winter solstice is the herald of the new year.

This year, I’m remembering the wide stone bowl that fills the chamber deep within the mound at New Grange. When I was there, I had the overwhelming feeling that the basin was a place to give birth.

At the solstice this year, I’m holding that basin in mind and asking: What wants to be born in the new year?

What question are you holding here on the verge of the solstice?

Radical Advent: The Old King and the Voice in the Wilderness

Fairy tales often present an aging king and the search for who will take his place. These stories remain fresh because they describe a cyclically occurring crisis in the lives of individuals and of nations.

A king who no longer has the strength to serve, in a fairy tale, represents longstanding ideals that have lost their vitality. When these guiding principles cease to inspire, they need to be reinvigorated. When they no longer spur people to offer their best, or to strive for the highest good, these crowning values need to be replaced. We need ideals with real power to remind us of what matters, and to lead us forward into life. We need inspiration that connects with our lived experience.

In fairy tales it is not the powerful or clever candidates who pass the tests to become the new ruler. It is rather the one in touch with instinctive and even naïve insight, able to stumble upon the right answer or to find help in an unlikely place, simply by following his nose. When ideals have lost their power, we lose our way. we need this kind of humble, grounded energy to gain vitality and aliveness.

Listening to the gospel reading on Sunday, I realized that this search for revitalizing energy is what John the Baptist exemplifies. He is part of the move to release what no longer inspires us, and to search for what has the vitality to replace it.

John the Baptist goes into the wilderness and lives like a wild man. He leaves civilization behind—no garments of woven cloth, no bread, no roof over his head. He wears animal skins and eats locusts and wild honey. He knows that something new is needed to bring meaning into people’s lives. He is radically open to what comes next, but does not yet know who or what it is.

John the Baptist is important in this season of Advent. His was not a quiet waiting, but an active preparation. He stirs the pot, and things begin to happen. Jesus comes to him to be baptized and then makes his own journey into the wilderness. When Jesus returns, he brings a new teaching and a new reality that changes the world.

When the old is no longer working we must face the frightening task of letting it go. It’s a time of going into the wilderness, of being willing to inhabit that vulnerable place of not knowing. We must set aside our barren practices to allow the vital life force to inhabit us again and propel us forward.

To do this wisely means being open to guidance greater than our own calculations. Instinctive energy reinvigorates, but it can also be dangerous. It is incredibly powerful, able to overrule reason. On the path forward it can be the one step back before the two steps forward. We need connection with both our highest and best ideals as well as the material realities of our lives.

John the Baptist is a shocking character. He shows up when a shock is needed to get things moving. When change is crucial but we don’t yet know what will be, we hear his voice crying in the wilderness.

When a wild man wearing animal pelts arises, change is in the wind. It’s time to answer his call and to make our own journey into the unknown. We need to listen for true wisdom and guidance, whether individually or as a nation, to find the compelling new vision that will lead us forward.  

Susan Christerson Brown