Christmas Light

Simplifying the Christmas season most always appeals to me. Dwelling in the quiet expectation of Advent helps make sense of the world. These shortened days demonstrate the rhythm of the seasons and the natural order of things.  It’s a time for paring down in order to focus on what matters most.

But one thing I nonetheless crave this time of year is Christmas lights! . In these weeks marking the longest nights of the year, I welcome the cheer of tiny lights.  Other traditions observe the festival of lights in their own meaningful contexts. Hannukah in the Jewish faith is centered on remembering the miracle of enduring light through the candles of the menorah. Diwali in Indian culture is all about lighting up the night. As the hours of darkness lengthen, the illumination shared by all of these grows ever more significant.

For me, the display of light represents the human effort that is part of the equation of bringing hope and cheer, love and goodness, into the world. The stringing of lights signifies the upwelling of what is best in humanity. Light is a beautiful gift that we share with one other, heartening one another through dark times.

Whether or not we say it aloud, the sharing of light reconnects us to a steady hope in the beauty of life, and reminds us that suffering is not the last word. Light is a powerful mystery, and points to a source beyond our everyday understanding. Even a tiny light helps us remember that we are not alone in the dark.

Yet without a connection to something beyond ourselves the bulbs flicker, the candle flames waver, the power goes out. The world is full of darkness, and we need strength, guidance, and courage from a source more enduring than our changing circumstances if we are to bring light. Part of what we do for one another is to hold this connection for those whose who have lost touch with it.

Cultivating light is like the two movements of the breath: breathing in the fullness of life from the source, and breathing out the manifestation of that love into this world. Jacob’s dream of a ladder connecting heaven and earth, with angels ascending and descending, offers a powerful image for this two-way movement—from earth toward heaven, and from heaven toward earth. Humanity and divinity move toward each other. They meet, and it changes everything.

Something within us is made of light, is a vessel for light, and moves us to bring light into the world. Every glowing bulb echoes this divine spark.

Susan Christerson Brown

Moving Across the Face of the Deep: the Process of Creation

Part of a series exploring stories and images of the Bible, and allowing them to breathe. You can read the introduction to the series here.

Genesis opens with not one but two different stories of creation. It’s a beautiful way of teaching that life holds more complexity than a single perspective can convey. It also signals that scripture is up to the challenge of dealing with that complexity.

Offering these two separate accounts makes clear that the value of these stories is not in their literal meaning. Instead, the insight they offer comes from allowing them to speak in a deeper, symbolic way. If the two creation stories were taken literally, they would contradict one another. But stewing over which is “correct” would be to miss the point.

The first story starts with the opening lines of Genesis, and describes beautifully the process of any act of creation. The Creator hovers above the undifferentiated expanse of what is yet to be, brooding over a formless void and gathering the power to begin. This state is echoed in the experience of anyone who tries to bring something new into the world. We begin by allowing ourselves to be in a state of not knowing, and to encounter what is ready to be known but isn’t yet clear.

In the story, the creative power of God is released through speech. God says, “Let there be light.” In the act of naming what is needed, the need is met. This first act of creation calls into being the foundation of life and the illumination of what exists. Light is a basic need, a longing, the energy from which all life arises. It allows us to see. Light represents consciousness—the ability to understand, as well as the capacity for self-reflection. With light, we move forward.

Like plants that turn toward the sun, we orient ourselves toward all that light symbolizes. Yet the story reminds us that creation begins in darkness. It requires an encounter with formlessness and the teeming energy of the unconscious before lifting what we can catch hold of into the light of awareness.

After God creates light and divides it from the darkness, subsequent days in this first story of creation continue to bring order out of chaos—separating the essential elements of the universe, placing them within their proper boundaries, and filling them with life. Creation happens over the course of a seven-day week, with humanity being its culmination. In this story male and female are created at the same time, and they are made in the image of God.

Creation as something inherently good was a strong statement when Genesis was written. It contrasted with the creation stories of surrounding cultures, which depicted life as arising from corrupt beginnings, whether formed by creators of selfish intent or arising from the decaying bodies of vanquished gods.

In the Genesis story, with a reassuring rhythm repeated day by day, God intentionally creates the heavens and the earth. Each new aspect of creation is good. Creativity and dignity are woven into the fabric of human life, as we are made in the image of the Creator, with calendars that echo the week in which the universe was created.

On the seventh day God rests, marking the fullness of the work accomplished and honoring the need to be restored. This ancient practice of a day of rest is as much needed now as it has ever been.