These days the sky begins to darken before 4pm in the Boston area. The sun is slow to rise in the morning as well. Every year people complain about how depressing it is, and I am usually one of those people.
But this year I am thinking about the rich and velvety beauty of darkness, and about the many things that can only grow in the dark. Benedictine nun Joan Chittister has said "Darkness deserves gratitude. It is the alleluia point at which we learn to understand that all growth does not take place in sunlight."
This reminder brings to mind a particular touchstone image of mine, the line from UU hymn and anthem Spirit of Life -- "roots hold me close, wings set me free." I think of the deep networks of roots that can only grow underground in the deep dark soil. I think of the sense of new life that we now await in the season of Advent, and how that new life grows in the safe, echoing, dark of the womb.
Last Advent I preached that we need not wait to bring new light into the world through acts of compassion. Today I'm thinking, yes, we need the acts of compassion, but maybe there is something to be said for working in the dark -- waiting, growing roots.
In the end only dark makes light possible, and the opposite is true as well. But this year, I'm going to sit in the quiet dark for a while before I light up the tree. Then maybe my heart will have grown large enough to fully receive its glow.
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