A light against the dark

Image by Myriam Zilles from Pixabay

I don't love this season because I believe that Yeshua bar Joseph was, in fact, the only begotten Son of the One True God, born of a virgin in a manger in Bethlehem. I don't believe that Yeshua was the fulfillment of the Prophets, sent to Earth to redeem a fallen, sinful race.

I love this season because of the story of a child, wrapped in swaddling clothes, sent into the dark to bring light.

I love this season because the days now grow longer, a strike against the dark.

I love this season because there was not enough oil, and yet the candles burned for eight days as the Temple was cleansed.

I love this season because I was sitting around the table with my family last night. My baby nephew, to whom I introduced Dungeons and Dragons. My mother, who slaved for years to produce Noche Buena meals, and now we do the same for her. My step-niece, who has come out as gender fluid, and we don't even bat an eye, because what they are is insignificant, not even worth a mention, compared to who they are.

There are many reasons for the season. But what all traditions, all faiths, all mythologies aver is that now, in the darkest part of the year, the light holds. The light remains. The light grows stronger.

In this, the bleak midwinter, a child is born, a candle is lit, a light burns against the dark. Dark has dominion, but it is fleeting. It is a passing thing, to be endured, but not succumbed to. The dark is not the master of the world. The dark is something through which we must pass to achieve knowledge and wisdom. But the light is the destination. The light is the source. The light is the all.

None of the world's faiths trumpet the dark over the light. None of the world's faiths revel in the bleak. They all point towards the light, they all worship the brilliance of the truths they embody.

The reason for the season is that dark is transitory. Dark is ephemeral. As the poet wrote: Death be not proud. There is a light which persists, in the darkest moments, in the bleakest of times. Without this light we perish. Without this light we are made inhuman.

We are children of the light, although too often we are mired in the dark. But the light is our home. The light is to where we always turn. We seek the light and yearn for it, when all seems lost, when all seems forlorn.

A babe is born. A candle is lit. This is a season of light when all seems dark. This is a season of brilliance when all seems obscured.

This isn't about presents, about material things, although our culture has made it out to be. In my family, we agreed that we'd get gifts only for my little nephew. The adults didn't need gifts. The adults needed only to be with each other, to share a meal, to catch up, to bask in the light of love. And we didn't miss it. I don't need a sweater from my mother, or a bottle of wine from my niece. I need to give them a kiss, to hear how they're doing, to talk to them. I need to reconnect with them in love, to spark that light which illuminates life.

If your reason for the season is to receive gifts, I gently suggest that you've missed the plot. The reason for the season is the light against the dark. It's the slow march towards the light, however fitful, however painful. Keeping a ledger of who got you what is no way to go through this season, or through life. Love is the only thing which matters.

Be blessed today, and for the rest of the days of your lives. As we go through our age's darkness, hold on to the light which will, as always, be at the end. Those who see doom in everything don't see what is the arc of human history. Yes, it's full of darkness. But there has always been a way out of it. We have always striven to escape that darkness, for that is not our home. Heaven, Nirvana; call it what you will. It is the light to which we reach.