Today is the winter solstice! And this is the first year I’ve even remotely cared.
Last week I joined a one-day virtual retreat that takes place four times a year, following the Celtic Christian practice of observing the seasons. It was a big eye-opener, and the only reason the winter solstice now has any significance for me.
I was the most incompetent retreat attendee ever. You are supposed to, as far as possible, set aside normal life and duties and concentrate on the retreat, including mindfulness between meetings. It took place from 12 noon on Friday to 12 noon on Saturday. This being a monastic sort of retreat, there was a rhythm of sessions throughout including at midnight, 3am and 6am.
Not only did I fail to actually stop working at 12 noon on Friday as planned (stuff came up, okay?!) but in between Zoom sessions I was also cooking and managing teenagers and, shamefully, my alarm did not wake me up at midnight. Nor at 3am, having not been set after the midnight session. So I woke at 4am, was mortified, and failed to get back to sleep again before the 6am session. My alarm then helpfully went off at 11.50am. (I never did work out whether midnight was am or pm – in fact does anyone know the answer to this?)
Despite my patchy involvement, I loved the retreat. We were treated to music, modern and ancient prayers and liturgy, and reflections on the spiritual significance of winter. I cannot tell you how satisfying it was, as a hippy nature-loving flower child who finds herself a believing Christian, for those worlds to collide and make sense. Paying attention to the seasons is an excellent way to appreciate God’s creation and its rhythms, and to think about what they mean spiritually.
Celtic Christians celebrated the winter solstice. I was surprised to learn this – why celebrate darkness? – until the co-leader of the retreat, David Cole, explained that it’s a celebration of the days beginning to lengthen, of light gradually overcoming the darkness. It’s a profound reminder that ‘the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.’* But one of my biggest takeaways from the retreat (there were many takeaways and this probably won’t be the last post it inspires) is that the dark, cold and apparent deadness of winter is something to celebrate too.**
David started with a reflection about trees in winter: about bare branches and roots. In winter, all the deciduous trees have dumped their year-long accumulated possessions on the ground and gone to sleep, entirely naked. (That’s not exactly how he put it, but you get the picture.) In winter trees are not busying themselves producing energy from the photosynthesis of a thousand leaves. That’s all stopped. The only nutrients they have are drawn up deep from their roots. There is something very restful about that thought.
Especially this year, another quasi-cancelled Christmas, it makes sense. All sorts of social and family events I was going to take part in aren’t happening. We’re not travelling to stay with far-flung grandparents over Christmas. The cultural events and even the shopping I thought I should probably organise for the sake of the kids don’t seem like a good idea anymore.
But as I walk the dog around deserted, dusky north London streets and contemplate a quiet, low-key Christmas with no travel involved, I feel peace. The trees are sleeping. The (er, insert correct UK mammals here), are hibernating. Why can’t we? Why can’t we snuggle our roots deeper into the earth and shut down our busy branches for a bit? It’s ironic that at this time of year, while nature is decluttering, we spend time and money panic buying masses of useless tat, triggering a billion Amazon van trips around the country and piling up packaging waste,.
I’m off work now until after Christmas so I decided to switch off the alarm and let the winter solstice sun wake me up this morning. That resulted in a blissful lie in. Then meditating on the peace and stillness of winter, an odd picture arrived in my mind. It was of me, sleepy and curled up with my head on Jesus’s chest, deep under the ground. We could have been hibernating animals, sleeping in a burrow, or perhaps seeds waiting to sprout in the spring. It was a picture of stillness and rest, waiting for regeneration. But I was not resting on my own – I was resting in him.
I’ve decided not to feel guilty that Christmas won’t be buzzing this year. I’m going to give in to winter and its darkness. I won’t pollute it with bright lights and busyness. I’ll just rest, and quietly greet the turning of the year that began so gradually today. The true light is on its way. I’ll just rest in – and wait for – him.
Notes
*John 1: somewhere
** Newsflash: Christians did not, repeat not, pinch Christmas from the pagans. See this great article by historian Tom Holland (also heard about through David Cole).
Find out about…
- The Rhythms of Life seasonal retreat days
- And The Celtic Year book by David Cole on which they are based
now for the real thing 