O Solstice Night

A Sermon Delivered by

The Rev. Thomas Schmidt

December 16, 2007

at the

Unitarian Universalist Congregation of the Lowcountry

Several years ago while living in a small house in rural Humboldt County, California; among the redwoods and ferns of the Pacific Northwest, where foot long banana slugs enjoyed crawling on the window panes, and always managed to be underfoot, literally, if one ventured outside in the dark of night without shoes.  It was there, on the third night of what would be a four-day power outage, following a particularly powerful Winter storm, I penned the following poem.  I should point out that when my power went out in that house, I lost everything: light, heat, and water, since the well utilized an electric pump.  And it so happened that the phone stopped working as well, but the cause of that was a small rodent nibbling on an exposed wire, but it took me some time to figure that out.  So, there I was, as cold and isolated as I had ever been, I had been doing extensive reading during that time in my life in  pre-christian Celtic mythology, more accurately, I was reading nothing else at that time and I had a lot of time to read back then. Now, with that background in mind, my poem.

The Winter King

Without the day there can be no night:

Without the dark there is not light.

The son has died and the mother grieves;

The earth is cold and gone are her leaves.

The people seek the light from within

and find only the darkness of creation.

the winter king will be reborn

to bring the summer’s yield of corn.

Hang the wreath and trim the tree

And we’ll celebrate, you and me.

William Butler Yeats it is not, but this poem has meaning to me as much for story behind it as the words themselves.  That Christmas ten years ago, I included a copy of the poem in all my Christmas cards.  Much to my surprise, even my religiously conservative brother and sister seemed to like it.  I actually expected them to recognize the vary pagan references to the solstice and the goddess, but they didn’t.  From what they told me, they seemed to interpreted the words to fit their own story, the Christian story.  Long before the birth of Jesus, on December 25,  the Romans celebrated the birth of Attis, son of the virgin Nana.  It was believed that Attis was sacrificed as an adult, a sacrifice that would bring salvation to humanity, on March 25.  The Greeks celebrated the birth of Dionysus, the son of Zeus, on that same day and the Persians marked it as the birthday of Mithra. According to one source, “Mithra’s birth was witnessed by shepherds and by gift carrying Magi.”  The day of celebration was called “The Birthday of the Unconquered Sun” and during his life, it was believed that he “performed many miracles, cured many illnesses, cast out devils and ultimately celebrated a Last Supper with his 12 disciples and ascended to heaven at the time of the spring equinox, around March 21. The Egyptians worshiped Osiris, a savior-god with roots going deep into the Neolithic times, called by some the “Lord of Lords, King of Kings, God of Gods. . . the Resurrection and the Life, the Good Shepherd . . . the god who ‘made men and women be born again.”  Osiris, it was believed, was born on December 25 and three wise men announced his birth.  “His followers ate cakes of wheat which symbolized his body.”  

Parallels with the traditional Christian story are of course many, and these examples are merely the tip of the iceberg.  I do not point this out to discredit the Christian story in any way, rather I would argue the opposite point.  I would argue that  because there are such obvious parallels with these other, many far older traditions, I would argue that the metaphor, the archetype, the model revealed in these very similar stories contain serious and potentially life altering lessons for anyone willing and able to look beyond the facts of the stories, look through the words and symbology, and unlock the meaning of these stories.  That being said, it leaves us with many questions, not the least of which is the reason all these saviors of the human race were all born on or near the winter solstice, why were all these saviors, these bringers of light, born on the longest night of the year?

Our ancestors were dedicated observers of the natural world, and they observed and recognized the monthly and annual patterns of the stars, moon and sun.  They observed and recognized the tendencies and habits of plants and animals through the changing of the seasons, they observed and recognized the tendencies and habits of people through the changing seasons.  As creatures of this planet, our bodies tend to react to the changing seasons in ways many of us no longer notice, and in ways often contrary to our modern way of life.  Granted, we live in the South, and cold weather is not a major issue, but still we experience a noticeable decrease in light and often a marked decrease of outdoor activity.  Our holidays at this time of the year focus on indoor activities and the gathering of family of friends.  They include the lighting of candles and of course the modern equivalent of colorful electric lights, which substitute for the bonfires the ancients would light as  a form of sympathetic magic to invite the sun back from its journey to the South.  In places generally north of us, where the loss of light is more severe, many people experience what is called “Seasonal Affective Disorder” with the appropriate acronym, SAD, given the the primary symptom of the disorder is a depressed mood. It is likely that most us experience a similar reaction to the loss of natural light, however the mood variation is naturally far less severe than the worst cases.  

It seems to be the natural tendency of our species, most especially in Western cultures, to see darkness as a negative, something to be conquered, even destroyed.  In Eastern Traditions, however, it is better understood that darkness and light, like all apparent opposites, are in fact complementary elements, and within the darkness is the seed of light and within light is the seed of darkness. Like joy without sorrow, peace without struggle, light without dark could not be.  I think we have found the answer to our question to why the saviors are born on the solstice, in order to understand the light of truth,  in order to be engulfed by joy of truth and live in that truth, one must also know darkness, to experience and yes, even conquer the darkness of despair and hopelessness, conquer the fear of physical death. Bear in mind, that truth in myth can only be unlocked when one realizes that the myth, the story being told is one’s own story.  

Before each of us was born, we existed in the darkness of the womb. 

It is to darkness we retreat for rest and restoration.  

In the darkness, seeds are drawn to germinate, flowers to prepare to 

bloom, and our dreams to unfold. In the darkness, edges blur. Boundaries 

between reality and fantasy, between friend and stranger, become fluid, 

leaving open new possibilities. In the darkness, undistracted by that which 

we see too clearly in the light, we can envision a different world-a more 

beautiful, peaceful, just world, perhaps-and when the light returns, inspired 

by that vision we can work to make it so. In the darkness, when our eyes 

rest, our ears tune more attentively to the sounds of storytelling, of lullabies, 

of wind, of loved ones breathing in the night. And such sounds recall us 

from the often mindless busyness of errands and chores and obligations, 

and remind us of who we are and what gives our lives meaning.

In the darkness, we find the right condition for quiet reflection and deep, 

dream filled and refreshing sleep, and it is an invitation to allow the dark,

                unknown, nameless, infinite aspects of our very being free reign for a time.

In these darkest days of the year, we are invited to embrace the darkness, 

even as we prepare to celebrate the returning light. We can acknowledge 

that life is only complete in their alternating presence. We can accept the

blessings of the dark. We can offer a word of thanks in the early morning 

for the darkness that wrapped us in our sleep, that received our dreams, and 

that allowed us pause. We can notice the dark sky, dark window, dark room,

                against which, into which, the stars, the candles, the lights shine, and say that 

the darkness is no less holy than the light.