Tomorrow night is the longest night of the year. It’s the Winter Solstice, which, according to Jamie Carter at Live Science, will occur at 10:28 p.m. EST on Thursday, Dec. 21. Carter explains that, “Earth orbits the sun every 365 days while spinning on an axis tilted by 23.5 degrees. Its northern axis is tipped away from the sun on the winter solstice, resulting in the day with the fewest hours of daylight, and thus the longest night, all year in the Northern Hemisphere.” That’s the science of the Winter Solstice, but there is also a cultural aspect. I’ve written before about Yule, “The pre-Christian festival, the Feast of Juul, that was observed in Scandinavia at the time of the December solstice. Fires would be lit to symbolize the heat and light of the returning Sun and a Yule log was gathered and burnt in the hearth as a tribute to the Norse god Thor.” Modern Western Christians, too, have marked the longest night with “Blue Christmas” worship services for those who find that they are struggling during the holiday season due to a loss, illness, or other difficult life circumstances. Beyond celebrations and daylight hours, however, there is another–perhaps even more important–aspect of the longest night: Spiritual. We often miss how the longest night, and the shortest day, can speak to us on a spiritual level, but be assured, it does. So often this time of year, many of us have moments of anxiety, or fatigue, or even dread. We may be grieving the loss of someone we love who has died in the past year or in years gone by, but we might also just be a little sad for no apparent reason. On the longest night, it almost feels like the universe is giving nod to our weary spirits and our broken hearts. It almost feels like all of creation is a little colder, a little darker, a little more lonely in some way. It almost feels like the heavens and the earth are right there with us–a little sad for no apparent reason. But the Winter Solstice is far more than some universal, cosmic depression. It is the moment when transformation begins. From the exact moment that the solstice occurs–10:28 p.m. EST on Thursday, Dec. 21st–everything begins to change. No longer is the Northern Hemisphere tilting away from the sun–away from the light–it is now tilting toward it. With nights that grow increasingly shorter, and days increasingly longer–and all of the transformation in the natural world that comes with it. From the depths of darkness, something new begins to be born. As Christians, we see this message of transformational darkness happening in the stories of our faith. The darkness of the womb is the place where transformation begins for a world in desperate need of the One who would show us the Way. At Easter, too, we see yet another transformational moment beginning in the dark–new life springing from the darkness of the tomb. So, if you’re grieving this time of year. Or if you are anxious, weary, fearful, fatigued, or just generally sad, please hold onto the deep truth the Winter Solstice speaks to us: The darkness is not a destination, but the birthplace of transformation. It is the start of something, not the end. Light and warmth are being born from this cold, dark, long, and lonely night. So as we head into the Longest Night tomorrow night, I implore you, don’t ignore your darkness, and don’t try to pretend that it’s not there. Embrace it. Pay attention to it. Sit in it knowing that this is the place God chooses to enter into our human reality. God is here, and you are not alone. Sitting in the dark with you, Pr. Melissa Recently, my spouse and I have been streaming our way through the “Friends” television series. I watched every episode when the series first aired on TV, and I have since seen every episode more times than I can count. However, this is officially my spouse’s first time through. Most evenings in our house lately, we will eat supper together, get done whatever chores or errands we need to do, then we will retire to the living room and watch 2 or 3 episodes of the sitcom (without commercials they’re only 20ish minutes each) before heading to bed for the night. Each night–without fail–I will find myself literally laughing out loud at some one-liner or some facial expression or humorous situation in a particular episode. And as I laugh each night–without fail–I will find myself looking across the room in my spouse’s direction, just to see if they are laughing too. To be sure, I’d find the show funny even if they weren’t laughing, but there’s something almost magical about those little moments when our eyes meet for a short time of shared laughter. I recently heard a colleague describe times like these as “micro moments”--moments that seem small or insignificant at the time but, steadily and over time, make a life. Micro moments have nothing to do with grand gestures or expensive vacations, but have everything to do with the most ordinary of details. Like knowing the way someone takes their coffee, or the way a couple who has read the Sunday paper for years divides the newspaper up into sections for each person to read without even having to think about it. Or Saturday mornings spent eating sugary cereal and watching cartoons with siblings, or enjoying Sunday chicken after church at Grandma and Grandpa’s house. Whatever the case, these micro moments don’t seem particularly special or significant while we are in them but, when we look back, are often the moments that stay with us the most. Which leads me to wonder if maybe–rather than only appreciating them in hindsight–we could figure out a way to be more present during these micro moments? Like, if these little moments are going to be the moments that stick with us and the moments that comprise our lives as individuals or our lives as part of other people’s lives, maybe we ought to practice being as present as we possibly can in those moments of laughter, or during those Sunday after church meals. Maybe–especially this time of year–when the pressure for the big gift or the big Christmas family get-together is at an all-time high–we could all pause and remember that it’s the little moments inside those BIG efforts that make it all worthwhile: A quiet evening after a day of holiday ruckus, a grandchild’s smile, the hand you get to hold while you watch others open their gifts, praying the same prayer before the holiday meal that has been prayed for generations. I don’t know if it would make any kind of difference at all, but I definitely want to spend what’s left of this Advent and Christmas season trying to find out. Maybe you’d like to join me in that endeavor? My hunch is that by being more intentional with our presence–mind, body, and spirit–we’ll find that those micro moments aren’t nearly as small and insignificant as we might see them now. In fact, they just might be the whole point. On the journey with you, Pr. Melissa Over this long holiday weekend, I began a sourdough starter. A while back I had sent away for an heirloom sourdough culture in a San Francisco style, and this weekend I finally had time to get the culture going and growing so that, once I had enough sourdough starter, I could make some delicious sourdough bread. If you don’t know, sourdough bread isn’t made like other bread. It has no yeast. The rise in the sourdough bread comes through a fermentation process wherein equal parts room temperature liquid and equal parts flour are mixed with a culture. This activates the friendly bacteria and wild yeast that live in both the flour and the surrounding environment. Once these bacteria are activated, they begin to produce carbon dioxide bubbles, which make the bread rise. This also produces acids that lower the pH of the starter which, in turn, gives the bread its characteristic sour taste. This starter grows as it is fed, day after day, once per day. It ferments, it bubbles, it grows. More and more. And as it grows, so does the bubbling activity. Which, if you think about it, is pretty amazing given that these are just ordinary things–flour and water–that are helping the starter to grow. Not quickly. Not instantly like the packets of bread yeast we are used to, but over time and day by day. This Advent season, which will begin this Sunday, we will take our cues from the sourdough starter as we “feed” our hearts, minds, and spirits what they need to grow and bubble up joy even in a weary world. Each week we will answer the question, “How does a weary world rejoice?” with a new answer. These answers, you will find, are not “10 easy steps to get happy during the holidays,” and don’t require any special gadget or equipment. They simply invite us to feed our weary souls with what is already at hand–just ordinary things–so that, over time and day by day, we build and bubble our way to moments of joy–even in the midst of all of “this”...whatever “this” is for you during this particular season of life. The creators of our Advent series write, “As we move through our series, we hope to create space for acknowledging the weariness of the world while celebrating God’s love with great joy.” This is the hope here at St. Paul this Advent season, as we activate hope, peace, joy, and love among us and around us. Not because we have successfully faked our way to each of them, but because we have fed them, over time and day by day, until we–together and as individuals–can do nothing more than RISE. Learning to feed hope, peace, joy, and love with you, Pr. Melissa This past weekend my family of origin got together for Thanksgiving. There were twenty-four of us present. My parents’ house was teeming with people, laughter, conversation, and the giggle and romping of children. There was food (SO MUCH FOOD) and connection and hugs for all who wanted them, not to mention the obligatory family picture my sister-in-law always makes sure that we get when we gather together. There were also things that went unsaid for the sake of keeping the peace. There was some tip-toeing around certain subjects. There were hushed disagreements and not-so-hushed judgments of others in attendance. There were children crying at different times, there were moments of palpable tension, and there was evidence of different people taking turns making themselves just a little smaller than usual to fit into their role in the family system. I name the wonderful aspects as well as the challenging ones because we so often don’t. Too often we only speak of the wonderful–as if that is the only way the holidays are supposed to happen. When many of us know all too well that there is never a purely wonderful holiday experience. There is always a challenge. Sometimes the challenges are just as I’ve named them. Other times the challenges present themselves differently–like spending your first holiday without someone you love. Or trying to make holiday plans after a relationship ends. Sometimes the challenge is trying to eek out any kind of holiday spirit at all because someone you love is ill or suffering in some way–or because you are ill or suffering in some way. Still other times, the challenge is that the family who loves you does not accept you or welcome you or your partner just as you are. Or the challenge is simply knowing that a holiday will be just another day for you because there is no one to spend the day with. Whatever the scenario is for each of us, challenges are present for us all. There is no silver lining to most of these challenges. Just because the calendar tells us it's a particular day, our disagreements don’t magically end. Our loved ones who have died don’t magically come back to life. Our relationships don’t magically mend, and we don’t magically have people to spend the holidays with or magically have people who love us and affirm us just as we are. Moving through holiday challenges isn’t magic..it’s a practice of coming home to yourself. Writer Jennifer Healey once wrote, “Before you cater to everyone else, ask yourself what it is YOU could do today to be at home within yourself. Leave it up to everyone else, and peace seems pie-in-the-sky. Through mindfulness and care, you take back your light. And that’s what coming home to yourself feels like: a peaceful strength, a sanctuary.” Perhaps if our energies are put toward anything this holiday season, they are best put toward coming home to ourselves. Maybe instead of killing ourselves trying to make this holiday season the “best one yet,” or spending what little we have in the tank trying to ignore the newly-empty place setting at the table, or trying to make all kinds of “magic” happen–with who we are, who is with us, or what expectations for the holiday season we hold, we could spend ourselves instead on creating a sanctuary within us. Maybe instead of looking for peace when everything is perfect, or when others around us love us perfectly, we could do the work of cultivating a peace within–a place we can retreat to when all of the challenges of the holidays come rushing in on us. So that whether our gatherings are a hot mess of judgements and family systems theory gone awry, or they are quiet times of shared grief or loneliness. No matter if all of the wonderful overshadows all of the challenges–NO MATTER WHAT–there is a peaceful space within you–just for you–a landing space to call home–even away from home. One simple practice we can all do is contemplative prayer. There are many ways to do this, but I will share one that’s helpful for me. Each morning and whenever I feel anxiety or dis-ease within me, I breathe in through my nose for a count of four, I hold that breath for a count of four, and then I breathe out that breath for a count of four. As I breathe in I say some phrase in my head that speaks to the day ahead or to the anxiety of the moment. As I breathe out I say another phrase–one that grounds me in truth. My phrases change over time, but the practice is the same–I just breathe–until I feel grounded in the truth and more distant from the challenges of the day ahead or the anxiety I feel. Sometimes it’s 2 minutes. Other times it’s 10 times that. So maybe this holiday season we can breathe together. Breathe in: The holidays pull me in so many different directions. Breathe out: I am my own sanctuary–no matter where I am or who I’m with. Practicing coming home to myself with you, Pr. Melissa This past Saturday evening, I went to mass at the local Catholic church. I am not in the habit of attending mass (or any other church’s services for that matter), but Saturday was special: There was a baptism. A little girl connected to the St. Paul family of faith was getting baptized, and I didn’t want to miss the chance to be a part of speaking faithful promises over her and her family. So I went–to a building I’ve never been in, with many people I’ve never met, to pray prayers I don’t usually pray, and sing songs I don’t usually sing, and hear a message from a priest whom, until that night, I hadn’t yet had the opportunity to meet. Some of it felt familiar, like the Psalm chanting and the call and response rhythm that comes with rote prayers. While other parts felt disorienting, like navigating the missal in the pews, when to sit, when to stand, when some people were going to kneel, and what the appropriate response was to be. Perhaps most disorienting of all was attending a service that I wasn’t leading. There was no one looking to me for a message, or for guidance. I wouldn’t be receiving communion, let alone presiding over it. My participation in all of it was voluntary–a constant invitation to be present and to choose how (or if) I would enter each moment. And yet, even in my disorientation, God showed up…and in powerful ways. God showed up in the baby girl who was filled with such joy upon her baptism that she giggled, chattered, kicked her legs, and smiled all the way down and up the center aisle of the sanctuary held up high by the priest. God showed up in the cantor who led the psalm chant, raising her hand every time we were to offer our sung response. God showed up in the woman in the pew behind me, who noticed me struggling to find my way through the missal to participate in as much of the liturgy as I could, and offered me guidance over my left shoulder. God showed up during communion as I remained in my pew and watched others partake in a meal I could not. God showed up in my fumbles through responses that were worded just a little differently than I’m used to, and God showed up as I entered the songs. The truth is, when I was lost, God showed up. And when I knew exactly where I was, God showed up. And the only real difference for me on Saturday night was that I noticed. I noticed all of the ways that God is so close and so familiar and so constant that I so often miss it. Which leads me to believe that I didn’t necessarily need to be somewhere new to notice God’s nearness, but I did need to see in a new way. Marcel Proust once wrote, "The real voyage of discovery consists not in seeking new landscapes but in having new eyes." Perhaps our journey toward God is marked not by looking “out there somewhere” for what is Divine, perhaps our journey toward God is marked by noticing the Divine in what is already happening around us, in us, and through us. Don’t get me wrong, sometimes new landscapes are our pathways toward seeing with new eyes. And yet, constantly seeking new landscapes can keep us from noticing what is right before us–How God is showing up for us right where we are, just as we are. So, if you’re disoriented in your life right now, be encouraged. And if you know exactly where you are in your life right now, be encouraged. God is present. God is showing up. In a baby’s chatter, in familiar rhythms, in a stranger’s guidance, and at tables that weren’t set for you. God is present. God is showing up. God notices…do you? Learning to see with new eyes with you, Pr. Melissa |
Rev. Melissa Sternhagen
Rev. Melissa Sternhagen was called as the pastor of St. Paul Congregational UCC in June of 2020. Prior to her call to St. Paul, Pr. Melissa worked as a hospice chaplain in the Ames, IA area, following pastorates at rural churches in Central Iowa and Southern Illinois. Pr. Melissa is a second-career pastor with a background in agribusiness and production & supply operations. She received her M.Div. from Eden Theological Seminary in St. Louis, MO, and holds a MA Ed. in Adult Education and Training, and a BA in Organizational Communications. Archives
May 2024
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