Though we may put candles in our windows, adorn shrubs and Christmas trees with stands of lights, with the sun not rising until 7:15 and slipping behind the western hill shortly after 4pm, this remains a very dark time of year. We go to pretty extensive measures to mitigate the darkness and brighten our world.
In the Christian tradition this is Advent, a supposedly quiet time for contemplation and reflection. And with Hanukkah coming so early this year, Jews are in the midst of observing the Festival of Lights.
In Ancient Rome the pagan festival of Saturnalia was observed in December. To reflect the light of Saturn, many candles were lit. Gifts were given and servants were served feasts by their masters. In the 4th century the customs of Saturnalia were integrated into Christianity as a way of hastening the conversion of a pagan population.
All these lights remind me of the Queen’s remark in Hamlet, “The lady doth protest too much, methinks.” When we go to such measures of compensation, when we expend so much energy getting away from something or protesting something - in this case the darkness - you can be pretty sure there’s something else going on. On the face of it we might say that we just want to light the darkness and cheer ourselves up. Darkness can be scary and threatening but therein lies its richness and challenge.
Carl Jung first coined the term “shadow” to describe the dark side of our natures, the parts we’d rather not address, the parts of our personalities that make us feel guilty and ashamed. Understandably, we’re reluctant to address our shadow sides; it’s easier to face front and reach for the light. But we do so at our peril.
This is a good time of year to summon the courage to look behind us and face our shadows, to question their hold on us, to dispel their power by bringing them to the light of understanding. One way to do this is to talk to someone we really trust about our shadows, because frightening things gain power in secrecy and sharing them always diffuses their strength.
A friend of mine who is pushing 100 recently suffered a downward turn and now is pretty much confined to bed. His eyesight is almost gone, his hearing marginal and his memory sporadic; he’s essentially in the dark. But his attitude is exemplary. Mostly, he comments on how well he feels at the particular moment, not too hot, not too cold. When I asked him how I could help him, he said, “You know, I’ve been scared of the dark all my life. Slept with the light on for 99 years. Now that I can only vaguely see the light, the dark isn’t so scary. Wish I’d known.”
We would be wise not to ignore the darkness in our world and in ourselves for only by exposing what is wrong can we hope to dwell in the light.
