14 December 20XX+1
My Dear Lucilius:
The day dawned dark and overcast again with a cruel wind blowing, a reminder that we still have still have not yet arrived at the nadir of daylight for the year.
The Advent wreath bore three candles now, the two purple previously used as well as a pink one (“Rose”, corrected Pompeia Paulina. It still appeared pink to me).
“The Candle of Joy” she said. “It reminds us of the shepherds rejoicing on Christmas Eve.”
The Shepherds.
There was time, Lucilius, that I thought I wanted to be a shepherd. Call this being lured in by the idylls of Hesiod or a burgeoning need to get away from people that never left me, but I have always at some level wanted to be away from people and around animals. That faded over time of course: the reality of shepherds are quite different from the mystical apparitions in my mind and in terms of making a living in the modern world, it was a bit difficult.
But I do still think about them: alone most of the time, coming together periodically as dictated by the sheep and seasons, but always returning back to isolation and wilderness.
And then, something different happens.
In the modern world, we were amazed by the firework shows and bright lights that accompanied modern civilization’s celebrations. Imagine living in a world where (practically speaking) nothing was lit except by sun and fire. The darkness at night was the true darkness that the modern world pushed back so often.
And then, light and sound beyond anything that they could have ever imagined or known. A luminous being announcing to the “Good tidings of great joy”. How could these men not celebrate and rejoice after what they had heard and seen.
Did any of them survive to Christ’s last days? We will never know of course, but it is theoretically possible. What would it have been like when, closing their eyes at death, they meet the one whose life they saw at the beginning and saw the working out of these good tidings: The Resurrection, the Forgiveness of Sin, the New Covenant?
The candles were lit one after the other and we read in Luke of the shepherds and the angels and their coming to Bethlehem.
That joy still remains, Lucilius, if we will but seek it out.
Your Obedient Servant, Seneca
I can't remember the last time I spent a night on the farm but I do remember that I was blown away at the night sky after years of living in the city. It amazes me how so used to light we become that being in absolute darkness can then become beautiful.
ReplyDeleteEd, having just returned from the Grand Canyon and spending at least 4 of the five nights without a rain fly (and last night in the open air), I forgot how thrilling the true night sky can be.
DeleteNot sure how your timing was but I still remember a full moon from the bottom of the canyon. I remember waking up wondering why someone was shining a flashlight directly in my face. After it hit me that it was the moon, I laid awake for an hour or so watching until it set behind the rim reveling in the beauty of it.
DeleteEd, we had a waxing moon to a half moon the last night. The moon went down some time after midnight; the contrast was amazing.
DeleteThose who have an eternal perspective have hope. At least it's a hope that can bring peace to the soul if one chooses. I think one of the reasons people are angry nowadays is because they have no hope. Not true anyway. Their hope seems to be in their ability to fight for what they want. The advent wreath and its candles are such a good reminder that our hope is higher and larger than ourselves.
ReplyDelete"I think one of the reasons people are angry nowadays is because they have no hope. Not true anyway. Their hope seems to be in their ability to fight for what they want." Leigh, that is a very profound thought - and one I completely agree with. We have become an age of rage.
DeleteI am not sure that we have an advent wreath here, but I should probably get one this year.