This is cross-posted as my weekly editorial at Blogher. Find all my BlogHer columns here.

“So the Christians and the Pagans sat together at the table
Finding faith and common ground the best that they were able
Lighting trees in darkness, learning new ways from the old, and
Making sense of history and drawing warmth out of the cold.”

Dar Williams
The Christians and the Pagans

“It’s dark out now, but the light is coming.” This is the message that the Pagan celebration of Winter Solstice (Dec 21st) and the Christian celebration of Christmas (Dec 25th) has in common. As the days grow short, we long for light — both physical and metaphysical, to carry us through the dark season. Advent, which means simply “to come,” is the season that leads up to both the Pagan tradition of celebrating the return of the Life-Giver, the Sun; and the Christian tradition of celebrating the birth of the Son, Jesus, who in religious parlance is often referred to as “the light of the world.” The Advent wreath, which has it’s finger in both tradition’s pies, is a simple practice that brings warmth, meaning and light to the holiday season. And the good news is, it’s easy to practice!

The Advent Wreath at it’s roots is an ancient Pagan rite. In the Pagan era people would bring their cart wheels indoors during the Winter, to preserve this important tool of survival from the wet and the cold. The wheels were hung from the ceiling and used and impromptu chandeliers. As the days grew short and the nights lengthened, people would deck the wheels out with evergreens and candles and spin them as an incantation to the Powers, asking that the light be returned. And what do you know? As the longest night of the Winter Solstice tipped the world towards Spring, the days started to lengthen and the light came back!

In the Christian era this practice was adopted by the church. (Most, if not all Christian traditions find their roots in other religions.) A wreath of evergreens is laid on a table (or here in Denmark, hung from the ceiling) and filled with four candles — one for each week of the waiting, or Advent, season. Originally the candles were simply a countdown, one for each of the four Sunday’s preceding Christmas. Now, in liturgical churches the candles are different colors and have different themes. The colors and meanings are not standardized across denominations (e.g. branches) of the Christian church. But generally the colors are purple, rose, and white and the themes are Hope, Love, Joy, and Peace. (For more info, click here.)

You can easily use a wreath to bring attentiveness and meaning into your home this holiday season. Buy a wreath at your local store, and lay it on your table. You might want to put something protective beneath it like a large platter or even just a couple sheets of wax paper, trimmed to fit. Place four candles inside the wreath–or five if you want a separate one to light on Solstice Day or Christmas Day. Gather your family, friends, or your own dear self to the table once a week (usually a Sunday), light the candle are read something meaningful. Here are two inter-faith suggestions that I’ve used as an officiate at both Solstice and Christmas celebrations:

Soon, our nights grow shorter and our days grow long.
We look once more on these earthy symbols–
firelight and evergreens–
and embrace the glow of hope
That Light and Life will return once again to the earth.

——

The people who lived in darkness have seen a great light,
and we have beheld its glory,

Light,
generous from the inside out,
true from start to finish,
full of grace, full of truth.

As each week draws us closer to these celebrations of Light, the light from the wreath literally grows brighter and stronger, chasing the shadows to the corners and providing us with hope. I find it to be a powerful symbol of a universal truth: the light comes into the darkness, and the darkness cannot overcome it.

What will you do to celebrate the Light’s return? Please add your ideas and links to the comments below.

More Magpie Girl about Advent, Solstice, and Christmas:

Sacred Sunday: A Prayer for Solstice and Advent

Beautiful Pagan-y Things: Feast of the Winter Solstice with the Fremont Arts Council

Poetry: Bread of the Winter Solstice

A Winter Soltice Gone Amiss (But Still, a Good Plan)

Today’s Theme: Peaceful Advent

God with Us: Brennan Manning

One of the realities that captures me most at Christmas is the meaning of Emmanuel - “God with us.” I love thinking of God as an infant, God as a fellow traveler, God as our sibling and friend. It’s one of the unique traits of Yahweh — this willingness, even eagerness, to be near to us. In reality, or as a truth-bearing myth, this concept brings me peace.

Our modern mystic, Brennan Manning, captures God-with-us quite wonderfully in one of his Advent pieces. Here it is for you now, a little present from me to you.

Watch for the Light: Readings for Advent and Christmas
Orbis Books, 2001

“Shipwrecked at the Stable”

Do you think you could contain Niagra Falls in a teacup?

We all know how difficult it is to receive anything from someone who has all the answers, who is completely cool, utterly unafraid, needing nothing and in control of every situation. We feel unnecessary, unrelated to this paragon. So God comes as a newborn baby, giving us a chance to love him, making us feel that we have something to give him.

P.s. I also recommend listening to Bruce Cockburn’s tune Big Circumstance, which references this piece, and Cry of a Tiny Babe, which is one of my favorites. Peace to you this Christmas day.

A Prayer for Lighting of the Advent Wreath

Tonight, our nights grow shorter and our days grow long!

We look once more on these earthy symbols–firelight and evergreens–
and remember God’s promise to our world:
That our Light and our Hope, will come.

The Words of the Prophet

What came into existence was Life,
And the Life was Light to live by.

The Life-Light blazed out of the darkness;
And the darkness could not put it out.

The people who lived in darkness have seen a great light, and we have beheld its glory, glory that only comes from God:

generous from the inside out,
true from start to finish,
full of grace, full of truth.

Children lighting candles-as-prayer at the peace installation, December 2004. Photograph by My True Self.

Today is the first Sunday of Advent (from the Latin, meaning ‘to wait’). It is the time in which Jesus-y folks everywhere prepare for the arrival of Emmanuel, God-with-Us. (The very concept of that possiblity give me anticipatory chills.)

Last year Advent went by in a flash, and my carefully cultivated discipline of keeping a peaceful, presence-ful schedule evaporated in a sea of poor planning. Ironically, in the midst of packing for an international move, this year we seem to be approaching this season with a more reasonable sense of time. To help this along, the note on my fridge says, “Today will unfold with measured grace,” and I am carefully prioritizing our calendar to help my family sink into this beautiful season.

Tonight we will go to “A Tranquil Advent Evening” at the cathedral on the hill. Though I’ve offered to let them beg off, the girls have both asked to go. They will be content to walk the labyrinth and light the peace candles while Momma –who was raised singing cantatas every year in the school choir — will join in the singing the gregorian chants and the verses of the O Anitphons, inviting the peace of Christ to come and dwell amongst us. My favorite verse, as always, will be verse eight: “O come, Desire of nations, bind in one the hearts of all mankind; bid thou our sad divisions cease, and be thyself our King of Peace. ”

The first time I came to this service on the hill, a profound sensory experience surrounded me, forever altering my experience of the Advent season. Here are my memories from that Advent, three years ago.

____________________________________________________________________________

Last night we went to “A Tranquil Advent Evening” at St. Mark’s Cathedral. The labyrinths were all candlelit, as were the steps to the altar. There was a classical guitar, a bevy of peace candles, perfectly executed Gregorian chants, a stellar harp.

It was raining outside, as it had been all week, and I had become acustomed to the constant drip. But inside the cathedral, I wasn’t prepared for weather’s resplendent sound.

It was as if the wind had decided to roar and sweep only around the cathedral walls. As if the rest of the city had been abandoned by her touch, that she might rally around this one space, this one focal point, her tendrical arms weaving and circling only around the deep, quiet nave.

“I am in a ship,” I thought, behind closed eyes, “below deck, and out of the way in my berth while the crew works to outstand the storm. Or perhaps we are all below, grasping tin mugs of coffee, working with the sway of the sea, hoping for the best, now that we’ve battened down the hatches.

No, it is more like a submarine, submerged and silent and waiting—hoping not to be heard by the enemy, hoping to be found by rescue rather than salvage.

Or perhaps we are Jonah, sloshing amongst fish bones, listening to the sounds of digestion, praying for rapture.”

Then another thought sprang into my consciousness—more true for its unbiddeness, for it’s unlooked for appearance…

“We are in a womb, in this strong walled Mary. We hear, not the howl of a storm, but the pulsing and swish of the stuff of our own making, the life-blood of our own to-be-ing. Hoping. Waiting. Being very still, yet very present.

Are these not the actions of both the mother in pregnancy, and the infant in utero? Mary’s song, the howl and swirl of heartbeats, the rush of blood in the vein. Entombed. Enwombed. Either way, a closing-in before the reality of new life, shown in a crowning head, in the left-behind emptiness or an abandoned tomb.

Advent, to wait. Emmanuel, to come. Oh! What could it be, if we would hold both words in one space– hold them there, between the roof of your mouth and the top of your tongue; soft in between the hollow of your cheeks, holding two truths in the loose-jawed spaciousness.

To Wait. To Come. Do you feel the void between these phrases? It spills out, whispering, “hold steady, be present.”

Breathe in…the sound swirls inside this still, incubating space where words come, waiting to be birthed into a reality. They hover amongst your teeth. Exhale….your breath hanging like a plea. “O come!”

To learn more about my Advent-y world, visit my previous blog Urban Abbess and choose ‘December’ in the archives window, or browse through the ‘rites and rituals’ category. Thank you for reading.