Last year I attended my first Longest Night service. I had known of them for a while and was so taken by the idea, but had never actually been to one. Honestly I had never really felt the need. But last year I was struggling and I just felt drawn to go.
If you aren’t familiar with what a Longest Night service is, in short it is an advent service in the Christian tradition, held on the eve of the winter solstice - the longest night of the year - that is an opportunity to acknowledge and to be with those who are grieving. Just as darkness overtakes the daylight in the weeks leading up to the solstice, it is a recognition that for many this is not just a literal darkness, but a metaphorical one that can feel overwhelming at times, especially during a season when the rest of the world seems to be in a continuous state of celebration.
But it’s also a recognition that the darkness does come to an end. Beginning the very next morning the light of each day begins to lengthen, with more and more as each one passes. Longest Night services are about both the catharsis of being present with your pain, but also knowing that there is an end to it. Knowing that there will be light. And that eventually the light will overtake the darkness, making up more of our days, and more of our lives.
I know for many this year in particular has been especially grim. Of the people I know well who read my blog regularly or subscribe to my newsletters: one is going through a tremendously painful break up, two have been diagnosed with cancer, another is awaiting biopsy results, two have lost parents, four have had COVID (one is still dealing with its effects months later), and one has lost a job. And that’s just the very few people who have been kind enough to share their lives with me; I know that there are many pains and many heartaches untold. Even for those who feel they have personally gotten off fairly easily this year the sting of those hurting around them and the stress of the stories that have dominated the news cycle over the last nine months, have been all too real.
But thankfully tonight and tomorrow are a reminder, that after the darkness there is light. After the winter there is spring. After the hurt there is healing. Just as the literal darkness will soon begin to lessen, so too will the metaphorical darkness. Nothing in life is permanent. Not even the pain.
So no matter how you’re spending your time this season, my wish for all of you is this: that you will allow yourself to grieve whatever pain you feel, be it for yourself or for others, but that you will also find a way to remember that the darkness will give way to the light.
Wishing you all much love and peace.