I’ve
always struggled with winter – the cold and the dark
seem so devoid of the light and warmth that I associate
with life and growth and flourishing and beauty. But this
perception is changing, much to my surprise and delight.
The dearth of light and heat do not mean death but a time
of rest for flora and fauna. Spring, with its fresh new
growth, would not have the same impact if there were no
winter beforehand.
Seasons
are not a universal phenomenon on our planet (sic!). Some
regions of the tropics have little if any variation in weather
throughout the year. In other parts, seasonality is imposed
by freedom from rain for a period rather than the cyclical
changes in the quantity and quality of light and in temperature
that determine our seasons.
Like seasons,
sunsets are a location-related feature of our world’s
spectacular organisation and beauty, the speed of the sun
setting limiting these natural light shows in the tropical
lower latitudes. Transient up-lighting of the underbelly
of the cloud layers that so frequently dull our days can
transform our evenings (and mornings too). A cacophony of
colour cascading through brief moments overwhelms our senses
– if we choose to let it; if we divert from our other
activities to notice.
Sunsets
change with the season and can still be spectacular in winter
as well as summer. But if they are only moments of light
in an otherwise dark season, can we find other beauty to
brighten the bleakness? And when some of us struggle with
winter periods of emotional, relational and/or spiritual
coldness and emptiness in our lives, can we find reasons
for hope in the natural season of winter? Is it possible
to think of winter as a Sabbath, a needed rest from activity?
The world
is different in winter. The bareness of the trees allows
the beauty of their shape and skeleton to be seen –
beauty that comes from the thickness and thinness of their
branches from trunk to tip; the straightness and crookedness
of the branches as they divide and divide and divide …
more or less frequently; the texture and colour of their
bark. The absence of leaves also reveals birds which we
don’t see in summer because they are busy inside the
trees.
And winter
has other treats – the moon doesn’t get much of
a look-in in summer but in winter it rides high in the sky
reflecting light into the heart of the night and then in
the morning setting confidently as the sun makes its diffident
appearance.
I’m
now expecting to see more beauty and fascination each new
winter to redeem the darkness. And what of the darkness
that seeps into my soul? Maybe it’s a matter of adjusting
my expectations and perceptions. Maybe I can alter the pace
of living, even change my activities. Maybe I can be open
to seeing the familiar in new ways, to seeing what I’ve
never seen before. All this might not change the darkness
into light but it can transform it. As Sabbath forces us
to alter pace, to change our activities, and hopefully see
life and our lives from another perspective, maybe winter
– the natural season and/or a time of negativity or
any kind of pain, because it forces us to be in a different
position – can present us with an opportunity to look
at life and our lives in a new way.
‘And
I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may
have power, together with all the saints, to grasp how wide
and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to
know this love that surpasses knowledge – that you
may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God.’
Ephesians 3: 17b-19
Ethel
White
