Pastor's Corner December 2020: “I’ll see you tomorrow. Maybe.” -The Sun.

This reflection begins where all theological reflections these days perhaps should: TikTok.

Check out this TikTok video from British comedian Gina Barrett, who appears as an animated talking sun rambling about being late to work, going home early, and maybe coming back tomorrow.

It’s too real, right? I don’t know about you, but I’ve noticed that with staying home more this winter season due to coronavirus, I’ve been even more attuned than usual to just how early the sun goes down in December. My phone and computer’s “night” setting is starting at 4pm and I find myself constantly surprised. “This, again?” I ask myself? More darkness? WHERE DID THE DAY GO?

Yes, even in the midst of a global pandemic, our rotation around the sun remains the same. Here we are again, approaching the winter solstice, the darkest time of the year on the same clock as usual, even though it feels our whole world has changed.

Seasonal depression is real. Especially in a time when we can’t have the kinds of connections in person that usually keep us sustained in the winter months, less sunlight is really, really hard. If you’re struggling, there is help and you are not alone. Check out this resource on Seasonal Affective Disorder during COVID-19, and always know you can reach out to a pastor for care or referrals for support.

Meanwhile, there’s also opportunities in the darkness of this time, without denying the reality of how challenging winter can be emotionally, especially this year.

One appeal is that in a year lit by our devices as our lifelines to each other, Advent can be a time for going inward and “dimming down” in healthy ways. Please do stay socially connected through phone calls or video calls, or however you best connect with others. But if it feels comfortable to you, try taking some time offline too, and see what happens in the dark. For example, try reading the Advent devotional in your care package, Those Who Dream, by candlelight. Try praying in the dark, or the light of an Advent wreath.

Here’s a prompt for prayer or meditation, or journaling: What can you see in the dark that you can’t see by light? What dreams are stirring in you? What is being born in you, in the darkness of long Advent nights, that you might not otherwise be able to pay attention to by the brightness of day?

The Irish poet John O’Donohue writes: "The light of modern consciousness is not gentle or reverent; it lacks graciousness in the presence of mystery; it wants to unriddle and control the unknown. Modern consciousness is similar to the harsh and brilliant white light of a hospital operating theatre. This neon light is too direct and clear to befriend the shadowed world of the soul."

Friends, I will not romanticize the risk of dimming down. Turning off devices, leaning into the darkness of winter, and otherwise “going inward” is vulnerable and scary. But if you can do it safely while remaining connected and supported in ways that you need, there very well may be a gift in the darkness you didn’t expect. Wisdom that is uniquely yours, forged in the dark, glistening in the night.