Candlemas 2022: Shedding Some Light and Finding Some Hope

Call it Candlemas or the Presentation of Our Lord (as we do in The Book of Common Prayer 1979) or even, as most people in the United States do, Groundhog Day, this day forty days after Christmas and midway between the Winter Solstice  and Spring Equinox marks a subtle turning of the seasons. Even this year, when February 2 finds most of Nebraska in frigid temperatures and other parts of the Midwest and Plains under winter storm watches and warnings, there is a noticeable difference in the slant of the sunlight and the length of days that helps us know in our bones that spring is on its way. 

This day on the church calendar offers rich stories and prayers for reflection. Even though the church’s texts for the day have no immediate connection to concerns for caring for the planet or its people and other creatures, a subtle connection is there. I wonder whether these texts with images of fire and light connect so easily yet indirectly to caring for the earth because some old European calendars considered this the beginning of spring.

Today’s Eucharistic reading for the Presentation of Our Lord (Luke 2:22-40) tells the story of Mary and Joseph taking the infant Jesus to the temple. Simeon recognizes Jesus as “a light for revelation to the Gentiles and for glory to your people Israel” and blesses him, and Anna, an elderly woman who is a prophet living in the temple, begins to praise God and talk about the child.

Denise Levertov wrote a short poem called Candlemas. (Read the poem here, or find it in Levertov’s collection The Stream & Sapphire: Selected Poems on Religious Themes.) Speaking of Simeon, Denise Levertov wrote:

What depth 

of faith he drew on,

turning illumined

towards deep night.

Simeon’s turn towards the deep night brings us beyond his joyful declaration that he has seen the Lord’s salvation to his words to Mary: “This child is destined for the falling and the rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be opposed…and a sword will pierce your own soul too.” It takes a certain depth of faith, a firm foundation, for Simeon toilet himself look beyond the wonder of the moment with this blessed infant to the difficult times Simeon sees in Jesus’s future.

Deep faith like Simeon’s offers a place to ground ourselves in times like ours. This week HBCU’s have endured threats of violence, we heard about books being banned from school libraries and classrooms, and even though the number of Covid-19 cases is finally heading downward again, deaths from the omicron surge continue. And, of course, we face the effects of climate change, which are both unfolding around us in ever more apparent ways and yet, because of their magnitude, exist nearly beyond our imagination. Awareness of the reality of what is happening as our world warms can result in feelings of hopelessness. This hopelessness slides easily into cynicism, a feeling that there is nothing to be done and no reason to do anything significant to try to change things. On the other hand, some people handle the situation by embracing false hope, either denying that anything significant is happening at all or supposing that a few changes here and there — but nothing that changes our way of life very much — will be sufficient to magically return our climate to stability. (False hope is the coinage of greenwashing and of political crumbs thrown to environmentalists.)

Deep faith offers an alternative to both cynicism and false hope. Deep faith turns to the darkness, the “deep night”; deep faith sees the reality of the loss of species and climate stability and acknowledges it. But instead of turning away or being swallowed by the darkness, deep faith allows us to be illumined and reflect some of that light into the reality of the world around us. 

Deep faith tells us that our prayers and our actions will have some profound meaning, that our efforts are worth something even if we don’t get the results for which we fervently pray. Deep faith assures us that God is good and all will be well even when we can’t envision what “all will be well” could mean in a rapidly warming world. 

Deep faith sustained Mary after Simeon told her, “a sword will pierce your own soul too” and in her future when she experienced the pain of seeing her son suffer.  It can be our sustenance in 2022 and in the years ahead. Being intentional about tending to our souls, to growing our faith deeper, is essential to the church’s response to environmental degradation and to all the other challenges that we cannot ignore if we follow Jesus’s commandment to love our neighbors.

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This post is updated from one published on February 2, 2015.

Deep Faith and Candlemas Light

Call it Candlemas or the Presentation of Our Lord in the Temple or even, as most people in the United States do, Groundhog Day, this day midway between winter and spring marks a subtle turning of the seasons. Even this year, when Candlemas finds most of Nebraska snow-covered and frigid, there is a noticeable difference in the slant of the sunlight and the length of days that helps us know in our bones that spring is on its way. 

This day on the church calendar offers rich stories and prayers for reflection. And even though the church’s texts for the day have no immediate connection to concerns for caring for the planet or its people and other creatures, a subtle connection is there. [See Candlemas Light from 2011 about hope, or Mother Nature and Her Groundhogs from 2013 about embracing truth.] I wonder whether these texts connect in a nearly hidden way to caring for the earth because some old European calendars considered this the beginning of spring, but it's more likely that it is another instance where the Gospel message heard in our world points us to caring for all living things.

Today’s Eucharistic reading for the Presentation of Our Lord (Luke 2:22-40) tells the story of Mary and Joseph taking the infant Jesus to the temple. Simeon recognizes Jesus as “a light for revelation to the Gentiles and for glory to your people Israel” and blesses him, and Anna begins to praise God and talk about the child.

This year Daily Prayer for All Seasons  from the Episcopal Church’s Standing Commission on Liturgy and Music has introduced me to a Denise Levertov poem called Candlemas. (Read the poem here.) Speaking of Simeon, Denise Levertov wrote:

What depth
of faith he drew on,
turning illumined
towards deep night.

Deep faith like Simeon’s offers a place to ground ourselves as we face the effects of climate change, which are both unfolding around us in our time and yet nearly beyond our imagination. Awareness of what is happening as our world warms can result in hopelessness as we are already past the point of no return even if we continue to work to mitigate warming and its effects. This hopelessness slides easily into cynicism, a feeling that there is nothing to be done and, hence, no reason to do anything significant to try to change things. On the other hand, some people handle the situation by embracing false hope, either denying in thought and/or actions that anything is happening at all or supposing that a few changes here and there — but nothing that changes our way of life very much — will be sufficient to keep everything much as it is now. (False hope is the coinage of greenwashing and of political crumbs thrown to environmentalists.)

Deep faith offers an alternative to both cynicism and false hope. Deep faith turns to the darkness, the “deep night”; deep faith sees the darkness and acknowledges it. But instead of turning away from the darkness or being swallowed by it, deep faith makes us able us to stare into the darkness and yet be illumined. It makes it possible for us to shed some of that light into the darkness around us. 

Deep faith tells us that our prayers and our actions have some profound meaning, that our efforts are worth something even if we don’t get the results for which we fervently pray. Deep faith assures us that God is good and all will be well even when we can’t envision what “all will be well” could mean in a rapidly warming world. 

Deep faith sustained Mary after Simeon told her, “a sword will pierce your own soul too.” It can be our sustenance in 2015 and in the years ahead. Tending to our souls, to growing our faith deeper, is essential to the church’s response to environmental degradation. 

Ecology and Homekeeping: Gladdening our Hearts

Most Americans think of February 2 as Groundhog Day. Much is made of Pennsylvania’s Punxsutawney Phil and whether he sees his shadow. Here in Nebraska, where we are often blessed with some noticeably warm sunshine at the beginning of February, we have our own Unadilla Bill. Even if it leads to a prediction of six more weeks of winter, it’s hard to feel bad about a sunny Nebraska day at the beginning of February.

In the Church, February 2 is the Presentation of our Lord, when we remember Mary and Joseph presenting the baby Jesus at the temple forty days after his birth. Luke’s account of this event tells about Simeon and Anna recognizing the baby as the Savior, the Messiah. This day is also known as the Purification of Saint Mary the Virgin, and as Candlemas.

This point forty days after the Nativity is midway between the dates we use now for the beginning of winter and the beginning of spring. Some old calendars considered this to be the beginning of spring, and in places with milder winters, early February does seem like the beginning of spring. Even here in Nebraska, we begin to see the earliest signs of winter’s end. Flocks of geese were in the sky around Grand Island on Sunday, and we know the first migrating cranes will arrive soon. The days are noticeably longer, the sunlight feels warmer, and sunny days usually bring about some thawing of ice and snow.


Homekeeping
The folk traditions around this time of year involve not only trying to predict exactly when winter will end and spring begin, but also have some elements of purification and preparation for new life. We think of spring cleaning as something to do when winter is definitely gone, but the tradition of spring cleaning probably shares it origins with the early February blessing of new candles and preparation for spring. Spring cleaning is something we no longer practice with the gusto of previous generations, but it wasn’t long ago that the work of thoroughly cleaning and airing everything in the home was essential after a long winter in close quarters heated by coal, wood, corn cobs, or dung. Good homekeeping was necessary for both survival and comfort.

The root ‘eco-‘, as in ‘ecology’, refers to an environment or habitat, and comes from the Greek root for house or household. The question of the relationship between human beings and our natural environment, God’s good creation, is in a way a question of housekeeping or homekeeping. A spirituality of how we live in our environment is a wider application of a spirituality of homekeeping.

I think about the women who were homesteaders in Nebraska, living initially in sodhouses that were very different from the sorts of homes they had known “back East” or in Europe. The winters must have seemed terribly long. What joy they must have felt when they saw the first signs of winter’s end! Our challenge in thinking about human beings and the environment is not really very different from the challenge of these homekeepers on the prairie: Given where we find ourselves, given what is, how do we maximize the beauty and comfort of our home so that we not only can survive, but also can nurture the total well-being and health of those living in our home?

Beyond sustainability
There is today a lot of talk of sustainability, of stopping and reversing the damage to our environment so that we can continue to survive. But good ecology, good planetary homekeeping, points beyond mere survival to supporting an environment in which we can thrive and flourish, living fully as God’s sons and daughters. One of the table graces in The Book of Common Prayer (p. 835) says “Blessed are you, O Lord God…for you give us food to sustain our lives and make our hearts glad.” God’s gifts are meant not only for our sustenance or survival, but to gladden our hearts, to give us joy. A well-prepared, nourishing meal shared with good company feeds more than our bodies!

What other sorts of practices in our homes, parishes, and communities lead us to care for creation and one another in ways that help us to go beyond mere survival to thriving and flourishing? What nourishes both body and soul, making our hearts glad? Please click on Comments and share something that sustains both body and soul.