A couple of nights ago a lantern appeared in the window of a house round the corner, with banners wishing passers-by a ‘Happy Hanukkah.’ In my street, each evening sees more Christmas lights wrapped around shrubs or strung up in windows. A few weeks ago, millions of people celebrated Diwali, the festival of light. Very soon, we in the northern hemisphere will be rejoicing that the shortest day has come and that, with the Winter Solstice, the world is moving back towards the longer, lighter days.
Until recently, I wasn’t an enthusiast for festive lights – a pyrophobe since childhood, the risks of fire associated with strings of electric lights always put me off having them on the tree. But these days, lights are safer and the bulbs cooler, and there are even battery-powered ones available which don’t require power cables snaking across the room to trip up the unwary, and my partner has always liked lights, so for the last few years I have joined in quite happily, if passively. This year, though, has been different.
Not only have we used our ‘old’ lights but we have been out and bought three sets of new ones. We have lights in the Christmas tree. We have lights in the front window, and we make sure they are switched on as soon as dusk falls to cheer passers-by. There are five metres of lights draped around the fireplace. A glass vase has been filled with tiny LED lights. There’s a candle in the festive wreath on the coffee table. There’s a candle on the dinner table. There is sparkly tinsel everywhere to reflect the lights. The only reason that there are not more lights is that we have run out of sockets to plug them into! This year, it feels particularly important to participate in lighting the dark evenings of the last weeks of the year. Each evening, the switching on of the lights creates a glow of positivity and cosiness in our home, whatever is going on in the world outside.
I find it interesting that, over thousands of years, religions and cultures across the world have felt the need to develop customs and festivals associated with light in the darkest time of the year. In Judaism, Hanukkah commemorates the re-dedication of the Temple in Jerusalem, and the story of how one day’s supply of blessed oil miraculously lasted for eight days, so that the menorah (branched candlestick) could be kept lit until new oil could be prepared. Traditionally, a nine-branched menorah is lit during the festival (one light for each of the eight days of the miracle – the ninth branch holds the light from which the others are lit). Across the world, Jewish households place the menorah in windows which face the street, and it is a time of feasting.
Diwali is also known as the Festival of Light. Its name derives from the Sanskrit deepavali, meaning ‘row of lights’ and is celebrated as a religious festival by Hindus, Sikhs and Jains. It represents the triumph of light over darkness (and by extension the triumph of good over evil and knowledge over ignorance). Homes, temples and businesses are decorated with lights inside and out, and the skies are lit by fireworks. And there is, of course, feasting.
Christmas celebrates the birth of Jesus Christ, whom Christians call the Light of the World. Although the date of his birth is unknown, celebrating it around the time of the pagan midwinter festival has been the custom in the northern hemisphere for many hundreds of years, and a wealth of imagery in art, carols and literature places the Nativity in snowy scenes, with the Star of Bethlehem clearly visible over the stable in a dark, frosty sky. Candles figured largely, with real candles shown on the first Victorian Christmas trees when the custom was imported from Germany (allegedly introduced by Queen Victoria’s German husband, Prince Albert). As you can imagine, the idea of lighted candles amongst the resinous branches of fir trees is the stuff of nightmares for me! Christianity borrowed many of the midwinter customs of the peoples it converted, including – perhaps inevitably – feasting.
Here in Glastonbury, there are probably as many people preparing to celebrate the Winter Solstice, or Yule, as there are those who celebrate the Christian Christmas. Most of us will have a fusion of customs – lights will mark the ‘Light of all people’ who came into the world at Christmas, or the triumph of the sun as it defeats the darkness of the longest night. We sing the carols “Deck the Halls with Boughs of Holly” and “The Holly and the Ivy” and decorate our homes with the same evergreen branches which have been a staple of midwinter celebrations for millennia, symbolising the continuity of life even in the dark depths of winter. Normally, of course, there would be feasting – roast birds, Christmas pudding and mince pies all part of a rich heritage of midwinter jollification going back to before records began – but in this year of Covid-related restrictions there will probably be rather less feasting than usual. Certainly the family and community feasting of Diwali and Hanukkah have already had to be more subdued this year.
But in a year that feels dark, sad and fearful for many, it feels like an act of defiance to light the candles and switch on the lights. Our community celebrations may be muted, and our feasting limited to our own households, but we can still shine our lights into the darkness and say that we are still here, we are still celebrating, and that we know that light will overcome the darkness.
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