In the Christian tradition, Holy Week precedes Easter in the spring. But for me this last decade or so, the holiest week of the year is the week surrounding winter solstice and Christmas. Several of these years involved a whirl of cathedral services (when I sang at St. John the Divine in New York) or travel to England to audition for choirs or hear cathedral choral music. But most late Decembers have found me sinking easily into the stillness, the mystery, and the darkness.
I watch the frenzied activity (and have done for years) like a being from another planet. It is painful not to be in close contact with family, but because it is more painful for me to be in close contact with them, travel cross-country remains undone, presents un-bought. (The fact that my income is so limited is part of the story, but really, at this point, I would retreat into the silence even if I won the lottery.) Making homemade cookies or pies seems appropriate to the energy of the week, as does giving these goodies away when it can be done COVID-safely. I send out cards, read, listen to music, and overall try to stay in a mode that comes naturally, contemplation.
None of this is news to my handful of patient readers. I've said similar things frequently and recently. So why revisit these themes today? I guess it is that this morning I feel an almost overwhelming wave of compassion for those who are battling COVID, battling to help people with COVID, battling not to get COVID, battling lines to get tested and get on airplanes and buy last-minute presents, battling traffic jams and check-out queues. From the depths of stillness, the pain of all this frenzy and fighting is palpable. If I could morph into an angel with the capacity to be in several billion places at once, I would gently whisper in the ears of the people of the world, "It doesn't have to be like this. No matter what your spirituality or religion, this can be a holy, serene, and loving week, even this year. If a week is out of the question, try to find one moment of peace."
Just to show that divine contemplation doesn't preclude bad jokes, this one came to me this morning. I am making chicken soup for dinner tonight (truly). Chicken soup, good for the sol-stice. (Ugh!)
