Words for Winter
I wonder what words you associate with winter. One that I came across in a book, Winters in the World: a journey through the Anglo Saxon Year by Eleanor Parker, comes from an Anglo-Saxon poem: it’s ‘winter-sorrowful’. I love the sound of it and, for me, it sums up how I so often feel at this time of year. The days are short, dark and cold, and, although the solstice is past and days are growing longer again, I know there’s more hard weather to get through before spring finally arrives. 

Perhaps that sounds depressing, but I find something positive in accepting winter sorrow rather than denying it. Too often, western culture wallows in other people's tragedies while putting pressure on people to present a cheerful facade. Sorrow is seen as a mental illness rather than a natural part of life's cycles. (I am not thinking here of the genuine illness and tragedies that befall us, but the normal ups and downs of life.) 

The rhythm of the seasons is deep within us, and it’s as well to listen to it even though it’s hard to resist the pressure to stay as cheerful and busy in winter as in summer. In the north, winter is a natural season of rest, retraction, hibernation. For pre-industrial societies it was certainly a time of hardship. Anglo-Saxon poets describe winter as an invading army bent on destruction, imprisoning everything in 'fetters of frost’—a stark reality for war-torn areas today. For those in financial hardship, it’s still a time of struggle to survive. I’m grateful for the technology and good fortune which provides me with warmth, shelter and food. (Two days without water because of a burst water main made me even more appreciative when the taps started running again.) But the poets also wrote of spring and hope.

The winter solstice is the turning point of the year. In the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle, midwinter is often used to mean Christmas. Just as the year is at its darkest, we celebrate the birth of Jesus, ‘the true light that lightens the world’ (John 1. 9). So this Sunday, in midwinter darkness at the dawn of a New Year, I offer you words of hope in two blessings of light. Take time to dwell on them, and receive their warmth and encouragement.

The first is from today’s readings, ancient words that resonate with St John’s imagery of divine light.
The LORD bless you and keep you; 
the LORD make his face to shine upon you, and be gracious to you; 
the LORD lift up his countenance upon you, and give you peace. (Numbers 6. 24-26)

The second is an Irish blessing that is warm and homely in tone as it reminds us to offer welcome to others who may be winter-sorrowful.
May the blessing of light be on you. 
Light without and light within. 
May the blessed sunlight shine on you and warm your heart
till it glows like a great peat fire, 
so that the stranger may come in and warm himself at it, 
and also a friend.
May the light of the Lord shine from your eyes 
like a candle in the window, welcoming the weary traveller.

To close, here’s a short poem on hope. Whatever your level of winter-sorrow, may you have hope to carry you through:

Dark days
and bitter nights;
Soil seized in ice-hard grip.
As the earth turns towards the sun
Bulbs stir.

May 2023 be a year of blessing for you.

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