Samstag, 21. Dezember 2013


The longest of all nights.
Dark, sinister, as long as almost not to bear it.
Thoughts pass through the mind, thoughts as sinister as the night.
Alas, if somebody would kindle a light in this sinister night!

 Within our darkest night, you kindle the fire that never dies away, never dies away.

Do you know the story of Lucie’s spark?
Lucie was a young woman who actually wished to celebrate Christmas with her family without ruffle or excitement. Fir tree, blaze of light, the common meal – she imagined that to be so beautiful! But then they had instead of the snugly Christmas atmosphere only a row at home: For the father the tree wasn’t straight enough, the mother missed the Christmas angle which she inherited from her grandmother and her brother just grumbled about the food. She yet thought that not everything would coming up roses, she even knew them inside out, but she hadn’t imagined that it would be so bad. Suddenly she had enough, and then she slammed the door behind herself. Only away from the bickering she wanted! Aimlessly she ranged through the streets. It was dark, in some windows of the flats she passed she could see Christmas illuminations. But that seemed to have nothing to do with her, Christmas was dead for her. After a while she sat down on a staircase and she gazed in abstraction. Well, and now what? Slowly she began to feel cold. But she didn’t either want to go back home. She looked around near the staircase where she sat. Nearby there laid an amount of rubbish and junk, ordinary bin bags, parts of dismantled bicycles, binned huts and lamps, a roasting pan – stop, wasn’t it perhaps possible to make a fire inside the roasting pan? At the other side of the street there laid a few branches under a tree, with some effort she could crack them small enough to fit into the roasting pan. Now she needed only something to start the fire. You know, MacGyver always hat something in his pocket… But she wasn’t MacGyver, and because she broke away hastily she hadn’t pocketed something. After having searched another while she found a few stones of the size of her fist. She stroked them against each other, perhaps it succeeded her to strike sparks. Click, click, click – but no spark was to see. She continued to try it: click, click, click, click – yes, there was the first spark, then the second, then the first one. Arduously, she succeeded to start the fire. Finally it burned good enough that she could warm her hands at it. When she enjoyed the rising warmth for a while, a beggar-woman approached to her and asked if she was allowed to warm herself by the fire. “I looked at you from the other side of the street”, she said. “You are very skilled.” After having talked a bit to the beggar and she told her how much she missed the erstwhile Christmas festivals with her family, Lucie yet started to long for her family. Yes, they were a bit weird and old wranglers, but it was her family, there she was at home. “Oh, child, feel free to go home”, said the old woman. “You enlightened me this night with your fire and your presence. But I am grateful if you would leave the fire to me.” Yes, certainly she leaved the fire to her. With a heavy heart she said goodbye to the woman which she became fond of during that short length of time. Now she looked forward to her home, and a bit of her fire accompanied her as a smiling blaze on her face.

 A spark stroked out of stone becomes fire in a cold night. A star fallen from heaven passes traces of the might of God.
Like the night flees of the morning, like that passes the fear out of the mind, like that grows a light in you secured, the strength for a new start.
Embers in waters dropped become glance in mirroring flood. A beam penetrated through clouds becomes a spring of courage.
Like the night flees of the morning, like that passes the fear out of the mind, like that grows a light in you secured, the strength for a new start.
A laugh in your eyes disperses the blind fury. A light in you secured become strength in pressing need.
Like the night flees of the morning, like that  passes the fear out of the mind, like that grows a light in you secured, the strength for a new start.

Even in the darkest night there appears sometimes a spark that enlightens us. Sometimes we receive it as a gift unexpectedly, sometimes we have to do something for it on our own like Lucie, to regard the scattered rubbish and the darkness with new eyes to find our light. But a little spark suffices to enlighten a big fire, and if it burns for a start, many can warm themselves at it.
As far back as our ancestors knew the custom to enlighten a light or even a fire in the middle of the darkest, he longest of all nights and to bring green branches inside their homes in the middle of winter as a symbol for the life isn’t over, isn’t “dead” in the dark winter, but that it only draws breath for the fresh start in the spring.
I want to invite you to kindle a light today and to warm yourself at it, to let it into your heart and to take the blaze which it perhaps provokes in you with you into the Christmas time.


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