The Rev. Pamela Dolan
Welcoming the Light: A Sermon for Candlemas
February 4, 2024
Once upon a time in Ireland, some time in the fifth century CE, a young nun named Brigid believed that God was calling her to build a double monastery, a place where both men and women could devote their lives to God. The first thing she needed to fulfill this calling was land. Happily, she found a large area near Kildare that was perfect. “It was near a lake where water was available, in a forest where there was firewood and near a fertile plain on which to grow crops.” All she had to do was convince the king of Leinster to give her the property.
The first time she asked the king he refused her outright. Undaunted, she turned to a higher authority, the king of heaven, for help. She prayed that God could change the king’s mind, and then she went back and asked again.
This time when she approached the king she asked, “‘Give me as much land as my cloak will cover.’ Seeing her small cloak, the king laughed and then granted this request. However, Brigid had instructed her four helpers each to take a corner of the cloak and walk in opposite directions – north, south, east and west. As they did this, the cloak began to grow and spread across many acres,” until she had all the land she needed. Amazed by this miracle, the king not only stood by his promise, he became a patron of her monastery as well. To this day, the people of Ireland still invoke the protection of Brigid’s cloak as a blessing.[1]
St. Brigid’s feast day is on February 1, celebrated as the first day of spring in some cultures because it is the mid-point between the winter solstice and the spring equinox. One of the symbols associated with Brigid is fire—she and her followers tended to a sacred flame that never went out. Inevitably, this reminds liturgical Christians of the way we tend to the flame that we light every year at the Easter Vigil, using it to light the candle that stands near the consecrated elements without going out. Light and fire are reminders of the power of God and the presence of the Holy Spirit, and they play a central role in another day the church celebrates at this time of year, which is the Presentation of Christ in the Temple.
Occuring 40 days after Christmas on February 2, the Presentation is depicted in the Gospel of Luke as the time when Joseph and Mary fulfilled Jewish law by presenting their firstborn son to God. It was there in the Temple that the Holy Family encountered the prophet Anna and the faithful old man Simeon, who took the infant Jesus into his arms and proclaimed, “These eyes of mine have seen the Savior, whom you have prepared for all the world to see—a light to enlighten the nations, and the glory of your people, Israel.” Perhaps in part because of this reference to Jesus as a divine light brought into the world, the Feast of the Presentation evolved into the tradition of Candlemas, a day to bring candles to church and have them blessed.
Again, since this is the time of year when we are getting ready to say goodbye to winter, there’s an interesting connection between Candlemas and Groundhog’s Day, as both are considered the day when you learn if winter is going to hang on a little longer or head out quickly. There’s an old saying that goes, “If Candlemas be fair and bright, Winter will have another flight; If Candlemas be shower and rain, Winter is gone and will not come again.”
Phew! Have we packed enough holidays and traditions into the first two days of the month? Happily, there will not be a quiz at the end of the Eucharist today. What it seems important to note is that we’re in a hinge moment, a time that looks backward to Christmas as well as forward to Lent and Easter.
You might be wondering why any of this matters. I found an interesting take on why we have these cyclical commemorations in an email from an organization called the Center for Wild Spirituality. They wrote, “Feast days and celebrations are ancient ways to orient to this sacred rhythm of life, and to root deeper into our relationship with the sacredness of the living world around us. Even in these times of climate chaos and unusual winters, it is good to honor the rhythm of winter surrendering to spring. The land remains generous to nourish herself—and us—again and again.”[2]
The rhythms of the natural cycle and the rhythms of the church year are so much more humane and sustainable than the 24/7 hustle culture that the world insists we live in today. Most of the things we do in church aren’t necessary to survive or even thrive, if we judge things by the standards of our society. Who needs to chalk their doors or have their candles blessed? Why do we tell stories about an Irish nun who lived 1500 years ago and supposedly turned the water of a lake into beer so that she could lavish hospitality on guests? What does any of this mean to us today?
These rituals and these stories bind us together. They connect us to the past and they remind us of the kind of people we want to be. They slow us down enough so that we can remember the places where God has shown up in our own lives, and to notice how brightly God shines in the faces of those we love, and sometimes even in the faces of strangers. They draw us back to beloved places and guide us in the ways we want to go. Ultimately, if we let them, they soften our hearts and ignite our imaginations, like a candle’s soft flame, showing us how very present God is, at all times and in all places. Amen.
[1] Many thanks to the website of the Brigidine Sisters for this retelling, slightly adapted by me: https://brigidine.org.au/about-us/our-patroness/legend-of-st-brigids-cloak/
[2] For more information about their work, visit https://www.wildspirituality.earth
