Winter Solstice Embers

Solstice makes me think of embers.

Of the very last of the fire, or what’s beneath the flame. The pulsing, orange glow of embers has always caught my attention.

Solstice reminds me of embers because they’re the last, banked bit of the flame in the hearth. When the hearth is dark and ashy, the embers may be there beneath, ready to help light the new fire. They are what is left when the flame has relinquished its primacy. They are the last remaining, broken pieces of the wood or coal or peat or dung that burn and burn, though covered by the protective ashes.

And the ember is a powerful image for me of hope.

The ember has been through the fire and transformed into the glowing coal.

This is the glowing coal of solstice at the center of our hearts. This is the shining, pulsing ember of our secret hopes. And when the ashes are pulled away, it is the ember that will be transformed again, or can be if it is tended.

Years ago, in a dark and cold moment of my life—a solstice of sorts—I had the secret hope to become spiritual and religious leader. I felt shy about my desire. It felt tender. Delicate. Like it could be stolen away or snuffed out by judgment or the pressures of the world.

I was sure, sure as I could be, that I would be a traditional-style congregational leader. Despite my most recent background in Wicca, I was sure I could find a place in a UU congregation where I could speak the many religious languages available to me. It was my secret hope.

I breathed on my ember. I breathed on it gently, gently, quietly, quietly, until one day, I said to my wife that I longed to be a UU minister. “Honey, you can,” she said matter-of-factly.

And I realized that she was right. And I took another big breath and the ember grew brighter. I let it consume my previous unbelief to grow stronger and brighter.

One thing led to another…and years later the ember has burst into flame. These days, I warm my hands by the fire.

But this fire is not the fire I believed would come of that ember.

Embers themselves are transformed and ultimately consumed by the fire they bring to flame. And in my life, that has meant the birth of The Way of the River.

The Way of the River, not a bricks-and-mortar congregation.

Now I am a mostly-online minister. While I preach in person and I love it, most of what I do I have invented and offer online. Ceremony, spiritual counsel, this blog and the one on my own site, retreats, a brand-new and thriving FB group, support for UU candidates for ministry, a free series on the eight solar holidays celebrated by many contemporary Pagans…all this, none of which was what I saw in that ember.

And yet it is the fire that that ember engendered. It is the fire that came from the ember of my hope, the breath of my belief, the kindling of my courage, and the logs of my hard work.

What is your ember? What will come out of the ashes at sunrise tomorrow, I wonder? Do you wonder? Will you look for it in the rising of the sun, in the brightness, or the lifting of the dim?

What is your ember? Will you breath on it, or let it grow cold and die? I pray you offer it some of the breath of life and nurture it and see what warmth it brings.

May the blessings both of the Cold, Close and Holy Darkness and the newly kindling Lightt come to you in ways most needful. And may those blessings be on you and on your house.

Joy!