Kindly Epiphany Light

Light in the dark evenings was not taken for granted in my childhood. My mother had grown up cleaning the glass chimneys of oil lamps that were used to break the darkness at night. Mother still has one of those lamps and it is a reminder of her most disliked chore. By the time I remember visiting Cloverly, her childhood home on a Virginia farm, single light bulbs hanging from the ceilings lit our way upstairs to the bedrooms. The convenience of light shining from these single bulbs was appreciated in a way I cannot fully understand.
I have always had light come at the flip of a switch. Even when storms temporarily knocked out the power, we waited knowing the lights would come back on. Darkness was no inconvenience and held no power over my pattern of living during winters’ long nights.
Without night light, lives had a different rhythm, especially during winter. Winter nights are long and dark. Warmth came from wood stoves and light came from oil lamps. Both required labor to maintain. There were no switches that provided wood for the stove or filled the lamps with oil. Heat and light were present because someone had done the work necessary to provide them. Families gathered in the same room to share the light and the warmth around the stove. For my mother’s family, the dining room was the gathering place. Homework and mending were done at the same time on the old square table where meals were served. The pot bellied stove ate wood like candy but kept that one room... with its doors closed... warm.
Epiphany... the season of winter light... comes after Christmas, the celebration of the birth of Light into our world in the person of Jesus. In my mind’s eye, this season is like my Grandma’s dining room. It is not overly full of itself... bright and shiny like Christmas... but soft light shines on the dining room table and banishes most of the darkness to the corners of the room. There is warmth that comes from sharing with those I love around that old table.
In that room I can see the division between darkness and light. The lamp light only shines a little way beyond the wood stove and I know there is true darkness in the hall, beyond the dining room door. When I step out into the house and leave the pool of light and warmth behind, I shiver as my eyes settle into the dark night that waits for me. The lovely half light of Epiphany prepares the eyes of my soul for the darkness of Lent. And for a little while, I can rest and celebrate the light.
Like the old hymn, I pray... Lead Kindly Light, a’mid the encircling gloom, Lead Thou me on! The night is dark and I am far from home, lead Thou me on. Keep thou my feet; I do not ask to see the distant scene; one step enough for me. Amen.