By Judy Stack
Jeff handed me a small bundle: “I brought you these because it seems like you like candles.” My dad’s friend from northern Minnesota often joins us for Thanksgiving and Christmas dinner, and though he might not be (by his own admission) an especially sophisticated guest, he remembered rightly: I like candles this time of year. It is not even just that I like them; I feel I need them.
The darkness of these weeks weighs on me, as it does on many, I know. And I have found myself over the past few years feeling very little holiday cheer. Mostly feeling instead holiday dread. Not so much of possible unpleasant or awkward family get-togethers (ours have always been blessedly congenial) or because I have been grieving deep losses (although there are always things like that lingering in the shadowy corners this time of year).
No, mostly it just seems like everything just takes so much. Holiday jolliness seems like a lot of work to get to. The internal exhaustion–of the post-covid pace of life, of the enormity of the problems we face, of the emotional toll of the election and fears of what may come–all of this soul exhaustion is like the creeping darkness of the season.
But….there are candles.
The tradition of hygge and the season of Advent
Hygge is a Scandinavian word and concept that has become popular in the US. It is associated with all things cozy and comforting. As the official website of Denmark notes, “Hygge is about taking time away from the daily rush to be together with people you care about – or even by yourself – to relax and enjoy life’s quieter pleasures….You celebrate the small joys of life.”
And each of those small joys–sipping tea or cocoa, lighting a candle, putting on a familiar sweater, snuggling under a blanket–every one of those is little resistance to the creeping darkness. The soul exhaustion. Each small space you intentionally make a little bit cozy and homey and beautiful this season–whether it is a corner of your office or bedroom or a doodle on the envelope of a christmas card or Christmas cookies you bake–each tiny joyous thing is an act of resistance. These may seem small but as St. Francis of Assisi said, “All the darkness in the world cannot extinguish the light of a single candle.”
And it is no accident, is it, that Advent is marked by the lighting of candles? As the darkness increases over the weeks, we light more candles. As the pace of the holidays increase, can we also find more moments of hygge for ourselves and with those we love?
Mindful Hygge: My Plan to Avoid Martha-Mode
For me, this is both about self care and other care. I know I need to be a little more gentle with myself in the dark months, but one of the best gifts I can give those around me is to create that space of retreat, safety, and renewal–even if it is just in slivers. Even if it is just lighting the candles and making popcorn.
But for me (and maybe for you) the idea of hygge has the potential to become another to-do, another burden, another source of anxiety and feelings that I am not doing enough. How do we avoid that? I was reading this summer about the difference between a habit and a ritual. In short, a habit is something you do over and over to the point that you can and often do do it automatically. In some things that’s good. But a ritual is a thing you do over and over, and rather than doing it without thinking about it, you do it with heightened awareness and attention. Unlike with a habit where your mind can be somewhere else, with a ritual you are fully, almost immersively present to what you are doing.
So this is my intention: to engage in all these micro-joys with the full mindful presence of a ritual–to appreciate the physical sensation of lighting the match, the drag across the grit, to smell the sulfur, to hear the sound of its flare and crackle, to appreciate the miraculous transfer of flame to the wick, to see the flame shrink down and then grow and become full, to appreciate the red glow of the tip of the wick and the yellow and blue pulsations of the flame. All of this takes only a few moments, but they are my moments. Hygge happens for me because I am present to it. And for you it may be your cup of tea–the process of preparing it, the honey as it curls into the cup, the steam, the sound of the spoon clanging in the cup. You make it a ritual, and suddenly it is sacred. You sense God. You recognize the miracle in your cup.
And for me that is the key. Because then this sort of holy hygge isn’t dependent on the whole house being clean or on having made fancy or complicated foods. It’s about the sacredness of the little lovely thing you are doing right now. How God is present, and always was.
And this can be going on in the midst of being very busy. I recently reread the story of Mary and Martha from Luke 10. We often seem to think that the problem for Martha was that she was doing too much, but interestingly that is not what the text identifies as her problem. It starts by saying that Martha was “distracted with much serving.” Distraction is the opposite of mindful presence. That is usually what happens to me this time of year–my mind is 100 places at once, and like Martha, I’m usually looking for someone to blame for not helping me enough because, as Jesus says about Martha, I am anxious.
The mindful bits of hygge that I am intending as my Advent practice are my resistance to the anxiety and distraction that exhausts my soul. My own internal lighting of a candle against the darkness. Creating a cozy resting place for my heart–even if just for a few minutes–as the winter winds swirl outside. And maybe, as we each hallow those moments and make our places of rest and peace and light, we will be making more of those for everyone around us and giving them strength in the midst of the darkness, just as one candle passes flame to another.
