Where the Light Begins, Rev. Josh Pawelek, December 21, 2025
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- 2 days ago
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I want to share the words the choir just sang. The piece is “Where the Light Begins” by the choral composer Susan Labarr. The words are a slightly adapted excerpt from a longer poem titled “Where the Light Begins,”[1] by the Rev. Jan Richardson, an artist, writer and Methodist minister. The poem is from Rev. Richardson’s 2015 collection, Circle of Grace: A Book of Blessings for the Seasons.[2] About the light she says:
Perhaps it does not begin.
Perhaps it is always.
Perhaps it takes a lifetime
to open our eyes,
to learn to seewhat has forever
shimmered in front of us
the luminous line
of the map in the dark
the vigil flame in the house
of the heart,
the love so searing
we cannot keepfrom singing,
from crying out.
Perhaps this day
the light begins in us.
I find these words and the theology implicit within them both comforting and hopeful. I hear in these words the notion that at the heart of everything, at the heart of all existence, there is an essence, a power, a creative spark, a spirit that is – or at least feels – eternal. Richardson muses: “Perhaps it does not begin. Perhaps it is always.” It is peaceful and calm (at least that’s what the music suggests). You may encounter it as the biblical “still small voice,” or as that place inside of you where you may go when you long for comfort and solace. Some might use words like God or Goddess to name it. Some may say ‘love.’ Some may prefer not to name it at all. Richardson calls it light.
I find it comforting and hopeful precisely because, if it’s always there, even if I have not yet learned to see it, even if I have not yet learned to see “what has forever / shimmered in front of us,” as the poem says, then there must be ways to access it. When times are hard there is always something I can turn to for the inspiration to keep going, to keep struggling, to keep meeting challenges, to find comfort, to stay hopeful. I might turn to loved-ones, to family, friends, neighbors and colleagues. I might turn to the ancestors—those of blood and those of spirit—who’ve bequeathed this life to me. I might turn to this Unitarian Universalist congregation, to our Unitarian Universalist faith, to our Unitarian Universalist principles and values. I might turn to music, to art, to novels and films. I might turn to the good green earth, to the land, to the solid ground. I might turn to the night sky, to the stars. I imagine all of these particular sources of comfort and hope as manifestations of the light that does not begin, that always is.
I suppose this is why we light lights at all times of year, but especially at this time of year when daylight hours are shortest: to remind ourselves of the eternal light, however we understand it, whatever meaning we might attach to it. And to remind ourselves of our sources of hope, to remind ourselves that it is good and right and reasonable to be hopeful.
A few weeks ago, Stacy Musulin shared the children’s story “Hope” by Corrinne Averiss and Sebastien Pelon. I really liked a quote from that story: “Hope is keeping a light on, however dark things seem.”[3] I like the simplicity of this quote. I like its straightforwardness. I like its universality—virtually anyone can take it to heart. I like the way it invites reflection. In the midst of challenging and difficult times, what light can I keep on? In the midst of unknowing and uncertainty, what light can I keep on? In the midst of loss, grief, sadness, depression, what light can I keep on? In the midst of social, economic and political unrest, what light can I keep on? In the midst of violence and war, what light can I keep on?
I took that story as a reminder that even if there is a light that has always been, a light that has “forever shimmered in front of us,” it is still up to us to access it. It is still up to us to tap into it. It is still up to us to keep “a light on, however dark things may seem.” Where does the light begin? It begins in us.
In this dark season, I urge you to light lights. As you do, I pray that you encounter, as the poem says, the luminous line / of the map in the dark / the vigil flame / in the house / of the heart, / [and a] love / so searing / [you] cannot keep from singing, / from crying out. I pray that you will find comfort and hope as the light begins in you.
Amen and blessed be.
[1] Richardson, Jan, “Where the Light Begins,” at “This Unlit Light, posted December, 2016. See: https://thisunlitlight.com/2016/12/31/where-the-light-begins/.
[2] Richardson, Jan, Circle of Grace: A Book of Blessings for the Seasons (Orlando: Wanton Gospeller Press, 2015).
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