I RECENTLY took the funeral of a much loved parishioner. On the order of service, together with family photos, was a picture of a snowdrop within the snow. Members of her family attending the service wore brooches and scarves bearing the symbol of a snowdrop. It emerged that, on the age of ten, the deceased had had diphtheria and spent six weeks in an isolation hospital. She had one doll and one book; no visitors were allowed; and meals were left outside her door.
During her long stay in hospital, fearing that she would never leave the constructing alive, she looked out of the window one morning, and saw a small cluster of snowdrops, just visible through the snow. “If those fragile flowers can survive through the cold and the snow, then I can survive this illness,” she thought to herself. Surprising the hospital staff, her condition improved, and since then the snowdrop had change into a family symbol of strength in adversity.
This easy story of hope meshes with the broader myth of the snowdrop, or Candlemas Bell — so called because its flowering coincides with the feast celebrated on 2 February. According to legend, when Adam and Eve were ejected from the Garden of Eden, as they trudged out into the snow, holding hands and shivering with cold and despair, an angel took pity on them. Breathing gently on the falling snowflakes, the angel transformed them into snowdrops, whispering to Eve that these fragile flowers — the primary to bloom within the cold depths of winter — can be a reminder of brighter days to come back, and a reassurance that it might not be winter for ever.
SO MUCH for the fable, which, like so many fables, holds truth in its untruth, and is thus a great place to start when considering the feast of Candlemas. In the northern hemisphere, 2 February is a turning point within the yr, falling because it does halfway between the winter solstice and the spring equinox. Timed to supersede the pagan festival of Imbolc, it’s when the primary signs of spring are only becoming evident, when days are getting perceptibly longer, and the darkest nights of winter are falling away.
Additionally, it occurs only a fortnight after “Blue Monday”, purportedly the unhappiest day of the yr, when post-Christmas financial stress is at its best, the impact of the return to work is making itself felt, New Year’s resolutions are falling away, and summer holidays are far distant, as we gaze from our windows on the storm-tossed trees and soaking pathways.
Even so, we’re given occasional glimpses of eye-achingly vivid winter sunshine, which lights up our rain-battered landscapes, giving them a luminescence that is exclusive and lifting the soul in an appreciation all of the greater since it is so transient and fleeting. So, too, does Candlemas break into the awful lethargy of post-Christmas liturgy, offering a glimpse of hope and a celebration of sunshine before the dark purple of Lent takes up the rhythm of the seasons.
THE themes of Candlemas are the age-old ones of sunshine conquering darkness; of patient hope in times of struggle and hardship; and of the moving aside of the old to make way for the brand new. Each can form the main focus of the festival, depending on where we’re in our journey, either individually or collectively. Family services and workshops can deal with candle-making and candle-blessing, a continuation of the tradition of blessing the church’s supply of candles for the yr. Congregations may be given a candle to take home and place of their windows, Christingle-fashion.
More powerfully — because it invites lively participation and engagement — congregations may be invited to bring a candle from home: one chosen specifically for the aim, and maybe symbolising a specific and private reason for hope and rejoicing. These may be blessed together as a reminder of the communal nature of our faith, then returned to the person or family, each bringing the Christ-light into their domestic setting.
The subject of answered prayer may be explored, Anna and Simeon each having spent years waiting patiently for the Messiah, each coming to terms with grace and courage with what was surely an unexpected manifestation — who expects the “glory of God’s people” to be a small child of working parents? We may be encouraged to remain strong, and hold on to our hopes and desires for the approaching yr, trusting in recent growth in our lives in addition to in our surroundings, preparing the bottom for green shoots and future flourishing.
BUT, alongside the messages of hope and encouragement, we should always perhaps remain aware of the purple thread that runs alongside the green; for Candlemas falls shortly before Ash Wednesday and the austerity of Lent. The dark words of Simeon to Mary — “and a sword will pierce your personal soul, too” — are a reminder of the pain and suffering that can have to be endured: the crucifixion before the resurrection.
The Candlemas procession often ends with the extinguishing of candles on the church door, as we turn away from Christ’s birth and toward the Passion, praying that we’d never “forsake the sunshine of Christ”, and asking for the grace to “enter deeply into the Easter mystery”.
The Revd Dr Sally Welch is Vicar of the Kington Group within the diocese of Hereford.
There are many web sites that provide helpful suggestions for Candlemas celebrations and crafts:
sunhatsandwellieboots.com has some good, child-friendly craft ideas;
episcopalchurch.org encourages us to have a good time the French holiday of l. a. Chandeleur and eat crêpes; and
elydiocese.org has helpful links for resources, as has the “seasonal resources” section of bradfordcathedral.org.uk.
