A Season of Light for All People

As we enter this sacred season, I find myself reflecting not just on Christmas, but on the deeper invitation this time of year extends to all of us. Whether we celebrate Christmas, Hanukkah, Diwali, Mawlid, Yule and the solstice, or another sacred observance—or even if we do not align with any religious tradition at all—the season is unmistakably asking us to pause, to become mindful, to listen to the deepest aspects of our loving nature, and to remember something ancient and essential:

• That light returns, even after the longest night.

• That something sacred is always being born within us.

• That love is still the most powerful force available to each of us.

  
  

In the Christian tradition, Christmas tells the story of a child born into a hurting world—one small light carrying the promise of healing, compassion, and peace. For many, that child is Jesus, the Christ. But for others, that story becomes a powerful metaphor: the idea that something divine, humble, and luminous can arrive quietly upon our perceptions of brokenness in life, not as thunder, but as a baby … a beginning … as a new breath! It is not fundament that we must share the same theology to feel the truth of that. It is not implicit that we believe the same things to feel moved by the symbolism of healing and restorative light in the darkness, the sacredness of birth, or the call to love more deeply in a wounded world.

The Thread Beneath All Traditions

In the RFPI community through which we serve each individual as a collective single being, we are blessed to walk alongside people from so many different backgrounds. Some were raised in church pews, others in synagogues or temples, and others still in nature, in silence, or in the company of an unidentifiably soulful mystery. Some have reclaimed a state of being that once felt lost. Some are discovering something sacred for the first time in their own bodies and breath. This is what we reach for in our daily practice of accessing gratitude! And yet, underlying all our differences, there is a shared thread that runs through every soul:

• We want to feel connected.

• We want to live lives that mean something.

• We want to give love and receive it.

• We want to know that the light hasn’t gone out in the world.

This is what the Christmas season and a mind full of awareness offer, not to one specific ideology, but to humanity itself. It is not only a holiday about a manger. It is a whisper to the human spirit that says: “Even now, in your sorrow or stillness, something good is being born through you. Even now, if you feel tired or uncertain, light is returning . Even now, you are not alone.”

A Time to Make Room for One Another

This year, more than ever, I feel the invitation to widen the circle. To welcome the diversity of faiths and philosophies not as a challenge to the season, but as a gift. Can we imagine a version of Christmas that holds space for us all?

• For the one who sings O Holy Night with tears in their eyes.

• For the one who lights the menorah to honor faith and endurance.

• For the one who finds holiness in the soft turning of the Earth at Solstice.

• For the one who serves others silently and calls that prayer.

• For the one who holds no particular belief but still longs for beauty.

  
  

We don’t need to dilute Christmas to do this. We simply need to deepen it. To look past the tinsel and the surface nostalgia and into the heart of what it has always been about: a love so fierce it comes to meet us in the dark. Remember this: light—real light—is never threatened by another light. It merges with it and multiplies in beauty! In that spirit, I’d like to offer a few questions for reflection—maybe for your journaling, or simply your heart full of expanding connection and gratitude:

• What is being born in me this season?

• Where have I seen light return in my life this year?

• What kind of light do I want to offer the world?

• Who or what do I want to honor, quietly or publicly, as sacred?

  
  

You don’t need to answer them with words. Sometimes a candle, a gesture, or a silent moment is enough. You might also consider creating your own “festival of light”—a personal or communal ritual with candles, music, prayers, poems, or silence. Invite people to bring symbols from their own traditions. Honor the beauty in what makes each story unique. And let it be a circle, not a spotlight. Because unity doesn't mean uniformity. Unity means remembering we're all under the same sky.

A Blessing for the Season

May this be a season of gentleness and grace. May you find light in your own way, in your own language, in your own heart. May the sacred be born in you again—through kindness, through presence, through peace, through your awesome sense of gratitude for that which cannot be taken away. And may we come together, not in sameness, but in shared wonder, for the light is rising again. It is rising now!

Whatever your tradition, whatever your story, you are welcome in mine and Mindy’s heart, in this community, in this world we share, and in this field of love we create together. You belong in this circle. You matter, and you are loved. I believe that when we show up with open hands, willing hearts, and deep respect for the mystery within one another, something holy happens between us. Let us come together to celebrate that mystery of light!

With a Heart Full of Love,

Dwayne V.