I am fond of November, a month when nature shifts from the richness of autumn, with its pungent smells, colourful leaves, golden days and temperate weather to a kind of stark, minimalist beauty.
The readings in our lectionary in this season before Advent frequently take on an urgent tone, reminding us of the need to attend to earthly things so we are ready for the heavenly things that will come upon us suddenly and unexpectedly. There are some spectacularly apocalyptic passages in the last Sundays after Pentecost, which often bring to mind some of the frightening scenes we recall on Remembrance Day (not to mention some of the current scenarios we hear of today, concerning climate, nuclear and economic threats).
But November in the land where we dwell is oblivious to all these things. It is a month that prepares the earth for winter, slowly freezing the earth as it becomes covered in a new layer of leaves, under skies that are often solemn or bright with sunlight that comes from a sharper angle in the horizon. There is less shade without the foliage of deciduous trees when the sun is shining, and more sky to see on grey days.
I love cool, crisp, solemn November days when tree trunks stand tall and hoarfrost gathers on branches, dry leaves, needles, and the stalks of grasses and plants. Walking on such sombre days is invigorating, with little fear of overheating or sunburn. A nice roadway or forest path, even a city sidewalk or park, becomes a bit magical and more contemplative with a touch of November frost.
November is a pathway into winter as the triptych of spring, summer and fall slowly closes and we are drawn into the last days of the year. Perhaps that is why some of the lectionary readings which remind us of the shortness of life and the imminence of death become more vivid for us, we who live on land where November is so pronounced.
Frequently, we will hear Jesus speaking about very unsettling scenarios (some eerily familiar), but he tells his followers to take heart, because challenging situations create opportunities to testify to God’s powerful love.
He tells his followers to be unafraid of moving forward—to move along the path of life with confidence and trust—even with curiosity and a sense of adventure, because, he says, “not a hair of your head will perish. By your endurance you will gain your souls.”
At our baptism we were signed with the cross and made Christ’s own forever. When hoarfrost appears around us, when the skies are filled with solemn portent, when the air starts to bite the skin, it means a new season is dawning; and when the world seems to be filled with scary things, it means God’s love is needed.
Each one of us carries a spark of the fire of God’s love within us—a love that abides in us now and will receive us when we die. So stay warm in heart and spirit when the chill winds of fear and foreboding blow against you; steadfastly seek to share God’s love in all you think, all you do, all you say, and all you pray, every day of your life; and walk gently on the path God opens before you.
