It Is a Long Way Back to Bethlehem

The past few days of my trip to Norway have been, believe it or not, even further north than I initially planned, in the Far North- in a place called Tromso.

When I arrived up here, I decided to treat myself to something I saw in a magazine in Oslo (way down there)- a free Christmas Concert, featuring the Arctic Philharmonic.  Yeah…., about that…  Sometimes when you go to places like Norway, you get news of the entire country- 'What's on In Norway!'.  It's like getting to New York City and finding a magazine called 'What's on In The United States!'- that just doesn'thappne.

Attempting to find the Tromso Culturehouse for the concert was laughable- I had been up since 4 o'clock in the morning, off and on various flights, and was not exactly coherently reading my tourist-bureau map.  So when an elderly woman- who I later deemed Grandma Norway- approached me and asked if I needed help, I readily accepted.  Not only did she offer to take me to the Culturehouse- where she was also going- she sat with me at the concert and translated all of the Norwegian language I faced.

Her most profound translation came from a line in an old Northern Norway Christmas song:

It is a long way back to Bethlehem. 

It is a long way back to Bethlehem, indeed. She translated without pretense or expectation that I be moved nearly to tears hearing that.  How fitting for me- that as far as we have come, there is always a longing to return.  That for the motion and expansion and constant connectivity, we want a stillness, an ancient, spiritual stillness.  That for all of the experience there is still desire for grace.

And grace is what I got tonight.

Tonight, for the second time in my life, I witnessed the Northern Lights.  For the second time I watched an entity descend from the heavens- this time pink-tinted white against clear black.  It was like watching a grand, universal piano played from beneath.  Or like lying beneath a glass table and watching the most beautiful glass of milk spilled onto it.  They are symphonic and breath-taking and have an awareness unto themselves, these lights.

But here's the thing- in my time, I have not seen white.

I have not seen the aurora appear white.  White ribbons, white lights like electricity, white.  White.

Oh and did I mention that all of this happened on a Reindeer-drawn sled?

Yeah.

That happened.

And until next time, may your nights be merry and white….