December is a month filled with momentous occasions. Its celebrations include Kwanzaa, Christmas, Hanukkah, and, for denizens of a particular portion of American popular culture, Festivus. It begins with the mourning and activism of World AIDS Day and ends in the celebratory chaos of New Year’s Eve.

In many interpretations, December’s celebrations mark the changes of light associated with a particular moment in the Western Hemisphere, the day with the shortest period of daylight and the longest night. The Winter Solstice. After December 21, we gradually see the nights grow shorter and the days grow longer. The play of light and shadow changes, beginning—once again—at the Solstice.

For some of us, December is a month filled with endings and for others a month filled with beginnings. We are thrilled to end this class or this semester or this assignment (finally). And yet, the ending is bittersweet. We so look forward to beginning another. In ritual, we remind ourselves that beginnings and endings are never entirely distinct—but rather deeply, persistently, and repeatedly entangled. Endings and beginnings repeat—once again—in December.

The repetition itself reminds us of the boring and mundane of over and over again and brings with it the paradoxical joy of recognition and acknowledgement. Hope lies in knowing we have been here before.

In some senses, the echoes of the Solstice are exactly like they were last year and for many, many, many years before. In other ways, these moments in this December are particular. They are our moments, part of this time in our lives. We reach nostalgically backwards and optimistically forward. We read the words and light the candles each and every year—they resonate across time while simultaneously defining our time and this moment. We know the layering of words and actions expands their meaning and reminds us that the play of light and shadow changes—and the inexorable movement of time carries us also toward hope.

A teacher of mine, Mircea Eliade, used the phrase “in illo tempore” to refer to a sacred time to which we return—repeatedly—to make and remake our world and ourselves. Reverberating in some tales as “at that time” and in others as “once upon a time,” December too can stand in for that time because—in its Solstice and its many moments—December reminds us, as Leonard Cohen has sung over the years—that “there is a crack in everything; that’s how the light gets in.” December reminds us to live in the both/and not the either/or.

I hope you will find this as moving a harbinger of all that December 2020 can mean as I do.

May your December be filled with light—and where it is not, may the cracks truly allow the light in.

Best,
Susan Henking
Interim President

For most of my life, I have heard the saying, “For everything, there is a season,” and for me, it feels appropriate to make this season one of reflection.

The year 2020 has presented us with incredible challenges, tough lessons, decisions, uncertainty, and more as the pandemic created by COVID-19 and ongoing systemic racism and prejudice have disrupted the lives of people all over the world. As I attempt to explore my hopes for the next 30 days and beyond, I can’t help but reflect on what I’ve seen, heard, and experienced this year. I invite you to join me by considering your response to each of the questions below that I have already asked myself.

As you reflect on the past 11 months:

• What have you learned about racism and how it impacts you and others? Why is that important?
   
• How have you allowed what you have learned to influence your perspective and actions?
   
• How have you perpetuated or failed to challenge bias, racism, prejudice, or intolerance in your community, work, and studies? Why?
   
• Is there a situation or conversation about prejudice, race, or racial equity that you wish you could revisit? If so, what would you do differently?
   
• What are you willing to do, risk, or give up in order to create a more equitable, inclusive, and accepting environment around you moving forward? Be specific.
   

Reflection can be a powerful tool that allows us to become visitors and observers of our own experiences, actions, and perspectives to more fully understand who we are and how we show up. And in the context of equity, belonging, and social justice, it challenges us to move beyond the pretenses of “good personhood” and closer to awareness, authenticity, and accountability. While the systems of inequity in our society were created long before many of us were born, the responsibility for change, disruption, and healing belongs to us all. It belongs to you.

Shayla Herndon-Edmunds
Inclusion Strategist