Crowned With Candles: How Saint Lucy Teaches Us to Be Light in the Darkness

I am the most stereotypical of white American woman when it comes to the question of culture. My family can trace itself back to a half-dozen different European countries and I could rattle them off, but overall, we didn’t practice very many ‘Old World’ traditions. I would often explain that my family had been in the United States for so long that those things had been lost. We had built our own traditions and that was enough – mostly.

There was one exception to my general feeling about cultural traditions, one that would rise up each time I flipped through the American Girl Doll catalog: Saint Lucy’s Day. As an oldest daughter in a family that went to a specifically Norwegian Lutheran church, oh how I wanted to wear that iconic white dress, red sash, and crown of candles. I didn’t know much about who Saint Lucy was, or about saints at all, really, but I knew this tradition was ‘ours’ in some way and to me, the aesthetics of this event were more appealing than any pop star or Disney princess had ever been.

To Light The Way

Saint Lucy, often referred to as Santa Lucia, is a particularly popular saint in Scandinavian countries, remembered each year on December 13th. It’s unsurprising that she’s so popular in this region since, in keeping with the general nature of Adventide, she is a symbol of light in the darkness; the region sees at most about six hours of daylight and sometimes as little as two hours during the winter months. But how did she come to gain this association?

Lucia of Syracuse was a fourth century martyr remembered for bringing food to fellow Christians who were in hiding from the Romans, coming to them at night as they stayed in the catacombs, out of sight. In order to carry as much food as possible, Lucy was said to wear a crown of candles, leaving her hands free and allowing her to see where she was going. Recalling this, the eldest daughter in families that celebrate Saint Lucy’s day are often depicted carrying baked goods, particularly saffron-tinged lussekatter. In Scandinavian countries, as well as in Italy, there are even community Lucys – young women who lead processions of light through the street on this day.

Emerging From The Darkness

While we now celebrate Saint Lucy a bit before the very shortest day of the entire year, the Winter Solstice, her feast day originally falls on the solstice according to the old Julian calendar. It gives us a little extra time to prepare for that great darkness and the slowly growing light that comes after. As much as I have been drawn to Saint Lucy, though, I hardly expect anyone to jump into the full tradition with both feet. Baking yeasted breads at dawn and scrounging up a costume certainly aren’t on my to do list at this time of year.

Instead, for a simpler introduction to Saint Lucy, I find myself taking inspiration from the smaller details. Some practices you might consider:

• Light Candles at Each Meal. Sure, we’ve all heard of candlelight dinners, but candlelight breakfast? Now that’s extra special!
• Eat Yellow Foods. The traditional lussekatter eaten in Scandinavian countries are a golden yellow because they contain saffron, but there are lots of other yellow foods that don’t require specially stocking your spice cabinet. From Eggos to lemonade and bananas, peppers, polenta, and mac and cheese, there are lots of fun options. 
• Make Luminaries. Luminaries often made of simple paper bags and LED ‘candles’ are  a wonderful way to point the way in the darkness. You can cut out different shapes to let the light through and, if you want to get fancy, you can even add tissue paper or cellophane to the cut outs for a burst of color.

Growing up, I was drawn to Saint Lucy for cultural and aesthetic reasons, but perhaps also because like so many of us, I yearned to come close to the light during those darkest days of the year— and more specifically, to be the one who was the light, who served others. I can’t say one way or another whether that call to the light led me to where I am today, my life lit by my work in faith formation, by the joy of bringing children and and their families closer to the light of Christ. As the December sun fades earlier each day, though, my life is illuminated by those relationships, no crown of candles needed.