The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. — John 1:5
Dear Friends,
After last night’s concert at Cranaleith, I walked in silence through the cold December night, breathing in the still winter air as I made my way to my car. To my right, hundreds of white bags glowed softly—the luminaries lining the drive, curling past the tiny house and garden toward the historic home. From its windows, a hundred candles winked in the darkness.
I paused at the top of the drive to take it all in: the astonishing beauty of light against shadow, the lingering whisper of flutes and piano, conversations with neighbors rediscovering Cranaleith, the hugs of old friends and greetings of new. I could still taste Chef Nate’s golden butternut squash soup—warm, gently spiced, made from produce Jess had gathered from our garden.
During the concert, we listened as flautist Leslie Burrs and pianist Mark Kramer—renowned jazz musicians—wrapped us in reflective, dreamlike melodies during their program, Luminaries in the Darkness: A Remembrance of Love.
We watched, transfixed, as Leslie gently unwrapped the bamboo flute, lifting it high so all could see the warm yellow of its wood. We held our breath as he touched the instrument to his lips and breathed into life the first solo of the night, Whispered Thoughts. Improvised and original, the piece incorporated an instrument a friend had made by hand, catching us all in its rising and falling notes. The crowded room held itself still in silence—until Mark entered with gentle chords on the piano, and everything fell into place in the warmth of the room.
At the close of the evening, Sr. Maria blessed the luminaries, and together we processed out to the lantern-lit walkways, singing softly into the night—our chorus of hopeful voices sounding in the darkness.
In the candles of Hanukkah, the promise of Christmas, and the turning of the winter solstice, this season’s light breaks into our darkness. Advent—a time of waiting and expectation—guides us through shadows toward the radiant hope of Christ’s birth. Even in the longest night, light is coming—a light that renews, restores, and calls us forward. At Cranaleith, we listen for that promise: in every darkness, a dawn; in every silence, a song of hope.
In Peace and Mercy,
Dawn L. Hayward
Executive Director
