From the Ministers

Rev. Kelly Asprooth-Jackon, Co-Senior Minister

In both the Danish and Norwegian languages there is a word—hygge—which translates as a sort of contented and particularly comfortable coziness. You may know of this already, as it’s become a somewhat popular concept to reference in the English language as well, as a foreign term that offers a convenient, single word for something that sounds attractive and lovely. In particular, it is something that can be used to market individual products and an entire lifestyle based around items curated for their feeling of warmth and nostalgic comfort. The attraction is pretty obvious: who doesn’t love being cozy, especially at this time of year?

But a crucial element of hygge, and of coziness in general, isn’t Instagram-ready polish or well-cultivated marketability. It is, instead, a sense of place. Not any one place in particular, but of being in place: swaddled, ensconced, or otherwise placed just so, either literally or metaphorically. Consider: the hobbits from JRR Tolkien’s fantasy novels have an entire society that basically embodies hygge. Their furniture and clothing and all the objects of their lives are not especially fancy or expensive, but they are comfortable. Their homes are not terribly large, but they are enough to feel at home in, built into the sides of hills like the habitats of burrowing animals. feel secure and comfortable in that place. This is what it is to be cozy. This is what it is to experience hygge.

Our spiritual theme for this month is wintering: the activity many animals in the natural world engage in each year. They locate a place to be —maybe a new one, maybe not—and make it as secure and as comfortable for themselves as they can, as they settle in for winter. Living in the climate that we do, we each know more than a little about surviving in the coldest months, but there is more to life than mere survival. Wintering is also a matter of finding and forging a place of comfort and reassurance in the midst of hostile conditions; for ourselves, and for each other. As we consider what wintering means as a spiritual practice this month, I invite you to join me in considering what it might mean for our particular community. How our space—which is partially built into a hill, after all—can better be a place of comfort to nestle into when that is what is needed. How the fellowship between us can offer solace and relief to spirits too long in the cold.

We use the word den for both the homes of badgers and other such animals, and for a room in a house meant for comfortable sitting (however architecturally out of fashion it may presently be). When we are nestled in somewhere, like the children in Clement Clarke Moore’s famous poem, we are experiencing the quality of a nest, or something nest-like. To have a place and to