WORDS SHINING IN THE NIGHT

Words Shining in the Night 

By Kathryn Stripling Byer 

Nothing brings our language into brighter focus than religious holidays. As we gather to 

hear the words of this holiday season, we have lately become more aware of how those 

words can both bind us together and push us apart. Just last Christmas, there was an 

uproar over greeters at various stores using Happy Holidays instead of Merry Christmas, 

as if the former somehow diminished the latter. Yet, many Americans do not celebrate a 

traditional Christmas and many others do not celebrate it at all. Some, like certain Native 

American tribes, never have, welcoming the solstice instead with their age-old earth- 

based rituals. 

So, what to do in our increasingly pluralistic society, where Latino, Arabic, African, and 

Asian voices are joining our own? Can we agree at least on the meaning of this yearly 

turning, that it pulls us back into the light, if we let it? And that the light can bring us 

together, if we let it?  

Perhaps learning some new words for light would be a good place to start. Tara, for 

example. We English speakers think of Ireland and Scarlett O’Hara’s plantation. But the 

word is also Urdu/Hindi for star, descended from the Sanskrit for “shining.” And this 

time of year the star shining in the night carries special significance. In Spanish it is the 

beautiful word estrella, and in French, etoile. The German star rings in the season as 

stern, whose light cuts through the darkness and leads the way to revelation. In Arabic, 

the haunting word shihab means flame. How can we deny this light shining in the 

darkness, regardless of which word a culture uses to say it? We all light our candles this 

time of year and watch the flames dance in the night. 

I like the word shihab because it is the given name of a poet I admire, Naomi Shihab 

Nye, American-born daughter of a Palestinian journalist and an American Montessori 

teacher. For years she has worked to bridge cultural and religious differences, to heal the 

divide that keeps us from being able to communicate with one another. Her voice shines 

like a candle flame in this season’s dark night of suffering and war. 

Her poem “Red Brocade,” begins: The Arabs used to say,/When a stranger appears at 

your door,/feed him for three days/before asking who he is,/where he’s come from, 

/where he’s headed./That way he’ll have strength/enough to answer./Or, by then you’ll be 

/such good friends/you don’t care. 

Let’s go back to that, she pleads in the line that follows. No matter the language used, this 

time of year we call out to light, not only to the flame of the sun returning to our 

hemisphere, but also to the light of understanding. This season challenges us to believe 

that our words for that light matter. Call it luz, lumiere, shihab, or tara, it means the same 

thing: the realization that we are called by the light to live together in peace. 

from Language Matters, NC Arts Council Site