Transformation in Darkness a Harvest Moon Devotional
As the Full Moon rises, we walk the Via Transformativa feeling the call to justice, to transformation, to healing, and to celebrating.
Invocation
Holy One of the hidden flame,
You who dwell in the cloud of unknowing,
You who ripen seeds beneath the soil and stir galaxies in the night,
Be with us beneath this Harvest Moon.
We bring the ache of what we’ve lost,
the laughter of sweet memory’s joy,
the love and justice we long to see restored.
Receive them, O Spirit, as offerings of memory and hope.
Teach us to trust the darkness,
to honor what is composting in our souls,
to believe that what breaks down may yet give birth to wonder.
Kindle in us the courage to laugh in the face of fear,
to stand unafraid in the shadow,
to gather one another into the shelter of your love.
May this night’s light remind us:
Transformation is not a flight from the dark,
but the holy work that happens within it.
Amen.
The Sacred Moment
Today, the Harvest Moon rises full, pulling tides and truths alike to the surface. May we feel the call to justice, to transformation, to healing, and to celebration. In this sacred brightness of the Full Moon, we walk the path of the Via Transformativa: the way of change, the march of justice, track of living love into form. The world aches for healing, and transformation begins not just in systems, but in souls.
This is a moon to act, to bless, to become.
Theme: Transformation in Darkness
When I think of the Harvest Moon, it reminds me of thanksgiving: times when I sat around the table with my mother, grandmother, and great-grandmother in the late autumn heat breaking green beans to can for the winter. I remember the smell of hot metal and evaporating water on the stove, and the laughter as stories of our ancestors were shared. That memory roots me, even now. It brings a bittersweet ache because I miss it. I don’t really have that in my life anymore.
This year, more than many others, that desire to celebrate is absent, lost. The harvest is coming in, but we also see this dark tide rising of fascism and control. We see people trying to threaten their neighbors and deport those that they do not want to be in this country. The law of Christ is being broken in his very name, and it hurts my soul.
As we are dedicating this Harvest Moon to the celebration and commemoration of the Via Transformativa, I can’t help but wonder what harvest is on the way. How do we bring back that justice, those blessings, that enchantment that we once had? How do we bring unity to a people so divided? How do we bring hope when all feels hopeless and lost? These are the things we most need to gather, and these are the things that feel most lost. These are the core to the Via Transformativa, where we celebrate justice, which is hard to do when we see it so sparingly.
As we see those who do not care about justice flaunt their insecurities as strengths before us, we remember the trials that have come to those who have gone before us and conquered such threats, through making it unimaginable to be aligned with such horror, to making it impossible for them to operate in any nation or any international field. We know we have stood up in the past, and we know we can stand up again. That justice is always alive within us, yearning to break forth.
In this devotional, as we dedicate this Harvest Moon to transformation in darkness, we remember our souls are indeed formed in dark places. The psalmist tells us that God draws a cloud of darkness around himself. In that great cloud of unknowing, we do not always have easy answers. Yet the justice we seek is always with us, even if it seems hidden. Justice can be violated, but it can never be utterly destroyed. As long as we keep that hope alive, the flame alive, we can rebuild what has been broken.
The tool of those who spread fear is to make us feel small and alone, but we remember that there are always more seeking freedom than those who seek control. We laugh at fear, not because it is trivial, but because laughter is a weapon of the light. We tell the stories that make us remember we are not afraid. We show that those who try to control through fear are like children playing dress-up, their illusions melting away in the light of dawn.
We are the children of the light. We stand in the darkness not in fear, but knowing that the One Life works through us to do wonders. We stand against anything that rises against the truth, knowing that no weapon formed against us shall prosper. We are here to take care of each other, to honor the stranger, and to be the hands and hearts of the Most High in this world.
Now, under this harvest moon, we need the voice of the Prophet to remind us that the work is doable because it has been done. It has been done a thousand times before, and it will be done a thousand times again, until in some miraculous age in the world to come, we do not need this work anymore because we have conquered fear, uncertainty, and doubt. We have conquered those things that cause the enemy to rise and believe that they are greater, stronger, more powerful than others. In that day, in those times, we will have freedom and liberation. But until then, we struggle on in this present age, ever striving for the world to come.
We do not live in a world of easy answers. We desperately desire them, regardless of our strong desires and the longing in our hearts. The easy answers are not always present, but we know that the justice that we seek is always with us.
Justice cannot be taken, it can only be violated. It can be broken, it can be harmed, but there is not a weapon in the world capable of shattering it to where it cannot be built again. As long as we keep that hope alive, that flame alive, we have the chance for justice to return with more fervor and strength than we ever imagined possible.
So I ask you, my dear siblings, to find ways to laugh, to celebrate, to show that we are not afraid. Let this Harvest Moon be a time of gathering not just the fruits of the earth, but the fruits of memory and joy. Laugh together, tell the old stories, and mock the powers that pretend to be strong by showing how weak they truly are.
In doing this, we transform the darkness. We become the light that no night can overcome, and we prepare for the dawn of a world remade in justice and love.
Practice: The Harvest Within the Dark
Setting the space:
If possible, sit where moonlight can touch you. If not, light a single candle. This is your reminder that the smallest flame transforms darkness. Place beside it something that symbolizes harvest for you: a fruit, a jar of grain, a family heirloom, or even a memory written on paper.
Begin with breath:
Breathe in slowly, feeling the cool air of the season entering your lungs.
Breathe out, releasing what no longer serves the harvest of your soul.
Do this until your body settles and the mind grows still.
Invocation of memory:
Picture a moment of belonging: a kitchen, a laugh, a story. Let yourself feel both the gratitude and the ache. Whisper:
“This, too, is my harvest.”
Contemplation in darkness:
Close your eyes and imagine yourself beneath the soil, like a seed. Around you, the earth is dark and alive. Something within you, an old wound, a hidden hope, is transforming.
Ask silently:
What in me must decay so that something new may live?
What justice, laughter, or tenderness is ready to sprout again?
Wait for whatever image or word rises. Don’t force it; the earth reveals things in its own time.
Reawakening the light:
Now, open your eyes and gaze at the candle or the moon. Feel the flame reflect inside you. Say aloud:
“The light is not gone. It is becoming.”
Act of offering:
Commit to one small, concrete act that resists fear and nurtures joy: call a friend, feed a neighbor, tell a story, or simply laugh. This is your sacred harvest, your transformation made visible.
Closing:
End with gratitude.
“In darkness I am remade. In light, I remember who we are.”
Closing Blessing
Radiant One,
Keeper of every harvest and every dawn,
we have sat beneath your moon and remembered what was,
we have named the wounds of this age,
and we have felt the quiet stirring of new life beneath the soil.
Take what we have gathered here,
our grief, our laughter, our longing for justice,
and weave it into your greater work of renewal.
Let the seeds we have planted in darkness
find warmth enough to rise again.
When fear whispers that the night is endless,
remind us that we are your lamps,
lit from the fire that no shadow can consume.
Send us forth to tend the world with tenderness and defiant joy,
until the morning breaks and all creation sings of love restored.
Amen.