I recently posted a video on my social media accounts about a Finnish tradition to light candles on Christmas Eve on cemeteries, which led my mother to inspire me to write this blog post about the role of light in our Finnish culture. Here is what I posted:
I have always received lovely feedback when I have shared this Finnish tradition with other people, some of them telling me that they got 'goosebumps' while I described the tradition or while they were watching the video and being deeply touched by what they saw and felt. To me, it was always just a very deep, meaningful, and beautiful thing to do, but nothing special, as it was part of my 'being'. For the longest time I didn't realise that other cultures don't have this tradition, and possibly not this deep 'connection with something' that I feel when I think of a Finnish cemetery on Christmas Eve.
On this most sacred evening of the year, thousands of candles illuminate the snow-covered graveyards across Finland. The tradition transcends mere remembrance - each flame represents a connection between past and present, between the physical and spiritual worlds. As darkness falls on December 24th, families make their way through the snow to place lanterns and candles at the graves of their loved ones. The combined effect is breath-taking: paths lined with glowing lights, crosses illuminated against the winter sky, and countless flames flickering in perfect harmony with the stars above.
My mother has inspired me to dig deeper into this tradition, and to explore why we Finns have such a deep connection with 'light'. This journey will take us from the geographical necessity of light in the Far North to its spiritual significance in both ancient and modern Finnish culture.
But first, here's a bit of background about myself:
I am half Finnish and half German, with a Finnish mother and a German father. During my childhood, we spent all our summer holidays and all our Christmases in Finland. So, while I mainly grew up in Germany, I am also very 'Finnish' in my soul, which expresses itself in my love for certain Finnish traditions, Finnish landscape, Finnish food and Finnish music. For the longest time I didn't even realise certain 'differences' in my soul or in my ‘being’ that are specific to Finland, and only through conversations with friends have I come to appreciate the subtle additions that I have received from this culture of the North.
Finland is a land of extremes. It is the land of darkness in winter and all-day light in summer. This duality shapes not just our environment but our very way of being. Like many Finns, I've grown up understanding the precious nature of light - how it retreats and returns, how it shapes our moods and traditions, and how it connects us to our ancestors who lived by these same rhythms.
My own journey between two cultures has given me a unique perspective on how deeply embedded light is in Finnish identity. While my German heritage provided one way of seeing the world, my Finnish soul understands light differently - not just as illumination, but as a living presence that weaves through our traditions, our celebrations, and our way of life.
This connection to light becomes most apparent during two significant times of the year - the endless light of midsummer and the profound darkness of winter, when we create our own light to pierce the darkness. Both these extremes have shaped Finnish culture in ways that might seem strange to those from more temperate regions, but for us, they're as natural as breathing.
But what makes light so special to us Finns? Why do we have such a profound connection to it? To understand why light plays such a vital role in Finnish culture, we need to look at where Finland sits on our planet. The northernmost parts of Finland stretch far beyond the Arctic Circle, with dramatic implications for how we experience light throughout the year.
Finland is 1160km (720.8 miles) long and stretches from Helsinki at 60°N to the northernmost town of Utsjoki at almost 70°N. To put this in perspective, Helsinki shares its latitude with Anchorage, Alaska, while Rovaniemi, sitting right on the Arctic Circle at 66.5°N, marks the gateway to true Arctic living, where extremes of light truly begin. Continue to Finland's northernmost town, Utsjoki, at 69.9°N, and you're farther north than most of Alaska.
This unique position creates dramatic variations in daylight that shape our entire culture.
In Helsinki, summer days stretch to 19 glorious light-filled hours while winter brings them down to a mere 6. Twilight extends these periods, creating long, ethereal transitions. Travel north to Rovaniemi, and you'll experience the midnight sun from early June to early July, with winter bringing the polar night, or 'kaamos' as we call it, from early December to early January. In Utsjoki, these extremes intensify - the sun doesn't set for 73 days of continuous daylight in summer, and it doesn't rise for 53 days in winter. Up here, light really becomes a presence you feel in its abundance or complete absence.
But Finland's relationship with light isn't limited to sunlight. The Aurora Borealis (revontulet in Finnish, literally "fox fires") dance across our northern skies about 200 nights per year in Lapland. These mystical lights appear when charged solar particles collide with Earth's atmosphere, creating curtains of colour that have inspired Finnish mythology and continue to fill us with wonder.
The quality of light here is unique too - it arrives at an angle, creating long shadows and an almost magical quality, particularly during the "blue moments" of winter twilight when the world seems suspended between day and night. In summer, the low-angled midnight sun bathes everything in golden light that seems to last forever.
Light itself is a fascinating paradox - it's both a wave and a particle, what scientists call "wave-particle duality." Think of it like a dancer - sometimes moving in flowing waves, sometimes jumping like distinct particles of light (photons).
Here's what fascinates me most: light itself is invisible during its journey through space. We only see it when it interacts with something - bouncing off objects (that's reflection), getting bent passing through materials like glass or water (refraction), or hitting our eyes directly (though please don't stare at the sun!).
When light hits objects around us, some wavelengths bounce back while others are absorbed - that's how we see colours. A red berry in the snow appears red because it reflects red wavelengths while absorbing others. And speaking of snow, its brilliant whiteness comes from reflecting almost all wavelengths of light back to our eyes.
Pure light contains all colours of the rainbow - that's why prisms can split it into different colours, just like we see in nature when light paints a rainbow across our sky. When this light enters our eyes, special cells called photoreceptors translate it into electrical signals that our brain interprets as images.
The relationship of the Finnish people with light manifests in many ways and the way we celebrate the summer solstice shows just how deeply light is woven into Finnish culture. Juhannus, our midsummer celebration, predates Christianity and remains one of our most important festivals. When the sun barely sets, we gather to celebrate the triumph of light. Today, this celebration is taking place on or near the date of the summer solstice in the Northern Hemisphere, the longest day of the year (in 2025 it will be celebrated on Saturday, 21st of June, while in 2024 it was celebrated on Saturday, 22nd of June).
In my mum's family region of Sastamala, which lies between Tampere and Pori, about 700 kilometers below the Arctic Circle, the sun does set during summer, but it doesn't get dark. It's as if the sun hides for an hour or so, and we live in the eerie atmosphere of 'early morning', with dew coming up from the fields and painting beautiful foggy landscapes, in which you can meet all kinds of animals if you're outside. The most usual experience of those 'endless summer nights' is that one sits together with friends, chats and drinks and laughs and doesn't notice how time passes, and suddenly it's 3 or 4am and you shout out 'how can it be this late?!' 😅
During Juhannus, cities empty as people head to their summer cottages (mökki). We light massive bonfires (kokko) by lakeshores, gather birch branches for decoration and sauna, and celebrate under a sun that barely sets in the never-ending daylight. These ancient traditions once served to ensure good harvests and ward off evil spirits. Today, while their practical purpose may have changed, their spiritual significance remains - connecting us to our ancestors and nature's rhythms.
Here's a Finnish tongue twister, just to show you how funny Finns can be:
Many people have difficulties sleeping during the summer, simply because it's always light outside and it doesn't feel like it's 'time to sleep'. This isn't just a feeling - it's our bodies responding to light. Our bodies' production of serotonin and melatonin - crucial hormones for mood and sleep - fluctuates with light exposure. When light enters our eyes, it triggers increased serotonin production, promoting wakefulness and positive mood. As darkness falls, our bodies should produce melatonin to prepare for sleep. But during Finnish summers, this natural cycle gets disrupted, leading to what many call "summer insomnia." The simplest remedy is to either have well-closing heavy curtains or use a sleeping mask.
Who knows, perhaps the Finnish people's deep love of coffee is rooted in these sleepless summers and the long dark winters... 😉 And it's not just a stereotype - Finns consume more coffee per capita than any other nation in the world, drinking an astounding 12kg per person annually. That's nearly five cups every day, significantly higher than any other country. We need something to help us adapt to these dramatic seasonal changes, something to keep us awake! The fact that Norway comes second at 9.9kg per person, followed by Iceland at 9kg may support this theory, as these countries share the special geographical position far up north. If you ever visit a Finnish home, the first thing that you will be offered is a cup of coffee, and if you're lucky, you will get the typical version that my grandmother used to make, where you boil water in a kettle and then add the ground coffee... it is an art in itself to then pour the coffee in to the cups without getting any 'porot' into it as well! I remember well how my father used to tease my grandmother every time he poured coffee into her cup! 😆🥰
The transitional periods of spring and autumn are fairly dark and wet, with snow and ice often lasting until May and rain and darkness beginning in September. The time of bright light and sunshine is short but intense, the period of darkness is long and even more intense...
As autumn approaches and darkness begins to reclaim the land, we Finns find ways to bring light into the growing shadows. One of the most beautiful celebrations is Lucia on December 13th - while borrowed from Swedish tradition, it has become deeply meaningful in Finland, especially among the Swedish-speaking population.
The Lucia celebration embodies our relationship with light during the darkest time of year. A young woman chosen as Lucia wears a white dress with a red sash and a crown of burning candles, bringing light to schools, churches, and nursing homes. While I was studying at a priest seminary at the Christian Community, I have played the role of Lucia, wandered into the spiral of light with a crown of burning candles on my head, to bring the light back from the centre of the spiral and pass it on to the children who were standing in a circle around me. It was quite a humbling experience, to see the children's faces light up when their candle was illuminated from the flame on the candle I was holding. I felt reverence, humility and fascination in myself as well as emanating from the children. Clearly, light was something valuable, something to admire, to be careful with, and to protect.
The winter solstice on December 21st marks our longest night and shortest day. Even without the mystical polar lights, the play of light during these short daytime hours creates extraordinary beauty. The low sun casts long shadows across the snow, and the world seems bathed in an ethereal blue light. This is when our connection to light becomes most profound - we don't just observe it, we actively create it. The pictures in the following video were all taken on Winter Solstice, 21st of December 2024 in Äetsä, Sastamala.
We also bring light into the dark time through beautiful and de'light'ful 😉 Christmas decorations in the windows. Every Finnish home seems to glow from within during these dark months, with carefully placed candles and lights creating warm sanctuaries against the darkness outside.
Light's role in Finnish spirituality runs deeper than our Christian traditions. The Kalevala, our national epic, speaks of light's sacred nature - the world itself was created from light, with the sun and moon formed from fragments of a cosmic egg. The magical Sampo brought light and prosperity, and the Northern Lights (revontulet or "fox fires") were seen as sacred manifestations in the night sky. These pre-Christian beliefs about light's power show how our ancestors recognized light's sacred qualities.
Speaking of revontulet, these mystical lights appear when charged solar particles collide with Earth's atmosphere, creating dancing curtains of colour most frequently visible in Lapland between September and March. While scientifically explained, their ethereal beauty continues to inspire awe, visible about 200 nights per year in northern Lapland.
Sadly, I have never seen them myself in Finland, but at least from a plane while flying over Iceland, and sadly I forgot to take a picture on that occasion.
Light is very valuable to us, we feel its meaning and value, maybe even its 'being', if we suppose that light, like anything, has consciousness. In Finland, we light candles a lot and in many houses we have open fire places. In my own grandmother's house, when I was a child, she lit a fire in the oven in the kitchen to cook breakfast. There is a certain quality to the light of an open fire that mesmerises me as well. It is a light that is only alive while the flame burns, and it adds warmth to the light. I will never forget the scent in my grandmother's kitchen when I came down for breakfast, it was the embodiment of feeling at home, loved, cared for and safe.
I believe most Finns know how to light a fire and enjoy grilling a sausage (makkara) over an open fire in summer. Most houses also have an open fireplace and traditional saunas are often still heated with wood fire stoves. I can't tell you how many times in my life I have sat in front of an open fire place just to watch the fire burning, the flames dancing over the wood, until the last little flames die over the ambers and melt into the red glow and slowly the darkness wins again over the light... it's a spectacle that I could watch every day and that tells a new story to me every time, while also connecting me with the stories of aeons far gone as well.
For me, a similar quality comes with the heat in such a Finnish sauna that has a wood fire stove. It's a spiritual experience to sweat in the heat of the fire and light that the burning wood emits. I believe it allows us to have that very close connection to nature.
Our deep connection with light shows even in Finnish design and craftsmanship. The famous Finnish glass producers Iitala (founded 1881) and Nuutajärvi (1793) have created pieces that capture and play with light in unique ways. Glass itself tells a story about light - like light, it begins as something opaque (sand) and transforms into something transparent yet tangible. Many Finns all over the world collect these pieces of Finnish glassware, understanding intuitively how they interact with light to create beauty in everyday life. My mother is an avid collector of Finnish Glassware, so here's a little more information about the two most famous Finnish glass producers:
Finnish glass designers have long been inspired by light and its interaction with nature. This is evident in iconic collections like Ultima Thule, where Tapio Wirkkala captured the essence of melting ice in Lapland, creating glass surfaces that play with light just as ice does. Other designs directly reference light in their names - the Aurora collection draws inspiration from the Northern Lights, while Stella Polaris honours the North Star. The popular Kastehelmi (Dewdrop) series captures light through its bubbled texture, much like morning dew catching the first rays of sun. Even the Kide (Crystal) series reflects our fascination with light, its surfaces designed to refract light like natural ice crystals.
These pieces aren't just functional items - they're a way of bringing Finland's unique light into our homes, capturing in glass the same interplay of light and nature that defines our landscape. My mum has several glass types of the Ultima Thule series at home as well as other designs, and I have Aino Aalto tumblers here in London. You can check out their designs here.
The glassworks of Nuutajärvi, founded in 1793, created its own celebration of light through designs that captured Finland's relationship with natural illumination. The Päiväkukka (Day Flower) series opens like a flower to the sun, while Kaj Franck's Aurinkopullo (Sun Bottle) seems to hold light within its form. The Tähtisade (Star Rain) pieces reflect Finland's starlit winter skies, creating a dance of light points that echo the stars above our snowy landscapes.
These designs, when placed in Finnish homes alongside Iittala pieces, create an environment where light is not just illumination but part of our daily living experience. Each piece tells a story of our connection to light - from dewdrops to stars, from ice crystals to northern lights, from winter sun to summer midnight glow.
If you're ever in Finland, I highly recommend visiting their factories, you can watch as the artists create beautiful glassware. You can visit the Iitala factory and the Nuutajärvi factory, either of them are worth a visit!
The significance of light also appears throughout Finnish history. Our military emblems often incorporate flames, symbolising courage and enlightenment. The University of Helsinki's torch emblem represents the light of knowledge, and our art and poetry frequently return to themes of light. Throughout our history, whether under Swedish or Russian rule, light remained a powerful symbol of Finnish identity and resilience.
Briefly, here are just some key examples of light themes in Finnish art and poetry:
In Visual Art: Akseli Gallen-Kallela's "Lake View" (1901) – it captures the unique quality of Finnish summer light.
"Lake View" From the Finnish National Gallery In Poetry: Eino Leino: "Hymyilevä Apollo" (Smiling Apollo) – it uses light as a metaphor for wisdom. Read it (and the english translation) here.
In Classical music: Jean Sibelius: "Luonnotar" – it depicts the creation of light and stars. You can listen to it here.
In Popular music: Jukka Kuoppamäki: "Sininen ja valkoinen" (Blue and White), released in 1972. Here's the song in Finnish and English.
Perhaps no piece of music captures our relationship with light better than Jukka Kuoppamäki's beloved 'Sininen ja valkoinen' (Blue and White). The song has become almost a second national anthem, precisely because it expresses how deeply intertwined light is with Finnish identity. Through references to the 'blue moment' of winter twilight and the way light plays on snow and water, it captures the exact quality of light that makes Finland unique - that special northern light that shapes not just our landscape but our souls.
'Sininen ja valkoinen', the colours that define our relationship with light are also the colours of our national identity - the blue and white of the Finnish flag. 🇫🇮🇫🇮🇫🇮 Adopted in 1918, the flag's design is deeply rooted in our connection with light and landscape. The blue cross represents our thousands of lakes and the clear northern sky, while the white field symbolises the snow that blankets our country through the winter months.
But these colours represent more than just physical features. The white symbolises the purity of our snow-covered landscapes and the clarity of our northern light, while the blue represents not just our lakes and skies, but also the special quality of light during the 'blue moment' (sininen hetki) of winter twilight that bathes everything in an ethereal blue glow.
The specific shade of blue used in the flag (Nordic blue) has become known as "Finnish Blue" (Suomen sininen). Like the winter light it represents, it appears different depending on how light hits it - sometimes deep as twilight, sometimes bright as a summer sky.
This flag, raised against white winter skies or blue summer ones, serves as a constant reminder of how deeply light and its interaction with our landscape has shaped our national identity.
The word 'light' itself carries profound spiritual meaning across languages. We see this in words like 'illumination', 'enlightenment', and even 'searchlight' - each connecting physical brightness with spiritual and intellectual understanding. This connection appears in the ancient Greek text of John's Gospel: "Ἐν ἀρχῇ ἦν ὁ λόγος" ("In the beginning was the Word"), which continues to describe light as life itself: "ἐν αὐτῷ ζωὴ ἦν, καὶ ἡ ζωὴ ἦν τὸ φῶς τῶν ἀνθρώπων" ("In him was life, and that life was the light of all mankind").
To me, light is a magic tool to make the invisible seen, to bring energy into our perception and make it tangible for us. To me, music makes energy (or spirit) audible, light makes it visible. This understanding seems woven into Finnish culture itself - from our ancient celebrations to modern design, we seek ways to make light's magic tangible.
Now, returning to the light on Finnish cemeteries on Christmas Eve, we may see this tradition in another light...
Standing in the cemetery on Christmas Eve, watching thousands of candles flicker against dark granite and white snow, I understand why this tradition touches people so deeply. The light on the graves gives the souls of the dead another life, much as we humans are only visible and tangible while we are incarnated. When we light a candle to remember the dead, their light and their soul may shine once again and illuminate our life or even enlighten us, if we are open enough to receive their energy and light. To me, seeing the light of the souls also shows me that we are not alone, and the warmth and brightness of this light gives me renewed hope and energy.
And further, as I let the light permeate my being, all these threads of Finnish light culture weave together - our geographical necessity, our ancient traditions, our physical need for light, its spiritual significance, and its role in our cultural expression. Every candle represents not just remembrance, but our entire relationship with light.
In Finland, we don't just survive the darkness - we illuminate it, both literally and metaphorically. Whether through candlelight, design, tradition, or celebration, whether through candles on graves, bonfires at midsummer, morning fires in grandmother's kitchen, or the ethereal dance of the Northern Lights, we maintain our connection to light through the changing seasons and generations. This understanding of light's power and presence is as fundamental to being Finnish as our thousand lakes or endless forests.
Some thoughts that I had around this topic about 20 years ago are collected in a short text that I wrote while I was studying at the priest seminary and which I would like to offer as a "philosophical addendum". It is called "Die Flamme", or "The Flame", and it was originally intended to become a sermon. It may offer you a deeper reflection on the nature of flame and light, and you will find the original German version as well as a translation into English. Perhaps you might like to light a candle when you read the text and use it as an invitation for a gentle meditation…
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