Lanterne, Lanterne
Don't light yourself on fire to keep others warm
Living in Germany during the holidays feels like stepping into a storybook. The festive magic of Christmas markets, the comforting warmth of Glühwein, the twinkle of lights in small villages—what’s not to love? Among the memories I hold dear from those seasons my family lived abroad, one that stands out above the rest was the Laternenumzug, or lantern march, a cherished tradition that marks St. Martin’s Day.
St. Martin’s Day, or Martinstag, is celebrated across Germany on November 11th in honor of St. Martin of Tours, a patron saint known for his humility and acts of kindness. The holiday commemorates the story of Martin cutting his cloak in half to share it with a freezing beggar on a bitter winter night—a simple but profound act of compassion.
Lantern processions are central to the celebration. Rooted in medieval traditions, they symbolize the light of St. Martin’s generosity and remind us to carry his spirit of kindness and care into the world. The processions bring communities together, illuminating the dark November nights with glowing lanterns, shared songs, and a sense of unity.
I’ll never forget our last St. Martin’s Day in Germany. The air was crisp, the scent of wood smoke and mulled wine mingling as twilight fell. We joined friends and local villagers, who gathered together to walk through the streets of Rodenbach. Children carried handmade lanterns, their faces lit by the flickering candles inside.
As we walked through the village, we sang “Lanterne, Lanterne, Sonne, Mond und Sterne”—a song as simple as it was beautiful."Burn bright, my light, burn bright, my light, but not my dear lantern.” In the melody, I found a message that has stayed with me long after that night: the importance of preserving the flame without letting it consume the container.
There’s a thin line between bright and burned. It’s a tension many of us face, especially in a culture that praises self-sacrifice and jobs that center on caretaking. We want to be a light for others—a source of guidance, support, and strength. But too often, in our efforts to shine brightly, we overlook the risk of burning out.
Burnout doesn’t happen suddenly. It’s usually a slow, insidious unraveling–the result of focusing on others while neglecting ourselves. At first, the signs might be subtle: a constant undercurrent of fatigue, creeping cynicism about things we once loved, or the quiet but persistent sense that we’re shouldering too much. In those moments, it’s tempting to push through—to give more, be stronger, and keep going. But the song’s lyrics contain important wisdom: to burn bright, we must also protect the lantern.
Here are a few lessons we can draw from those lantern-lit streets in Rodenbach:
Set Boundaries to Protect Your Flame - Just as a lantern’s glass shields its flame from the wind, our boundaries protect our energy. Saying no isn’t selfish—it’s an essential act of self-care.
Refuel Regularly - A lantern needs sufficient oil to keep its light steady. What fuels you? Whether it’s exercise, connection with people you love, or creative pursuits, make space for the practices that restore your energy.
Surround Yourself with a Village - We walked through Rodenbach that night, it struck me that none of us lit the village alone. Each lantern added to the collective glow, creating a light more powerful than any single flame by itself.
St. Martin’s Day illuminates the beauty of generosity and shared light. But it also holds a deeper truth: we cannot give to others without safeguarding the spark inside. St. Martin himself didn’t give his only cloak away, leaving himself exposed, with nothing—he split it. When I think of that night in Rodenbach, I’m reminded of this balance. Be generous, yes. Be a source of light, absolutely. But don’t set yourself on fire to keep others warm.
Laterne, Laterne,
Sonne, Mond und Sterne.
Brenne auf, mein Licht,
Brenne auf, mein Licht,
Aber nur meine liebe Laterne nicht.
Lantern, lantern,
Sun, moon, and stars.
Burn bright, my light,
Burn bright, my light,
But not my dear lantern.
Care for yourself so that your light can shine steady—not just for one night, but for many seasons to come.
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