Category Archives: Solstice

Father Sun

Summer

Events today both celestial and closer to home: It is Father’s Day and it is solstice day. Here on the surface of the planet we honor our fathers, those we were given and those that we chose or who chose us. I know of two friends who are probably having the most amazing Father’s Day right now: they adopted a family of three brothers and sisters just last week. And so we salute all the fathers on this day… as well as all the men out there who have been like fathers to others. You know who you are. Happy Father’s Day.

And as we celebrate and honor our fathers, grand workings are taking place above our heads in the celestial realm. Here in the Northern Hemisphere at 12:39 PM Eastern Daylight Time today, the 21st of June, comes summer by the almanac. It is the summer solstice, marking the furthest north the sun will appear in the sky before the Earth begins once again to shift in the opposite direction. The sun will appear to stand still there at its northern zenith, and that’s the origin of the word solstice, from the Latin sol stetit, “sun stands still.” The days have been lengthening since the winter solstice in December, but now once again daylight begins to wane. Tomorrow there will be a few seconds less sunlight than today, and the next day a few seconds less, and so it continues until the winter solstice comes once more next December. Each day slightly different than the one before and the one to follow: the constant rearrange.

It is the start of summer by the almanac, but by traditional reckoning of time, summer began at the start of May with the arrival of May Day. This older approach to time places the solstices and the equinoxes at the middle of each season, which, when you think about it, is a considerably more logical approach. Looking at things as our ancestors did, it begins to seem odd to mark the start of summer, for instance, with the last of the lengthening days, and the start of winter with the last of the lengthening nights. These are, more naturally, midpoints of the seasons.

And so our ancestors thought of this time as Midsummer, with Midwinter at the winter solstice. Pagan festivals grew up around these celestial events and eventually, with the spread of Christianity, so did Church festivals. To Midwinter the Church attached the birth of Christ; to Midsummer, the birth of John the Baptist. And while we don’t celebrate these holidays precisely on the solstice, they are both solidly connected to the celestial events and the times of sol stetit with both Christmas and St. John’s Day just a few days after their respective solstice, the sun appearing to stand still at both.

Across cultures, these transitional times were long considered magical. Witches and fairies and sprites were more active, animals gained powers of speech. Our friend William Shakespeare was well attuned to this lore: his comedy A Midsummer Night’s Dream, which I have long loved, is set on St. John’s Eve. In the play, the realm of the fairies and the realm of the mortals blend as one, at least for a night or two. This is the magic that can be conjured at such times, as the balance of light and dark on our planet begins to shift again. Summer is here, but it’s been here a while already. Magic is here, too, revealed to us if we are open. These are interesting days. Read more here at the blog come St. John’s Eve on the 23rd.

Image: Summer by Giuseppe Arcimboldo. Oil on canvas, 1573, [Public domain] via Wikimedia Commons.

 

An Epiphany

TWELFTH DAY of CHRISTMAS:
Epiphany

E l’epifania tutte le feste porta via! This is an old Italian saying that translates to “And with Epiphany all the holidays are over.” And so they are…until the next one, of course (and you can be sure I’ll have something interesting for you tomorrow).

But with Epiphany, the Christmas festivities come to an end. Epiphany marks the day the Magi arrived at the Bethlehem stable to see the child that was born. Their journey, following that star, is said to have taken twelve days…the same as our journey through the Christmas season. They sought the child of wonder and so have we. They crossed the desert land and we crossed from one year to another.

We know very little about the three kings we celebrate today. We don’t even know if there actually were three; three, nonetheless, is a solid, stable, number. Most of what we know is handed down through tradition, which tells us that the Magi were three wise men from the East, named Caspar, Melchior, and Balthasar, and that they brought three gifts to the child: gold, frankincense, and myrrh, all of which have rich and varied symbolic meaning. These were gifts fit for royalty, but also refer to the child’s future roles: Gold for kingship, frankincense for the priesthood, myrrh for death and burial.

While Twelfth Night generally is the last of the raucous Christmas revels, often with a Lord of Misrule and a King of the Bean and a Queen of the Pea and all of the ensuing fun madness, Epiphany, today, is generally a quieter time. I think this is because we are actually saying goodbye to an old friend: Christmas has come to stay with us these two weeks past, and now the guest must be on his way. For some of us, Christmas is a guest we look forward to showing the door early on in the visit, but for others, like those in this house, the closing of Christmastide is full of mixed emotions. Yes, it’s nice to get back to order and routine, but we know we’re going to miss what sets Christmas outside of ordinary time. Once Epiphany is done and la befana has swept the remnants of Christmas away, there will be considerably less magic present. We have to wait another year for the twinkling lights of the winter solstice to return, along with the intoxicating scent of balsam and cloves and the wonderful tastes of Yule and the songs we get to hear and sing just at this time of year.

In some traditions, Christmas continues all the way to Candlemas Eve, the First of February. There is some strong basis for this in the Pagan tradition, as it is on the First of February that Yule gives way to Imbolc in the wheel of the seasonal round: it is a cross-quarter day, the midway point between the winter solstice and the spring equinox.

But for most of us, Christmas ends now, and the greenery and decorations are supposed to come down with Epiphany, too. There is old belief that for as much greenery that remains in your home after Epiphany, you will have that many goblins move in to your home to spend the next year with you. Whether you believe in that or not, most people will remove the Christmas decorations tonight or soon thereafter. Greenery from nature should be returned to nature. If you have room in your garden to keep the old Christmas tree for a year, do so. We tuck ours in a quiet corner, near the bamboo and the mango tree, and come next Winter Solstice, the tree will fuel our celebratory fire for that darkest night of the year as we welcome Yule once again. This act, which has become our tradition, is so much more respectful to your tree than tossing it out at the curb for trash.

We close the celebration of Christmas on Epiphany night with a simple ceremony at the front door, outside on the front porch. We will gather up all who are in the home and we will each take turns writing with chalk on the lintel above the front door the numbers and letters and symbols of a traditional inscription. This year, it will read as follows: 20+C+M+B+15. These are the initials of each of the Magi, punctuated by crosses, blanketed on either side by the year. For me, the inscribing is always accompanied by a silent prayer that no one will be missing when we gather next to write this same inscription. In some places, or in earlier times, the inscription might be written by the Star Boys, like those pictured in the old postcard above. Here in Lake Worth, we haven’t many Star Boys, and all the same, I’m happier that we get to write it ourselves, each letter and number in handwriting I recognize, the hands of the people in this house. All the year through, though Christmas be gone, still the inscription is there to remind us of Christmas’s presence as we pass each day through that portal. The inscription is a magic charm of sorts, protecting the house and those who pass through that doorway, harboring the goodwill and spirit of Old Father Christmas.

 

Image: A postcard depicting the Star Boys’ Singing Procession, an Epiphany tradition in Russia, Scandinavia, and Central Europe, c.1916. [Public domain] via Wikimedia Commons.

 

There is a Light and It Never Goes Out

St Genevieve

NINTH DAY of CHRISTMAS:
St. Genevieve’s Day

We are in the midst now of a more contemplative period within the Twelve Days of Christmas. Yesterday we remembered St. Macarius, or St. Macaroon the Confectioner, and tomorrow we remember a few other saints (four of them, to be exact). Today, though, this Ninth Day of Christmas is given to the Feast of St. Genevieve, who is sacred to Paris, where she lived in the fifth century as a nun. She saved the city from an attack by Attila and his Huns in 451. This she did through fasting and prayer, encouraging the residents of the city to join her. And around 475, she founded Saint-Denys de la Chapelle in Paris, which stands today as part of the Basilica of St. Denis.

There are no particular customs associated with the Feast Day of St. Genevieve, nor this Ninth Day of Christmas (as well as the day that follows) and my theory is that this more contemplative time within the Christmas revels is here by design. We need some time for quiet and for reflection, and the most proper way to celebrate this Ninth Day of Christmas, I think, is with stillness and candlelight. St. Genevieve is another of the midwinter saints typically associated with light: she is often seen holding a candle, and the story goes that the devil time and again would blow out her candle as she went to pray at night, so as to thwart her. Genevieve, however, was able to relight her candle without need of flint or fire. And so she is another of the light bearers in midwinter’s darkness. Thirteen days on the other side of the solstice, already light is increasing as we begin the journey toward summer’s warmth once more in the Northern Hemisphere. The light of St. Genevieve promises to never be snuffed by the darkness.

 

Image: St. Genevieve by an unknown artist, 17th century. [Public domain] via Wikimedia Commons.

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