Yule Intro

The celebration of the Winter Solstice, the border between autumn and winter, is known by many Pagans as Yule, a name derived from a Scandinavian seasonal festival that was imported into the British Isles by Vikings in the 11th century. According to the 13th-century Icelandic author Snorri Sturluson, Yule had been celebrated at least as long as an October “Winter Nights” festival that is described in the earliest Scandinavian literature, placing its origins firmly in prehistory. Though little evidence has survived, it seems clear that British pagans had been celebrating the winter solstice for at least half a millennium before the Vikings came. In the 5th century, St. Patrick excoriated Irish pagans who venerated the sun and would have celebrated the solstices and equinoxes. Anglo-Saxon and Welsh sources from before the 11th century also refer to a “midwinter” festival held at this time of year—for them the solstice was considered the midpoint of winter, and it is still celebrated as such throughout Great Britain. However, in America, due to climatic differences, the Winter Solstice marks the beginning of the season. In his 1996 book The Stations of the Sun, historian Ronald Hutton notes that we know little of how ancient British pagans celebrated the season, but we can be sure of “the existence of a major pre-Christian festival marking the opening of the new year, at the moment at which the sun had reached the winter solstice and its strength was being renewed. There is testimony to this in the Anglo-Saxon, the Viking, and the Welsh components of the medieval British heritage” (p.8).

Since the Winter Solstice is the longest night of the year (and consequently the shortest day), it seems appropriate that the theme of Yule celebrations should be “Darkness.” What does darkness mean to us? From prehistoric times, human beings have associated darkness with fear and danger, but it also provides respite—the perfect conditions for introspection, rest, and sleep. There is also a special beauty to lights in the dark; colors become more vivid and our attention more focused. The universe itself is predominantly darkness, punctuated by points of sparkling light and wisps of color. The glowing sun and the Earth, that pale blue dot, spiral through the dark unafraid. We can do likewise: hunker down, snuggle up, and take some time to contemplate the darkness within us. In some ways, the Winter Solstice feels like a low point; the light is at its weakest and the world seems dull and gray, the darkness can feel relentless and overwhelming. But we should be mindful that it is the shadows that are now in retreat, for we are crossing over into the waxing half of the year.

Yule Ritual

Celebration for Yule, the Winter Solstice

Opening Poem

Suggested reading: “Air and Water in Darkness” by Juan Ramón Jiménez

The Winter Solstice and the Meaning of Yule

Twice a year, the Earth reaches the balance point between day and night. On those days, the equinoxes, we celebrate the life-sustaining cycles of light and dark and reflect on the turning wheel of life and death. When the day and the night are of equal length, we are reminded of the equality of all living things—for they are all aspects of Gaea, our living world. We celebrate with flame, whether the flicker of candlelight or the roar of a bonfire, to remind us of the energy of the sun and the creative spark of the cosmos beyond.

Twice a year, too, the Earth transitions from lightness into darkness and then darkness into light. On these days, the solstices, we pause again, to celebrate the lesson the Earth teaches us: that all things are temporary and that change is inevitable. The winter solstice comes at a time of cold and darkness, of shortening days and lengthening nights.

At Yule, our celebration of the winter solstice, we are reminded that no matter how dark it gets, the light always returns. The night will always end and a new day will always begin. Life is often a struggle; we grasp and slip, fight and fail, win then lose. But hope, like the light, is always present, if we have the presence of mind to find it.

We are at the year’s closing; as the wheel turns around us, the days will now grow longer and longer until we are once again spiraling beneath the late sun at Litha, the celebration of the summer solstice. Even though we look to the light with hope and anticipation, we must remember that we need winter’s long dark nights. They are the time for us to turn inward, to reflect, and to renew ourselves so that we might be capable of fulfilling our role in this world in the year to come.

Today is the beginning of the waxing half of the year; from now until the summer solstice the day will lengthen and night will shorten. Today marks the re-birth of light into our world, with the promise that winter will come to an end. Now we shed our fears and worries and celebrate all that is and all that will be, the ideas and projects we have brought to fruition, the joys and sorrows that have grown from the seeds we planted.

As we walk the spiral, let us think about what it is we want to celebrate about this year. What do we hope to bring into our lives next year? What do we hope to let go of? What attitudes and actions did not serve us in the last year? Where do we need to forgive ourselves and others to make peace with past hurts? In the darkness of winter, what do we want to learn, to create, to nurture? This is the dream of Yule, to honor all that we have made manifest in our lives, and to begin again in joy and peace.

Walking the Spiral

In the greatest darkness   The light is reborn
Out of winter’s cold   The light is reborn
From our deepest fears   The light is reborn
When we most despair   The light is reborn
When all seems lost   The light is reborn
When the earth lies waste   The light is reborn
When animals hide   The light is reborn
When the leaves are gone   The light is reborn
When the river is frozen   The light is reborn
When the ground is hard   The light is reborn
Shadows are fleeing   The light is reborn
Light is returning   The light is reborn
Warmth will come again   The light is reborn
Summer will be here once more   The light is reborn
Plants will grow again   The light is reborn
Animals will be seen once more   The light is reborn
Green will come again   The light is reborn
Life will continue   The light is reborn

(Repeat until all have completed the spiral walk.)

Candle Lighting

I light this candle in the name of the Ancestors, the Guardians, and all the holy ones who walk the world. May its light guide all the kindly spirits to bless this place.

I light this candle in the name of learning. May its flame remind us to look towards the unknown with curiosity and an open mind.

I light this candle in the name of creativity. May its glow inspire us and give us the confidence to share our true selves with the world.

I light this candle in the name of friendship. May its light continue to bring us together, so that we might offer each other joy, comfort, and company.

I light this candle in the name of the sun. May its flame warm our winter nights and remind us of the ever-returning summer.

I light this candle in the name of the Earth. May it illuminate our path through the coming year and remind us to walk with peace and compassion for all Gaea’s children.

Closing Poem

Suggested reading: “Burning the Old Year” by Naomi Shihab Nye

Pagan Paths

Since starting this blog, I’ve discovered that what I call “Scientific Paganism” is akin to other spiritual paths classed under the umbrella term “non-theistic paganism,” such as Naturalistic Paganism (or Pagan Naturalism) and Atheopaganism. These are Earth-based spiritualities that eschew belief (or “faith”) in supernatural entities or occult powers that defy the generally accepted laws of physics while still finding value in ritual behavior and deep, purposeful exploration of the human spirit. The same impulses that lead people to monotheist or polytheist religions are also present in those who have rejected the very idea of the “supernatural,” i.e., beings or forces that somehow exist outside, above, or beyond the natural world or the cosmos surrounding it.

My view is that, even if cosmic-level sentient entities were proved to exist, they would still be part of the natural order of the universe, and science would expand its horizons to accommodate them. This process has already occurred, as when Albert Einstein was freaked out by the notion of “spooky action at a distance,” only for it to go on to become the respectable scientific principle of quantum entanglement. There are many things about the universe that we do not yet understand and much more to be discovered. But there’s no need to carve out a privileged space that’s exempt from rationality where “and then a miracle happened” is an acceptable explanation. So in religion, as in science, the “supernatural” is, in fact, superfluous.

Rather than wasting time arguing with intractable “true believers,” non-theistic pagans prefer to take a skeptical attitude toward all unsupportable assertions and a practical approach to ritual. They value creativity over adherence to dogma. They generally celebrate or revere the Earth itself, the existence of which does not need to be debated. In this way, they get to the heart of religion and the psychological benefits it confers without building around it an elaborate house of cards that must be defended at all costs. Whatever terms such Neo-Pagans are most comfortable describing themselves with, they share a similar approach to honoring that which gives us life and the wondrous cosmos that we all inhabit.

Samhain Intro

Samhain (the ‘mh’ makes a ‘w’ sound) is the name of a major Celtic feast that can be traced back to early medieval sources, held on November 1st. In the British Isles it marked the beginning of the winter season, though in America we find ourselves at mid-autumn at this time due to climatic differences. According to historian Ronald Hutton in his 1996 book The Stations of the Sun, Samhain was the ideal time for the year’s most important tribal assemblies: the harvest had been completed, the livestock brought in from the pastures, and the normal seasons for warfare and trading closed. Thus, royalty, warriors, and peasants alike had some extra time on their hands. As such, it was the perfect setting for numerous tales involving encounters with gods and monsters. Like Beltane, which lies at the opposite point on the Wheel of the Year, Samhain was “a particularly numinous time,” during which “fairies and witches were especially active, and magical devices required to guard against them” (pp. 365–366). In time, the medieval Christian Church overlaid this festival with its feast of the dead, which brought with it its own arcane associations. The modern Samhain, then, along with the associated celebration of Halloween, is a hybrid of these ancient Celtic and Christian traditions.

Even so, being the time of year when leaves are dropping from the trees and flowers wither, it seems appropriate that the theme of Samhain celebrations should be “Death”—not as something to be warded off or feared but acknowledged as an integral part of life’s cycles. It is a time to remember our ancestors—and all those who came before us—and to reflect on how their paths influenced ours. We can tell their stories, and honor them for what they did and what they tried to do. Likewise, we can reflect on how we hope to be remembered by those who will come after us, and thereby to remind ourselves that our lives are but one step in the spiral path of the human race and, beyond that, in the journey of our living world, the Earth. Death comes to all things, perhaps even the universe itself, and being mindful of that can help us keep life’s difficulties and disappointments in perspective. Even in the darkest quarter of the year, when the world looks as if it were dying around us, we can set aside a night to celebrate our own spiral path.