In America this may be Groundhog’s Day, but in Celtic spirituality these days are known as Imbolc, or “in the belly,” because you’re at the halfway point between the equinox and the solstice, and you’re emerging into spring.
Christians celebrate Candlemas today, where new candles are blessed, as the ones lit at the Solstice are now spent. And in services many will hear about the Presentation of Christ, where the ancient prophets Simeon and Anna lift him up and bless him as the light of the world.
The symmetry is stunning and intentional.
These hinge days between seasons are worth paying attention to, as our mothers and fathers did.
So bless your new candles, because you’ve spent the old ones in these winter days, and start opening the shades.
It’s time to wake from our hibernation, blink, and live again.
Today the church honors The Presentation of Jesus, a minor feast day that mentions two major saints of the faith: St. Simeon and St. Anna, Elders and Prophets.
Yes, we don’t know much about these saints (noted at the end of Luke 2) except to say that their patience and wisdom is instructive for a humanity that too easily leans toward immediacy and easy answers.
They hold up the Christ child in all his potential, declaring Jesus a special one. Imagine what could happen if we lifted up all children this way, not just those born in privilege.
It could change the world. It has before.
Christians bless candles today, making the metaphorical shift that the Christ is also the light of the world.
The Celts, more practical, would haul out new candles today because it is the midpoint between the solstice and the equinox, and the early winter candles are now spent as we are in the belly of the snow season.
But light daily grows, Beloved.
Anna and Simeon knew this.
St. Simeon and St. Anna are a reminder for me, and should be for all of the church, that all who are fortunate become old, but not all become elders.
Becoming an elder takes time, intention, patience, and a wisdom that comes from trusting promises in the face of scoffers and opposition.
Today the church remembers a Celtic Saint (which makes her close to my heart): Saint Brigid (commonly called St.Bride in Scotland), Abbess and Protector of Ireland.
Sometimes called “the Mary of the Gael,” not much historically verifiable is known about St. Brigid’s early life, though legend and lore abound. On the island of Ireland she is revered as much as St. Patrick in most places, and her story is a mix of Christian and pre-Christian wonder. The daughter of a druid who had a vision from the Divine that his offspring would protect and change Ireland, St. Brigid was said to have been born at sunrise while her mother was walking over a threshold (a point of significance for the ancient Celts, because it meant that she was neither “in nor out” when St. Brigid arrived).
St. Brigid would live into this “neither here nor there” nature throughout her life. She was a peace-loving monastic, but also a fierce warrior. She was both wise and approachable. She was both Christian and pagan in her outlook.
She was known as a strong, happy, and compassionate woman who started a community of women at Kildare in the late 5th-early 6th Century. St. Brigid was said to be wise, and was sought out in life by many for counsel, and admired in death by poets, story-tellers and song-writers who used her as inspiration, many quite fanciful.
Lore has it that it was St. Brigid who spread out her green mantle over all of Ireland to make shine like an emerald.
In Ireland today more than a few rivers bear her name.
In addition to being a wise spiritual leader and community builder, St. Brigid was said to have been the protector of the land, officially the guardian of the pagan king Torc Triath of what is now West Tipperary. In a time when Ireland was a destination for all seafaring people, the need for protection was great. St. Brigid was an accomplished warrior. In ancient Celtic culture women were seen not only as capable leaders, but in many areas superior.
St. Brigid died in the early 6th Century, and her following grew to the point that her relics were prized possessions that had to be continually moved and hidden from invading marauders who sought to steal them as a trophy.
The most remarkable thing about St. Brigid, though, is not her historical self, but the part she now plays in Celtic Christianity. St. Brigid’s day comes in the “dead months” (marbh mhios) of winter when humanity in the northern hemisphere finds itself “Imbolc” or “in the belly” of winter. Her feast day is a reminder for the Celtic Christians that winter doesn’t last forever, and though you now might see only shadows, the sun is growing stronger every day, by God.
This reminder of St. Brigid, woman of wisdom and strength, works for the winter of the seasons, and in all the metaphorical winters of your life, Beloved.
St. Brigid is a reminder for me, and should be for the whole church, at least three things:
First: live in such a way that people write wonderful stories about your wisdom and strength.
Secondly: the intermingling of Christian and non-Christian sensibilities has helped the faith to develop, and this can be seen in no better place than in Celtic Christianity.
Finally: though we must live with winter, it never lasts forever.
Let those with ears to hear, hear.
-historical bits gleaned from Pfatteicher’s New Book of Festivals and Commemorations
-Celtic lore found from stories of my ancestors as well as Freeman’s Kindling the Celtic Spirit
-icon written by Larry at IconWriterArtist on Etsy
Here’s the beautiful thing about the Celts: they understood the rhythms of both nature and humanity. This is why they instituted a marker, a point of note, every six weeks. Every six weeks nature changes and, whether we like it or not, every six weeks humanity needs a re-connecting point to nature, and their true selves, to come back to center.
Imagine, Beloved, if you knew that, in the midst of your depression, a new season was just around the corner and you’d be gathered again with your fellow world travelers to mark it?
The rhythm was not just to keep time, but it was intended to help humans be kept whole by time.
Which is why, on the eve of February, the Celts would note that we are indeed “Imbolc,” or “in the belly” of winter. For us in the USA this means we look toward Groundhog’s Day, a secular throwback to when our ancient ancestor’s looked to the animals to see where they were in the seasonal clock. We find this in all cultures, by the way. Different groups looked to bears, birds, and, yes, groundhogs to tell the story of nature.
The festival of St. Brigid and Imbolc, for the Celts, was a festival of remembrance. It embraced two truths: that winter must happen, and we must deal with it (both literally and metaphorically, Beloved), and also that it doesn’t last forever.
For all my friends who have fallen into depression, for all of us regardless of how we take this season, this wisdom is transformative!
Winters in our lives, happen. We must deal with them.
Today the church remembers a saint who, though she could have easily lived in luxury, chose a different way: Marcella of Rome, Widow and Model of Generosity.
St. Marcella grew up with everything someone in the 5th Century might want. Her family was powerful and prominent. She married young, and married wealthy. She lacked nothing.
But shortly after her marriage her husband unexpectedly died. Quickly on the heels of his death, another suitor, Cerealis, cousin of Caesar himself, proposed to her.
She said, “Bye, boy,” and rebuffed his advances.
Seeing this as an opportunity for a different kind of life, she converted her mansion into a communal house for other women interested in living a charitable life. In this converted home/convent, she and other noblewomen used their wealth to help the poor and destitute. It was from this home, too, that she taught other young women in the ways of intentional poverty (chosen, not forced), most notably her favorite pupil Principia.
St. Marcella was known to have said, “I prefer to store my money in the stomachs of the needy than hide it in a purse.”
We know about her and her life through the letters of the prolific St. Jerome, who wrote to Principia. St. Jerome even notes that he learned much about God and the scriptures directly from St. Marcella, making her an early (though under-the-radar) teacher of the church.
In 410 Rome was invaded by the Goths. They stormed St. Marcella’s mansion and, when they had ransacked the place and found she had (as she had told them) given all her wealth away, they tortured and beat her.
Not long after this abuse, St. Marcella died, purportedly in the arms of her dear Principia.
St. Marcella is a reminder for me, and should be for the whole church, that there is, indeed, a choice to make when it comes to how we live in this world.
-historical bits from Clairborne and Wilson-Hartgrove’s, Common Prayer: A Liturgy for Ordinary Radicals
-icon hangs at Holy Transfiguration Monastery, Brookline, MA.
Today the church remembers a martyr who called God by a different name: Gandhi, Peace Activist and Spiritual Leader.
Though one could certainly write a tome on Gandhi’s life (and many have been written!), I do not have enough knowledge of his background to do it justice. What I do know is he threw off the shackles of privilege and, though not a perfect person by any means (he fell into the trappings of the systems around him at times), he adopted a way of life that advocated for the liberation of his people from colonial rule.
He became a political leader. He became a spiritual leader. And he became a world teacher, showing us all how peaceful, nonviolent resistance can move mountains.
On this day in 1948 he was assassinated on his way to prayer (as most religious revolutionaries are…it’s usually on their way to prayer). Though the assassin took the actor, the production continues even today, and many in the quest for justice name Gandhi as an inspiration in nonviolent civil disobedience.
Gandhi is a reminder for me, and should be for the whole church, that nonviolent disobedience, though costly, can change the world. And, don’t we regularly hear something about losing one’s life to gain it?
Gandhi knew something about that. Perhaps he was more Christian than many who wear crosses in that regard…
-icon written by Br. Lentz (purchase at trinitystores.com)
In January the ancient Celts (and us modern Celts, too) find themselves under the Birch Moon.
When a forested area burns, the birch is the first tree to be reborn in the ashes, and so this is the tree that hovers over the first month of a new year.
In January the Celts felt that it was important, particularly in the early part of the month, to resolve all arguments that lingered from the previous year, and forgive or pay or negotiate all debts still loitering in the ledgers of the hearts and notebooks of neighbors and kin.
January was to be welcomed without any old ties to the past. Like the birch tree, January would be a season of new growth out of the old ashes of yesteryear.
As January comes to a close, Beloved, what things in your heart need forgiving? What debts need settling?
Today the church begins to set its collective eyes toward Candlemas (February 2nd), which comes on the heels of St. Brigid’s Day (February 1st).
On the wheel of the Celtic year, spring begins in February. They call it “Imbolc” which means “in the belly,” a sign that we’re in the belly of the cold time and emerging into warmer climes. It’s not over, but it’s beginning to change.
To mark this change they looked toward nature and the animals, seeing if they’d emerge from their dens or remain dormant. In America we call this “Groundhog’s Day,” but it all began with the Celts.
It was also the season where they’d haul out their new candles, as the old ones were spent, and would bless them for new service. These new candles would last longer, possibly the rest of the year. The church coopted this practice and Christianized it into Candlemas.
But we’re not there yet.
So, to prepare for St. Brigid’s Day/Candlemas, the ancient church honored St. Brigid’s cook at Kildare: St. Blath, Patron Saint of Cooks, Cafeteria Workers, and Volunteer Food Servers.
St. Blath, also known as St. Flora (because “Blath” in Gaelic means “Flower”) was St. Brigid’s convent cook. While we don’t know much about her, she was rumored to be a tireless worker, faithful in good times and in bad times, knowing that full bellies helped bolster spirits.
Which, I think we can agree, is a universal truth with all animals, especially humans.
St. Blath’s work takes on new and urgent meaning when we imagine that those early 6th Century sisters at Kildare, having taken a vow of poverty, would regularly give away their food to the poor. St. Blath was constantly prepping and serving, then, not only the sisters, but also those to whom they offered their meals.
It was said of St. Blath that her bread and bacon were the best in the land, a high honor if you know anything about Celtic culture.
Saint Blath died in the year 523AD, but her legacy of service lives on.
St. Blath is a reminder to me, and should be for the whole church, that it does no good to have faithful people if their other needs, especially their stomachs, aren’t attended.
“The pursuit of wisdom is more perfect than all human pursuits, more noble, more useful, more full of joy.”
Today the church remembers a seminal intellectual in the Christian movement: Saint Thomas Aquinas, Teacher and Bane of all Theo 101 Students.
St. Thomas Aquinas was a firm believer that a Christian must first and foremost be a student of knowledge. We have, unfortunately, forgotten this tenet in these later years of Christianity, often replacing literalisim with learning, but there is yet hope for us still, right?
As a young13th Century scholar, Saint Thomas lived in a world where Aristotle was gaining ground in the schola, and the big tug of war between Aristotle and Plato once again surfaced in the world. The reaction was polarizing: some thought Aristotelian philosophy trumped Christian teaching, while others shunned Aristotle as a heretic, digging more firmly into an anti-intellectual existence.
St. Thomas thought this was a false dichotomy. The academy and the steeple could not only co-exist, but could meaningfully mingle (and marry!) with intention.
St. Thomas was a Dominican, the “Order of Preachers.” Words were his medium, and he used them well (at least in writing). His family was not keen on him going into this itinerant, poor, preaching order, and they forced him to come back and live with them in Italy…which backfired.
Thomas eventually sloughed off the shackles of his family, and went to Cologne, where he studied under Albert the Great. He was shy by nature (he even got the name “Dumb Ox,” a play on his reluctance for public speaking, as he was far from intellectually impaired!), and though the politics of his day plagued both his order and their societal acceptance, he was eventually embraced in both the academy and by the jealous bishops, both who were envious of his intellect.
He initially taught theology in Paris and became close friends with St. Louis IX and St. Bonaventure, a triumvirate of the faith. Eventually, after Bonaventure’s death, St. Thomas returned to Italy and began writing in earnest. Hymns, theological treatises, and his wonderful tome took shape though, it is worth noting, every historian believes his handwriting to be severely lacking.
When Thomas returned to Paris in 1269 the ugly old head of controversy once again emerged, this time between Augustinian theology and Aristotelian philosophy. The church dug in its heels, which gave St. Thomas quite a headache. He decided to leave the turmoil of Paris and go to Naples, where he taught the remainder of his life.
After the St. Nicholas Day Mass in 1273, St. Thomas Aquinas never picked up his quill again. For some unknown reason, he believed that he would be unable to move the needle on such entrenched, polarized viewpoints, and he fell into ill health. He died in 1274.
In life he was known as “The Dumb Ox,” but in death we remember him as “The Angelic Doctor.”
St. Thomas sought to integrate lived existence with theological teaching, marrying experience with the life of the mind. He sought to embrace knowledge while retaining the mystery of existence, and is a reminder to me, and should be for the whole church, that knowledge is not evil, but willful ignorance is.
Let those with ears to hear, hear.
-massive historical props to Pfatteicher’s New Book of Festivals & Commemorations as well as to my Theology and Philosophy professors at Valparaiso University
Today the church remembers the valiant and instrumental work of three early-church saints, a yin to the yang of yesterday’s offering: St. Lydia, St. Dorcas, and St. Phoebe, Deacons and Entrepreneurs.
St. Lydia was a European industrialist, a maker of purple-dyed goods which, in the ancient world, required quite a bit of capital. After her baptism she invited Paul and his fellow travelers to stay in her house, which was an instrumental blessing for them, as they didn’t have to earn their support while in her care. St. Paul was known to have a special affection for the church at Philippi, the community founded around Lydia’s hospitality.
St. Dorcas or Tabitha (her name means “gazelle” which is a far cry from the English use of that name, right?) was from Joppa who worked hard for the poor. Her devotion for helping the poor was known and respected by all, and when Peter brought her back to life it was at the urging of those who knew her good work. Dorcas has the distinction of having the feminine form of “disciple” applied solely to her in Acts of Apostles.
St. Phoebe (whose name means “radiance”) was a Deaconess at the church in Cenchreae near Corinth. She was Paul’s patron in many ways, and her example led to the regular order of Deaconesses founded in the 3rd and 4th Centuries. Paul commends her to the church in Rome, suggesting that she was an integral aid who went to assist and advise struggling communities.
St. Lydia, St. Dorcas, and St. Phoebe are the folks who make up the offering difference at the end of the fiscal year by virtue of their generosity and ability. They are the visitation ministers who assist the dying over Jordan, the carpenter who creates an art installation in the Narthex, and the folks who organize the food drive that feeds thousands. They are the ministers who, in their unassumingly powerful ways, make ministry happen day in, and day out in a parish.
They are a reminder for me, and should be for the whole church, that women have been integral, foundational to the movement, and are the pumping lifeblood of the church today despite the reluctance of many to fully accept that fact.
Q-historical pieces gleaned from Pfatteicher’s New Book of Festivals & Commemorations
Reluctant Xtian 