In the Roman calendar, February was a late addition.
Put at the original end of the calendar year (in the first ordering), February is not named for a Roman god or goddess, but rather for the work of one of those who already had a month named after them.
June had been named for the goddess Juno, so when February was tacked on to the end of the calendar year, they decided to honor the deity again by naming it “Juno Februata” which means “Juno Who Burns with Feverish Love.”
It got massaged into “February.”
Sticking this month at the end of the calendar was an attempt to make a fresh start for those who followed it, with love burning all the mishaps and foibles of the previous year, entering Spring as a baby. Today we’ve lost a bit of this, though happenstance does place Valentine’s feast day in the middle of this odd hinge month.
February now acts as a swinging door between Winter and Spring, and perhaps the love of the month is best seen in the frost that gives way slowly, in increments, to the budding green stems full of new life potential.
Celtic Christian three-fold wisdom for this time in February:
“Three slender things that best support the world: the slender stream of milk from a cow’s udder into the pail; the slender blade of green corn upon the earth; the slender thread in the hand of a skilled person.
Three sounds of increase: the lowing of a cow; the pound of a hammer; the swish of a plow.
The three lights that illumine every darkness: truth; nature; knowledge.”
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 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.
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?
Tonight my Celtic ancestors will honor a more recent addition to the feast day lists: Burns Night.
Burns Night is a nod to poet Robert Burns (b. 1759), a Scottish dear, and tonight they’ll light fires, make traditional Scottish food, and recite the poems of the dearly departed.
Curiously, though Burns Night is meant to honor the birth of the great poet of Auld Lang Syne, it was first celebrated on January 29th in 1802…though they’d soon find he was born four days earlier!
Tonight they’ll eat haggis, a curious mix of organs and grains made into a kind of pudding and eaten with both great pride and great disgust (for those not accustomed to it), along with a recitation of his most wonderful poems.
Burns Night is a night to wave your tartans and give thanks for the poets who came before us.
So, should old acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind, I’m grateful for the family shoulders I stand on, and the days of auld lang syne.
The ancient Celts called the first full moon of January the “Wolf Moon.” It was traditional to give a good howl at it, thanking it for its beauty as it kept the night watch.
January 3rd was that night for 2026. And with all going on, it feels like it was keeping vigil with us all…
The Celtic calendar was built on a wheel, an ancient wisdom of spirals and turning on which they trusted all life to be built upon. It was a dance that humanity participated in along with everything else cosmic to microscopic.
There were two halves, the “Sam” (summer) and the “Gam” (winter), and those were divided again with Samhain in October (the start of winter) and Beltaine in May (the start of summer), and further divided by Imbolc in February and Lughnasadh in August. In between all of those were the celestial markers of equinoxes and solstices, further providing some guidance as to what rhythm the Celts would be adopting at a particular time of year.
This is the eightfold pattern of their year, spinning round and round.
And each day itself was said to mirror this pattern with dusk (wintering) and dawn (summering) and noon and midnight. In other words: each day held a year.
A similar wisdom is seen in the ancient creation stories (Genesis follows this pattern), and also the eschatalogical understanding that each day holds the liturgical year (waiting, celebration, mourning, growing, etc.).
All of this is ancient, cycling wisdom at play, if we’re willing to pay attention.
In a modern Celtic understanding, January affords us the opportunity to focus in on thresholds (liminal spaces from the Latin “limen” which literally means “threshold”). Though it was not the ancient New Year for the Celts (which was probably Samhain), the mentality of the people was one of adaptation and so we find it has shifted to enfold the Gregorian calendar into its thoughtful rhythm.
January is our modern threshold month. It is the doorway, the threshold, to a new year. For the ancient Celts thresholds were holy places in the home, the barrier between the world and the family, a portal through which humans, as well, as other spirits traversed. It was neither here nor there. The dirt of thresholds was seen as holy ground, good for repairing relationships and cleansing the soul (haven’t you ever said, “it is good to be home!”?).
When entering an ancient Celtic home you’d say a quick blessing just inside the doorway called “The Welcome of the Door.” This is mirrored in many religions, but specifically for Western Christians we see this practice adopted on January 6th as doorways are blessed in honor of the Epiphany and the Magi crossing the threshold of the home of Mary and Joseph to see the Christ child.
January, as our modern threshold, provides us a similar opportunity for blessing and newness, is what I’m saying. The wheel is spinning, but there are important markers throughout, and now we are at the threshold of 2024 and a “Welcome of the Door” is in order.
The 21st is the solstice, and my hope us that we’ll be able to make a new fire (depending on travel) on the new Yule log.
The Yule log is the ancient tradition of hauling a huge log, usually oak (though birch was thought to bring insight and wisdom), into the hearth on Christmas Eve. Sometimes the log was so large (it had to last through the whole twelve days!) that children would sit astride it as it was carried from the forest through town, cheering the whole way. Into this log would be carved prayers, symbols, and depictions of “Mother Winter,” bringing peace and good fortune for the next year. They’d light this fire as a way to embolden the fire in the sky, the sun, and remind themselves that night does not last forever.
A lesson we’d do well to remember in this time of year when seasonal affective disorder is so prevalent.
Another similar tradition which you know of, but may not know why it happens, is the lighting of a Christmas candle in these days. This candle stands in place of the yule log…kind of a mini yule.
Our ancestors (as late as the 1940’s for those of us with Celtic blood) would have a special Christmas candle, usually red (to symbolize the ancient idiom “the red blood reigns in the winter’s cold”), and light it on Christmas Eve. It was usually placed in a hollowed out turnip, a shallow wooden bowl, or in later years a very select and decorated fancy holder, and would find a place on the front room window sill.
They’d place this candle in the window to do a few things.
First, it would remind them that there were those in the world without a supper or bed, and that they were to provide that for them. The candle would show a weary traveler where to find rest.
It was also lit to show Mary, Joseph, and the Christ child that a home could be found in their inn of a home. The wandering Holy Family still wanders today, wondering where to lodge.
Finally, especially in the countryside where it was difficult to spy a dwelling in the shadows of the night, these Christmas candles in the windows would show you where your neighbors were…and remind you that you’re not alone, by God. Help is just a flicker away should you need it. A true Christmas miracle-made-real.
So these Christmas lights adorning all the suburban homes in these days, and those stately Colonial-style homes with their window candles, aren’t just to be pretty and compete with the neighbors for accolades. If we remember history, these decorations bring more than “oohs” and “aaahs.”
They’re meant to bring hope, be a reminder to care for the “least of these,” and offer a welcome hand to the neighbor.
If you’re so inclined, put a new log in that hearth or fire-pit this year, and maybe write a prayer or two on it for the upcoming season of life.
And maybe stick a candle in that front window with intention this year, reminding everyone (including yourself!) that you’re called to help others in these wintery days.
Reluctant Xtian 