In Celtic spirituality, February is associated with the rowan tree. Its red berries were thought to guard against all sorts of bad things.

They’d put rowan branches on their cattle sheds and dairy barns to keep the meat and milk fresh and free of disease, and across Celtic lands crosses of rowan twigs were tied with red thread and carried in pockets or sewn into the linings of coats for traveling mercies.

Since the saint of the month, Saint Brigid, was associated with flame and fire, the blazing red berries were thought to be little glimpses of her favor.

I found a modern Celtic prayer to say under the Rowan Moon (February’s moon). And since it’s the last day one can say it, I thought I’d throw it out there.

What I love about this prayer is that, while images of Christ/love and the sun are really common, we don’t get many images of Christ/love being seen in the moon. But in the month where the moon still outshines the sun, it makes sense to have a prayer that highlights this truth, right?

Bright glory, bright moon,
the moon that shines on Brigid,
lamp of the poor,
love, light,
illumined by God.
Bright moon of glory,
teach me good purpose
toward all creation.
Bright moon of grace,
teach me good prayer
in accord with Christ’s heart.

Fiery moon of great light,
be in my heart
be in my deeds
be in my wishes.
Teach me your grace.
Bright moon over Brigid,
your light my hope,
your light on my purpose here,
in accord with God’s satisfaction.

Bright fire, bright moon,
point my heart to God’s repose.
Point me to my rest,
with the Son of Tranquility.

“Our lives are full of thresholds: moving through the rise and fall of each day, the rhythm of the week, the seasons, the veil between this world and the other, between the status quo and our own deepening and unfolding journey. Thresholds require that we be vulnerable, that we acknowledge that we simply do not know what is to come, that we surrender to something much bigger and more meaningful, even as it calls us away from familiar patterns and habits that have become much loved.”–Christina Paintner

Even after all this time
The Sun never says to the Earth
“You owe me”
And look what happens
With that kind of love
It lights up the whole sky
-Hafiz

Happy Valentines Day

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.

Groundhog’s Day confounds many people.

It’s on the surface a quaint little holiday that elevates the lowly rodent. But it’s not about the rodent. It’s really not.

Imagine that you’re an ancient person in the belly of winter, wondering when spring might emerge. In your pondering you’re looking at your stockpile of hay for your livestock and salted meats and preserved veggies for your families. You’re wondering how much you should expend, and how much you should reserve in these uncertain days.

The groundhog, or any little animal, looking at their shadow may be an indicator for how you can survive and how much you can expend. Indeed, to take it a step deeper, your shadow, Beloved, that side of yourself that Jung encouraged us all to explore, lets you know how you can take the next steps in this world.

The ancient Celts named these days as Imbolc, “in the belly,” not only because they knew that winter was coming to an end but also because they knew that a time of introspection between the Yule days of celebration and these days of decision/indecision are necessary for living a full life.

It’s funny, almost ironic, that the day on which the groundhog emerges is so indicative on how the future is predictive in our mind’s eye. If it’s sunny and they see their shadow, winter continues. If it’s overcast and cloudy, winter will cease soon.

Think now of yourself: when things are “bright and sunny,” do you not wonder when the next shoe will drop and things will be bad again? And when you’re in trying times, do you not tell yourself “these days can’t last!”? It’s so…human. All of it.

These days are not just about a groundhog. They are about you, Beloved.

Deep down we all know these next few weeks aren’t decided by a rodent. But I wonder: how will you decide what to do next? How will you know what these days will bring?

How about this: no matter the weather, no matter the outward signs, our inward being can be geared toward love, acceptance, and a resilience that says, whatever may come, we’ve embraced our shadow and have decided to live.

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.

“What’s going to happen?” she wondered. “There has to be a bigger purpose…”

“Why?” he asked honesty.

“Because I need it all to mean something,” she replied, tears welling up in her eyes.

“We all want things to mean something in some bigger plan,” he said, “but what if they don’t? What if the map is being drawn one second at a time? Does that mean it’s all…well..meaningless?” he countered.

“Well, no…” she said. “I would just like some assurances.”

“I’m not sure life gives you those,” he said. “What if the larger point is for us to embrace that things have meaning not because there’s some ‘larger plan,’ but because our small, little plans are beautiful enough? And the mistakes? They don’t need to fit in some larger scheme to be redeemed. They’re redeemed because we learn from them, heal them as best we can, and move forward just a little bit on this ever-evolving, ever-scrolling map we make.”

“Significance,” he went on, “is not assigned from above. It’s assigned from within. Things mean something because they’re important to us, to you, to him. Or her. It’s subjective, by God. And that’s OK. It doesn’t make it less. It probably makes it more.”

“More?” She closed her eyes trying to wrap her head around it all.

“So, my quest for certainty is a fool’s errand?” she wondered.

“No,” he said, “because you’re not a fool. It’s the most human thing in the world, I think. But what if we just got used to embracing the idea that there is no certainty?”

“It might be freeing…” she said, honestly.

“It just might be.”

Are you preaching this Sunday?

Interested in how pastor’s develop their sermons for a text?

Tired of the Beatitudes and need a different lens?

Pr. Jason, Pr. Tuhina, and me take a Beatitudes deep dive for some sermon hooks.

https://subsplash.com/anamcara/media/mi/+5tn3pw6

“The Christian Celts, for the greater part of two millennia, were neither puritanical nor dualistic. They were close to the Earth’s cycles of fertility. They saw the Earth as good, sexuality as good, life as good–all being generous blessings.

The Celts have always been ‘night people’ as well–the night being a holy time for storytellers, song, and mirth. Celtic poets went into the holy dark to seek its blessings and hone their craft.”

-William John Fitzgerald-

This is all probably why I’m theologically non-dualistic and love stories. This is my heritage.