Everything has an origin story. Even a few of them mixed together.
For the ancient Celts, Samhain was full of fire rituals intended to both purify land and scare off any trickster faeries and protect the farm from curses.
If you went out into the night on Samhain you’d tie a carved turnip on a string, aglow with a piece of charcoal inside. These glowing faces, called Jack-o’-lanterns referred to an old Christian tale about a blacksmith named Old Jack (sometimes called Stingy Jack) who, because he was so evil, was barred from both heaven and hell.
Instead his purgation was to roam the back roads on Hallowe’en night with nothing but a turnip lamp to light his shadowy way.
When Samhain was brought to the so-called New World (spoiler alert: not “new” at all), pumpkins were much more common than turnips, and so Irish settlers used those for lanterns instead.
The ancient Celts had a strong inclination that the rhythms of nature were echoed in the rhythms of the human body. Winter was for silence and rest, Spring for energy and growth, Summer for blazing work and toil, and Autumn for winding down and letting go.
They understood that living in a way that was in alignment with these rhythms led to a balanced way of being in this world.
At every new moon they also saw that the cycle of life both as continued and began again at the same time, giving support for this idea that time is circular, not linear, and that every moment is both a continuation of a past step and the opportunity for newness.
On the Summer Solstice the ancient Celts would give thanks for our star.
They’d build fires on the tops of the hills, believing these fires would further fuel the sun. They’d bring their babies close to the fire as a blessing, and they’d dance and sing and daring couples would hold hands and leap over the flame for good luck.
Midsummer was a day of indulgence with shared feasts and partying and plays and dramatic re-enactments of all kinds. As the sun indulged the Earth on this day, so the people took the minute here as summer was half gone (summer on the Celtic wheel is May-July) to bask in the House of Light, as they called the summer fields and hills.
Tonight is a very appropriate night to light a bonfire, enjoy some food outside, and give thanks for our star without which none of us could live.
For the ancient Celts, June was the month where they honored the mighty oak tree. In June this towering tree reaches its zenith in beauty, and was a reminder for the Celts that doing two things at once in this life is necessary: we must plant deep roots while also reaching for the highest heights.
Their ancient priests, Druids, were colloquially known as “oak knowers,” believing that of all of the trees, the oak tree was the wisest. The Celtic word for oak was Duir (again, also where they got the word Druid), which meant “endure” and “truth.”
The oak tree, brightened by the Oak Moon, was both strong and enduring, like truth.
June is a month to deepen your roots and reach for those heights.
For the ancient Celts, June was a time of herb collecting. Used in medicine, dyes, cooking, cosmetics, and floor coverings (they would cover their floors with the herbs for a fragrant and hygienic carpeting), herbs were considered a healing gift.
At this time of year they’d incorporate herbs into most every dish, creating lilac teas and treating fish both steamed and pan fried with plenty of dill, parsley, and chives.
As they headed toward the Solstice and St.John the Baptist’s feast day, using all of the given daylight was paramount. Waste nothing, especially daylight, and do those things appropriate with the season.
For June this meant herb gathering, freshening things up, and preserving the harvest for cooking and healing in the year to come.
In May the Celts would turn their sights toward the land and the seeds to be buried in hope and prayer.
They’d pull out their ploughs and pray these instruments be sturdy to do the good work ahead of them, keeping their promise to help produce life-giving food for the land.
Here’s a modern Blessing of the Plough adapted from an ancient blessing (and also happens to be a nice one for those prepping for Holy Trinity Sunday):
Blessed be, God of all creation. Give softness to the land. Give us skill to work the land. This plough is sign to us of Your blessing. Give us softness of heart. Give us skill to serve You. Blessed be God–Creator, Christ, and Spirit, Three of Glory, Three of Light, Three of Life. Blessed be the Bright Three forever. God speed the plough. God speed the plough.
-prayer from Llewellyn’s The Celtic Wheel of the Year
The Celts would, in mid-May, honor the warrior queen Maeve of Connacht. She was often depicted dressed in red with a pet bird perched on one shoulder, and a pet squirrel on the other.
She was known for having three criteria in the men she would consider for marriage: they couldn’t be stingy, they couldn’t be jealous, and they couldn’t have any fear.
She was half lore and half reality, like all interesting people, and her name came from the pre-Christian Celtic goddess, Sovereignty, who was said to be the one who would approve a royal’s right to rule. Should a royal be overthrown, it was because Sovereignty had deemed them unworthy (stingy, jealous, or afraid).
For the ancient Celtic Christians, May was the first month of summer. It may feel strange to think of the rhythm of the year in this way, mostly because we’ve been conditioned by society to see May as still part of “spring,” but for those Celts who paid attention to how things look and feel, rather than acquiescing to what others told them to feel, they knew that the change of May meant the beginning of summer.
Their wheel for the year was:
November-December-January: Winter (the cold would set in, ground would freeze, and things took a dormant nature…which is why in the middle of December you’d celebrate the undying light of Christ, reminding yourself that the sun/Son always shines)
February-March-April: Spring (things start to break through the ground, thaws happen, tulips push up and animals stir and mate…which is why Easter is the capstone to the season, the eternal “emergence”)
May-June-July: Summer (heat sets in, you start to do all things out-of-doors, you plant and tend, and the midpoint is the celebration of John the Baptizer/Summer Solstice where you remember that St. John the Baptizer said, “I must decrease so that Christ may increase”…and the sun starts setting a little earlier each day)
August-September-October: Autumn (you celebrate the waning heat, you harvest, you prep and store, and prepare for the winter, with the capstone of the season being All Hallow’s Eve where you give thanks for the harvest and the faithfully departed, knowing winter is coming where nature reminds us that all things die)
This cycle was the year life, but imbued into all of this was the sense of death and regeneration. It was an Easter life.
In our modern days where we’re so tossed back and forth between this event and that event, seeing so much of it all as isolated incidences that rock our boats, we forget the golden thread, the rhythm, or as the ancient Celts would call it, the “heartbeat of the Divine” running through it all.
If we tilt at every windmill, we never stand up straight. The ancient Celts understood this, and so they were able to weather most any storm knowing what season it was.
Now? Now is the start of summer. The season of “out-of-doors.” Take advantage, live into the newness around you, and breathe deeply into the now.
All the sweetness of nature was buried in winter’s grave, and the wind sings a sad lament with its cold plaintive cry; but oh, the teeming summer will come bringing life in its arms, and will strew rosy flowers on the face of hill and dale.
In lovely harmony the wood has put on its green mantle, and summer is on its throne, playing its string-music; the willow, whose harp hung silent when it was withered in winter, now gives forth its melody. Hush! Listen! The world is alive!
Reluctant Xtian 