Winter Solstice – Feminism and Religion

Preparing for the New Year by Rev. Mary Gelfand and Rev. Mark Gallup

Happy New Year!

Solstice Sunrise
by Joie Granbois, used with permission

In the northern hemisphere, we recently celebrated Winter Solstice – the time of year when the days begin to grow longer and the nights shorter as the Earth begins another orbit of the Sun. In some cultures, the beginning of a new year is determined by the Earth’s orbit around the Sun. Other cultures, such as Hebrew or Chinese, track the beginning of a new year through the lunar cycles. In most of Western culture, the day we name as the beginning of a new year is not determined by the cycles of Sun or the Moon but instead by a seemingly arbitrary calendar devised by a Roman emperor and modified by a Renaissance pope. Go figure.

Nonetheless, the turning of the New Year is a powerful time. It is a good time to slow down, listen to our hearts, be in community, pray and create intentions for the coming seasons of our lives. What do we need to forgive? For what are we grateful? What do we desire to bless for the coming year?

Last year we created a New Year’s worship service for our Unitarian Universalist church here in New England. This simple service and ritual invites participants to spend a little time spiritually preparing for the coming new year. If you wish to engage with this simple ritual from home you will need a small totem to interact with. This could be a stone or a shell—a feather or a tree branch—a flower or a piece of jewelry. You might also wish to light a candle. Take a deep breath as we begin with Forgiveness.

A Prayer for Winter Solstice, by Molly M. Remer

A Prayer for Solstice
Winter’s Crone,
cave tender,
cauldron keeper,
mother of time,
guide us into stillness,
into a time of deep rest and reflection.
Unwind our knots
and soothe our scurrying,
remind us how to listen,
how to be still,
how to turn inward and know.
Remind us not to fear darkness
for it is a time of necessary patience and growth.
Help us to celebrate
the cycles of change
through which we move,
honoring the fallow times
and the flourishing times
as equally essential
for life.
Bone woman,
great mother of us all,
quiet our wondering
and our worries,
gentle our grief,
and soften our sorrow.
Restore our weary hearts
and renew our spirits
that we might turn
towards the light we carry within
and warm ourselves
by this,
life’s eternal and powerful flame,
knowing that we belong
to this great grand web of incarnation
and all it holds.

Winter Lessons, by Molly M. Remer

Yes, it is December
already and again.
Let yourself notice the milkweed pods,
how they have split their sides
and are sending silky white seed fluffs
into the waiting air.
Witness the trees,
bare and gray and patient.
Watch the squirrels,
tails puffed against the chill,
stored nuts in their cheeks.
Listen to the wind
how it whispers and rattles
through the empty branches.
Watch the clouds,
slow-moving white billows
in a pale blue sky.
Be patient with yourself.
Grant yourself grace.
Remember the three invitations
of the solstice season:
to listen,
to wonder,
to be content.
Remember your promise
to keep company with joy.
Remember your vow
to be in devotion
to your own life.
Think about everything
there is to do.
Open your hands.
Feel that thin, whispering
winter wind
skim over your palms.
Take a deep breath.
Allow yourself to marvel
at all this year
has held.
Bless it.
Thank it.
Cup your hands
around your own face.
Say: thank you.
Here you are in the center
of your own life’s unfolding.
There is nowhere else to be.
Be gentle with yourself.
Invite the winter crone to tea.
Look into her eyes.
See yourself reflected there,
your own winter eyes open
to the possibility
of both clarity and delight.

I have been writing for Feminism and Religion for 13 years. In the summer, I compiled a post with 13 summer lessons from 13 years of posts here at FAR. I decided to bookend that post with a Winter Lessons post as well. Here are thirteen lessons to share from past winter posts:

From the Archives: There Is No Santa-The Antlered Flying Goddess With Gifts by Marie Cartier

Moderator’s note: This marvelous FAR site has been running for 10 years and has had more than 3,600 posts in that time. There are so many treasures that have been posted in this decade that they tend to get lost in the archives. We have created this column so that we can all revisit some of these gems. Today’s blogpost was originally posted December 25, 2015. You can visit it here to see the original comments.

*Marie bringing in Elen of the Ways*
*photo by Tony Mierzwicki*

One of my colleagues at Feminism and Religion recently wrote of Xmas and Feminine Wisdom. My blog, for Christmas Day continues this exploration.

Elen of the Ways is a figure primarily studied by scholar, Carolyn Wise. She wrote two core articles available on the web here and here. Wise writes that in order to “track” and find Elen of the Ways she had to peel back the layers:

…to the earliest track ways, the migratory tracks of the Reindeer and Elk. Elen moves across vast tracts of time, and land, cloaked and masked appropriately for each age.

The Solstice Tree of Life by Judith Shaw

The exact day of the Winter Solstice ushers in what I think of as the Winter Solstice Season — a ten day period when, in the northern hemisphere, the sun barely moves from it’s most southerly position in the sky. The days are very short and the nights are long, long, long.

At this time of year I embrace the worldview of my Celtic ancestors who relished the darkness in a way that is foreign to us today. Every day began at dusk not dawn. The new year began on October 31, as the cold set in and the world turned toward the dark. The harvest was in, thanks were given, and nature was moving into its period of death. I find an inherent wisdom in this counting of time.

In this moment, my connection to trees feels especially profound. I find such beauty in the winter trees, naked of their green and golden finery, etching stark lines in the sky. As we drew near to the solstice, I felt compelled to create a new painting that expresses my love for winter trees and the Winter Solstice.

Reweaving the Great Round: A Winter Solstice Story by Sara Wright

The scent of balsam wafts through the room as I cut the boughs to make my annual wreath to honor all trees, those that still stand, those who are slaughtered. My intention each year is twofold – acknowledge my love for these sentient beings and to participate in the unfolding of the Great Round. Other intentions vary from year to year until recently when a prayer for protection from the dark forces that permeate the psyches of so many peoples of this earth becomes a yearly part of this winter ceremony, even as a multitude of others suffer intolerable losses.

Today’s American culture creates endless non-religious festivals to celebrate the entrance into this winter season that are totally devoid of meaning beyond consumerism – buy more ‘stuff’ – chop down more trees. These devourers can never be satiated because the chasm is too wide and deep.

Into the Light by Beth Bartlett

I looked for my friend, Pamela’s email the morning after she died. Every morning I have looked forward to her email from the day before — the last one sent at 4:37 on the Tuesday afternoon before Thanksgiving. Did she ever see my response sent at 6 AM the next morning – my wish for her to know joy this Thanksgiving, my sending much love? The bulk of it was full of mundanities. How differently might I have written it had I known it would be the last she would see? Our ongoing call and response email conversation — now without response, forever without response.

Ours was a friendship of words — words in the cards she has given me over the years, in her detailed responses to my blog posts, in the thousands of emails passed between us over several years. I’ve saved them all. They were too precious ever to delete. How we both loved words — their poetry, their capacity to communicate, convey, confound, console, comfort. I eagerly anticipated her words every day. For years I have entrusted my daily thoughts, worries, joys, activities, hopes, and the occasional dream to her tender care, always knowing her response would be a mirror, reflecting me back to myself, she reflecting on all I had written – giving witness and testimony, always with the deepest of care and affirmation. As Adrienne Rich wrote in the poem we both loved — “Phantasia for Elvira Shatayev” – I have never seen/my own forces so taken up and shared/and given back. Yes, this – the immensity, the intensity, the profound reciprocity of our sharing.

From the Archives: Winter Solstice: Celebration of the Powers of Fire by Sara Wright

This was originally posted on Dec. 12, 2023

I have a problem with the belief that Winter Solstice is primarily about celebrating ‘the coming of the light.’ This one – sided thinking negates the cross-cultural reality that this is a festival during which candles are lit to light up the night and roaring fires blaze inside and out bringing warmth to all. Winter Solstice is above all else a Festival of Fire.

Fire is an ambiguous element (as all the elements are) carrying both a positive and negative charge. On one level fire brings warmth and light on cold winter nights. On the other hand, fire also incinerates, destroying everything it touches. Approaching a Festival that celebrates the Element of Fire should be done with consciousness and caution.

Elena and the Reindeer Goddess: The Mission Begins by Judith Shaw

As much as I wanted to finish my fairytale project in time for the winter holidays, the muse had a different idea. Perhaps the energy of winter was what I needed in order to finish the grand finale painting for the tale. It depicts a night sky filled with magic and wonder.

Kairos Time by Beth Bartlett

I love the time between the Winter Solstice and New Year’s – a time of suspended animation, a reprieve from the demands of daily life, a respite from the woes of the world, from needing to pay attention to the time of day, days of the week, and tasks that need to be accomplished. A whole week with nothing scheduled on the calendar. Simply presence. It is a liminal time on the threshold between the old year and the new – whether measured by the turning of the planet from dark to light on the Solstice or of the Gregorian calendar year – a time when many of us pause and reflect on the year past and our hopes for the year to come. It is a moment of what the Greeks called Kairos time, as opposed to Chronos time, by which we measure most of our lives — in seconds, minutes, hours, days, and years.

In the years I spent in academia, my life was governed by Chronos time that often forced me to live in the future rather than the present. Course scheduling and book orders needed to happen far in advance. Course syllabi planned students’ readings and assignments for the next several months ahead. Learning was to occur in specific blocks of time, which always struck me as such a bizarre way to teach and learn, when we’d have to break off discussion and deep learning simply because the hour was up.