Have a wonderful winter solstice.
Here are some links to information, celebrations, and rituals to help you enjoy your day.
School of the Seasons
Candle Grove: Ancient Origins of Solstice Celebrations
Religious Tolerance: Winter Solstice Celebrations
Circle Sanctuary: Celebrating Winter Solstice
Wikipedia: Winter Solstice
(Picture credit.)
When we found out my in-laws were to be out of town the weekend before Christmas, I was delighted. Not only would we have a weekend alone, but it would be the weekend of Winter Solstice. I've been wanting to celebrate Solstice for three years now, but haven't done anything more than light a candle. So with my in-laws gone, I mentioned to my husband that we could have our own little celebration, our style. He was in.
Then my mother-in-law said something about not going away for the weekend after all. In an indirect effort to get her to go like she planned, I piped up with a little humor.
"Well, we were planning on having a pagan winter solstice celebration that day, so...if you want to join us..."
The look on her face was precious. For her, the word "pagan" obviously has the unfortunate connotations of animal sacrifice and devil worship.
"You're kidding, right?" she asked.
I kept it fun. "Nope." I smiled.
"I just hope that celebration isn't happening at my house," she said, unsure about my tone.
"Well, Little FTA was really hoping to run naked around a bonfire..." I laughed.
"Ok-aaaaay...."
I left it at that, letting everyone think I was just being silly. And secretly hoping I'd scared her off to that weekend away after all.
I'm rather ambivalent about Christmas this year. I'm almost ready to call myself a Scrooge or a Grinch. I am participating in the festivities, I am buying presents for people, I'm sending greeting cards (that do NOT say Merry Christmas), don't get me wrong. But I feel like all the Christmas around me is too overwhelming and I need to push back to give myself some breathing room.
Perhaps it's the fact that my in-laws over-decorate so much that it looks like Christmas exploded in the house. I'm drowning in Christmas wreaths and advent calendars and ornaments and nutcrackers and cutesy Santa Clauses and various items that for some reason picked up Christmas significance along the centuries but no one is sure why. (Some were stolen from Yule, of course.) And the nativity sets and the Christmas story books about Jesus that my son begs me to read every day.
Perhaps it's the fact that my son's school class is talking about nothing but Christmas. No Hanukkah, no Kwanzaa, no Yule or Solstice, no Festivus for the Rest of Us. Just Christmas, candy canes, snowmen, reindeer, Santa. At least it's the secular version of Christmas at school.
Last year, I didn't mind the secular version. It was so refreshing that a secular version of Christmas was available at all. I think part of that was because there was such diversity in our town, and in school, my son learned about all the holidays. His best friend, a child of secular Jews, invited him over to light Hanukkah candles one night and read him a secular version of the traditional story. So last year, I felt like we chose to celebrate Christmas, because that was our heritage. We celebrated at home, so we were able to keep Jesus out of it and do things our own way. I even ended up choosing to attend church services (a liberal Protestant church) on Christmas Eve.
This year, it feels more in my face, like Christmas is just pulling me along, whatever I think of it. Personally, I'd rather celebrate Yule and Solstice. But my son? The five year old? He LOVES Christmas, the presents, the festivities, the visiting-Santa-even-though-he's-just-pretend. I've been singing him Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer as a bedtime song all year, at his request. How can I say, "Hold up, dude, we're celebrating the longest night of the year and the return of the sun, mmkay? So no Santa this year"? The momentum of Christmas is a strong current, and I feel helpless in its wake. And that, I think, is why I'm resenting it this year.
At a family dinner with my devout in-laws, my never-mo sister-in-law and her kids, and us, all the food was out on the bar ready for us to fill our plates and take them outside to the patio. I saw my in-laws were feeling the meal couldn't start without a prayer, but my mother-in-law got distracted by something. I wasn't going to stand around doing nothing until she was ready. So I started filling a plate for my son. My sister-in-law and husband followed, and we headed to the backyard. We all began to eat.
My father-in-law made it out with his plate to join us, but my mother-in-law was still inside filling hers. Oddly, perhaps to try to joke, my father-in-law looked at us and said, "Whoever eats first has to ask the blessing."
I wasn't sure how to react to that, but I decided in a split second it needed more of a response that a courtesy laugh.
"We don't say blessings on food," I said pointedly.
"I've noticed," he replied.
And then I felt awkward. I wished I had been able to turn it into my own joke, to ease the tension rather than increase it. I'm not good at that.
My mother-in-law then came out to the yard, set her plate down, and said to her husband, "All right, let's say the blessing." He acknowledged her, and she called out to all the kids who were on a picnic blanket nearby, "We're saying the prayer! Everybody--just--close your eyes."
I leaned over to watch the kids during the prayer. One nephew immediately closed his eyes. My son didn't (and I did an internal cheer). The nephew later opened his eyes and thought it was funny that lots of people weren't closing theirs either. I smiled at him to show my approval and to share in the funny situation.
I was irked. Their praying over their food is perfectly fine, but don't include my kid in it. There was no reason she couldn't have just had a little prayer on the side with her husband--the only other one there who participates in that particular ritual. There's a certain conceitedness in it, that everyone should do what they are doing. Sure, I'll be polite and quiet, as an outsider. But I won't participate any more than I would any other random religious ritual of any faith. Just don't presume that I'm doing something wrong by not getting involved.
A friend of mine told me he didn't find Mormonism that weird. Even polygamy doesn't seem that weird, since exists in most of the world and in the Old Testament.
Then I told him about the secret handshakes and the temple robes.
He was speechless.
"If you think Mormonism isn't weird," I told him, "it's just because you haven't heard enough of it yet."
For the first time in about 18 months, I stepped foot in a Mormon chapel. The occasion was a funeral of a wonderful old man, the father/grandfather of a family I grew up with. I had jokingly made a New Year's resolution in 2006 that I would not enter of Mormon church building. I fulfilled my resolution. But this was January 2007 now, and I figured this man and his family were worth breaking my boycott. I wore pants. I did sing the hymns, even the parts about Jesus. I wondered what impression that was giving my mom, who was right next to me.
It was touching to hear about the man's life; he really was an amazing man. But it was also awkward. Mormon funerals tend to be all about how the person is happier on the other side, reunited with Heavenly Father and all the family who preceded the deceased in death. The Mormon theology of life and death provides a great deal of comfort to the family members. They think that not only did the person die at the pre-appointed time, but also that the person is wonderfully happy. Perhaps bringing the greatest sense of comfort is the idea that they will all see the person again, after they die too.
From an outsider's perspective, the most frustrating thing is that the speakers talk more about the plan of salvation than the life of the person. Earthly life is just a second compared to eternity, they say, and so the pre- and post-mortal existences are more important to discuss. This, in my opinion, belittles the person. Here they are at the funeral, and the deceased is talked about in a short eulogy, and that's about it. Aren't funerals supposed to be celebration of the life of the person?
Aren't they also supposed to be a chance for people to grieve and mourn together? And yet at this funeral and ones I've been to before, there was very little crying. It was almost as if people didn't go through the grieving process, or they only skimmed the surface of it, never feeling any depth of emotion about the loss. I talked to a daughter and two grandkids immediately afterward, and they were happy, friendly, smiling, as if I were simply greeting them after regular church services. I don't mean to accuse them of not caring or loving. They certainly did love him a great deal, they feel the loss, and they miss him. But with holding to the idea that they'll see him again in a few years, how much can they miss him? It's one thing to say goodbye for a while; it's another thing entirely to have that person gone. Gone, except in memory.
Another thing about this particular funeral was that the man had only converted to Mormonism a couple years before his death. Some of his children converted decades ago, his wife converted maybe 10 years ago, and he converted practically on his death bed. One of his children never converted (good for her). I tend to think the man converted to please his Mormon children, worried as they were about his salvation. So even though he spend only two years of his life as a Mormon, Mormonism was definitely the focus of the funeral.
One of the speakers smugly said Mormons aren't scared of death; they know what happens when we die; all those other people are just lost and scared, they have no comfort. This was actually said at the funeral. No only is it grossly mistaken and ignorant, it is downright rude. I looked over at the one non-Mormon child after the service. I believe she is an atheist. I tried to imagine how this funeral had been for her, with her family and their clergy going on and on about the plan of salvation and seeing him again and how he was sanctified in Christ. I resented how smug the Mormon part of the family was about the funeral; of course they were going to have a Mormon funeral, because Mormonism is right and atheist is wrong, right? I hope for her sake that she was able to derive some comfort from the funeral of her father. I hope that she had her own version of saying goodbye that suited her and her version of how life and death work.
I have yet to have any immediate family members die, no friends or relatives very close to me, either before or after my leaving. I don't know how I'll handle it.
I wrote this last May:
I read a book called Women-Church. It briefly described the development of Christianity as a give-and-take between spirituality and institution, and argued that women need to nudge, push, shove, and subvert their way into changing religion and ritual to fit their needs better. Sometimes this involves leaving and creating your own community; sometimes this involves staying within the patriarchal community and enacting change from within.
One of the main facets of the book was to give alternative (less patriarchal and more women-friendly and non-gender specific) liturgies and rituals. It was obviously to a Christian audience who are used to high church. Rituals included things like welcoming of a new baby; signing with the promise of baptism; coming of age; puberty rites; moving out of the house; marriage; divorce; casting off the patriarchal, suppressive parts of church-institution; death, etc. It was very adaptable and could be used for any point in life that is significant.
Rituals mark events, open up new phases in life. On the other hand, life manages to create its own rituals. Whether or not you have a bar/bat mitzvah or graduate from primary, you still have a coming-of-age time. Whether or not you are baptized, you still achieve a conversion or de-conversion.
Without any formal ritual, I mark the events of my de-conversion--the first time I felt more comfortable on the Foyer than on NOM; the day I took off my garments; the last day I went to church; first alcohol; first sleeveless shirt; the day I told my family; the day I moved my garments in a big bag to the basement; the day I tossed that bag in the dumpster (one year after I first took them off).
And yet I still feel the need for ritual sometimes. For example, I want to go on a camping trip and light a big bonfire. I want to throw in my temple recommend and call out, "I reject the institution that tells me I can't worship." Then throw in a pair of garments and call out, "I reject a god that micromanages me, down to the clothes I wear." (But since I threw them all in the dumpster, I can't. It felt so anti-climatic.) Then throw in a Book of Mormon and call out, "I reject a religion that demands stupidity and unquestioned obedience." Then throw in a sheet of paper where I wrote the ways the church has hurt me and call out, "I reject the Mormon fta and open up a new phase in my life where I am in control to live, love, think, and play how I see fit."
And then strip down and go skinny dipping or something. I've never done that. It seems like it would be very liberating. I imagine I'd have to be quite drunk by that point.
But when it comes down to it, I'd probably feel really stupid doing all that, rather than liberated.
Have you done anything ritualistic or formal to mark the passage of the old, Mormon you to the new, better you? I'm sure handing in your resignation is one of those ways, something I have yet to get around to.
I grew up thinking that pagans were the epitome of evil. Worse than Catholics or Muslims, because at least they believed in God. My exposure to pagans and paganism was extremely limited, of course. My only exposure, I think, was from the movie Dragnet with Dan Aykroyd. Those pagans partied, did drugs, stole police cars, dressed in animal skins, and sacrificed virgins. And wasn't there something about playboy bunnies? They were bad. Okay, so I still think sacrificing virgins or anyone else is definitely not a good idea, but my thoughts on paganism have changed.
Not that I've studied about it. A few pokes around internet sites like Beliefnet. The idea of something pre-Christian appeals to me, though. I like the idea of appreciating and caring for the earth and nature, marking the seasons, even to the point of worship, finding peace and fulfillment in it.
And I kind of like the idea of running half naked around a campfire at midnight. (I saw some more-than-cool Irish folks doing that in National Geographic. Jealous!)
Anybody in? Maybe that could accompany a sEXMObile party (thanks Gluby and Degenerate Elite)?
So for this holiday season, I decided to look up some winter solstice activities. I found some ideas at Circle Sanctuary and thought they looked interesting. Trouble is, I think it would feel so forced and artificial if we just started adopting random rituals. Kind of like how lighting the Hanukkah candles felt.
Christmas rituals have so much history with me; there are so many memories tied up into them. The building anticipation, sneaking around the house looking for presents, having a giant sleepover with my siblings, pretending to sleep while really listening for the sound of my parents bringing out the gifts. Cooking Christmas treats, opening one present on Christmas Eve, having a little Christmas program with relatives. Thrashing through the wrapping paper, making a huge mess. Spending all of Christmas day in pajamas, eating junk and snacks, playing with our new toys. Breaking the most popular ones by the end of the day, because we played with them so hard.
These are the reasons I want to keep up the holiday with my son. The secular, Santa side is a great holiday in itself. It managed to be more appealing to me as a kid than the Jesus story. The nativity story factored in only because my parents forced it in; we had to listen to them read Luke 2 before we could go downstairs to see the presents. Their little effort to keep the "true meaning of Christmas" in our minds. Yeah, yeah, let us get to the presents!
I suppose my son is young enough that if we did start some new rituals, they would feel like heritage and tradition to him. So why not? Bring on the Yule wreath, and celebrate with awe how the sun (S-U-N) brings us life.
I've moved further away from Christianity and Jesus since last Christmas. I finally understand why and am appreciative when people say, "Happy Holidays" rather than "Merry Christmas." Our town is quite diverse, and while most are probably Christian or of Christian heritage, there are plenty who are Jewish, Muslim, African-American celebrators of Kwanzaa, pagans, secularists, etc.
Not that I've abandoned Christmas. It has a highly-developed secular side. We've put up a Christmas tree because it's part of our heritage, happy childhood memories, and because Christmas can be celebrated quite well as a secular holiday. So many of the symbols of Christmas time are really pagan symbols anyway--the Yule log, the wreath, mistletoe, candles.
I've even put up that nativity set that has sentimental value; I just haven't bothered to keep it in order. We use the camel to hold open the entertainment center door. Whatever. My son doesn't have any interest in it. And that's fine with me. I thought of taking him to a Sunday Christmas church service at a local liberal Protestant church, because his friends will be in the program. My husband would rather not, though, because growing up in America, he'll get plenty of exposure to Jesus and Christianity; it's not like we need to go seek it out. Jesus can be a little in-your-face in the US.
I still cringe a little when Jesus-oriented Christmas songs come on the radio. And I don't really care for secular Christmas songs either. In general, they are overdone and overly cheesy. And yet I found myself humming O Holy Night, and singing Silent Night to my son at bedtime. Because it's just a pretty song to him. He's not going to ask what the hell "round yon virgin mother" means.
The main difference about this year is we're staying home. Mostly that had to do with flights being too expensive. But I'm glad. This is the first year we'll have Christmas with just us, our family of three. It's validating, like we're finally our own family. And it's a bit of a relief: we can avoid Jesus, and do it our own way. It also made Christmas more festive, since we actually put up a tree and decorated it. We'd never done that with our son. The ornaments have memories attached to them; the lights twinkle in a comforting way; the smell of the pine hits when I walk in the door and it makes me smile.
We've also incorporated a little Hanukkah this year. Last year we talked about it, but didn't do anything. This year, our son has several Jewish friends and learned about the different December holidays in preschool. One day, he announced, "We have Christmas; David has Hanukkah. But we are still friends." So we set out a makeshift menorah and have been lighting candles every night. Since we don't know the appropriate Hebrew song to accompany the lighting of the candles, I made up a new ritual. With each candle we light, we say the name of a person we love. It gets us thinking about family and connections, and I like that.
