Seasons Change, And We with Them

A Celtic Curriculum, Week Eight

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Today is August 1, which is the traditional Celtic commemoration of Lughnasa. It seemed an opportune time to explore the practice of EMBRACING THE SEASONS.

About the Practice

Because Celtic folk were so connected to nature, they both recognized and revered seasonal cycles. The most prominent seasonal markers take place on the solstices (winter and summer) and equinoxes (spring and fall). But there are so-called cross-quarter days as well, halfway between the various solstices and equinoxes. 

Christine Valters Paintner summarizes the cross quarter days as follows:

• Lughnasa, August 1, a time of harvest, halfway between summer solstice and autumnal equinox

• Samhain, November 1, a time of remembrance (pronounced SOW-en, in which sow rhymes with cow), halfway between autumnal equinox and winter solstice

• Imbolc, February 1 or 2, a time of awakening, halfway between winter solstice and vernal equinox (I wrote about Imbolc here)

• Beltane, May 1, a time of flourishing (which I’ve heard pronounced bee-EL-tuh-nuh), halfway between vernal equinox and summer solstice

Each of these commemorative days comes with its own suggested foods, activities, rituals, even symbolic colors. For example, since Lughnasa represents harvest, it’s often celebrated with the baking of bread. There are tons of websites that discuss these special days in great depth, though there’s a lot of variety and divergence, even contradictions, in how different sites describe each day. Perhaps these traditions are old enough that reliable research is sketchy. Perhaps commemorations varied by region across the Celtic world. Or perhaps these days have been co-opted and cheapened in our Instagram age, the same way “self-care” becomes a matter of bath salts and pricey tea. Perhaps all three. 

Many folks in the Blue Room are Christian or Christian-adjacent. As such, the idea of nature-based rituals may seem foreign to our experience, or even cause for suspicion. It’s a complicated thing, this relationship between Christian observance and pagan/Celtic practice. We know that the imperial Church appropriated a lot of indigenous tradition for its own theological purposes. (All Saints’ Day is a derivative of Samhain; the timing of Easter is tied to the vernal equinox; many congregations host Longest Night services on the winter solstice.) 

As I acquaint myself with these Celtic seasonal celebrations, I’m struck by how many of them center around the domestic sphere—traditionally the domain of women—and I wonder how much of the suspicion we may feel about these observances is wrapped up in old hierarchies that place the masculine over the feminine, the life of the mind over the experience of the body, etc. And while I haven’t done a lot of research on this, I find myself wondering how many women who were accused of witchcraft through the ages were simply tuned into the cycles of nature and expressed that connection in embodied and tangible ways.¹

In any event, I find the idea of seasonal cycles to be no cause for unease or alarm. As I’ve said repeatedly in this series, an Earth-honoring, creation-based spirituality offers untold resources and wisdom in the era of climate change. Besides, we Christians have similar seasonal cycles in our own tradition, from the watchful preparation of Advent to the brilliance of Epiphany light, from the somber reflectiveness of Lent to the glories of Eastertide. And the long stretch of green-growing Ordinary Time. And let’s not forget Pentecost, a little exclamation point of Holy Spirit red.

Personal Reflection

I’m writing this on my back deck on the evening of August 1, Lughnasa, as crickets chitter all around me, moving in and out of phase with one another in sine waves of sound. (My 9:00 pm “check in with Robert” alarm went off a moment ago, and the alarm tone is also the sound of crickets—a perfect parable for the ways our modern lives harmonize with the ways of nature, if we but let them.) 

As sweltering as August can be, I like this time of year in spite of myself. By the end of this month, here in the mid-Atlantic, autumn will begin to seep into the cracks and crevices of the day. A fleeting layer of mist first thing in the morning. Or a devious waft of cool air hiding in the shade of a tree. It’s 53 days until fall, but she doesn’t burst into the room all at once. She sneaks. 

Cross-quarter days remind me that while there are major milestones in our lives—the first day of school, a brand new job, a wedding, a funeral—there are also subtle milestones and minor waystations that invite attention. I like to tell new parents to be on the lookout for developmental leaps that don’t necessarily make the top-10 list of landmark events. Yes, the lurching first steps of walking are joyous, but so is the day a child is tall enough to reach the sink to brush her teeth. Or mature enough to prepare a snack. Or coordinated enough to wipe his own butt after a poop!

In case it isn’t clear, I’ve always been an enthusiastic commemorator. During the pandemic, our family marked various milestones, zealously and promiscuously: the night of a would-be prom'; the day the school year would have ended had it not ended weeks before; 50 days of lockdown, then 100 days, 150, and so on. These commemorations were usually a blatant excuse for cake, but also a simple acknowledgement of how far we’d come. On one memorable night, the five of us wrote down on flash paper the things we wanted to say goodbye to, lit them, and watched them disappear into nothingness. 

During those months of quarantine I also attended a series of virtual weekend retreats about the cross-quarter days, starting with Samhain and ending with Lughnasa, so my experience of covid is forever linked to my learning about these Celtic holy days. Since then, I’ve put the days on the calendar, intending to do something special, but they sneak up on me every time. Perhaps it’s enough for now that I simply note them when they pop up on Google, pausing to reflect on the passage of time and ask the question a beloved coach trainer used to ask at the end of each session: what’s different for you now?

Make the Practice Yours

• Which season of nature do you enjoy the most, and least? What gifts do you receive in each season?

• What season are you in, spiritually and personally? What minor shifts are you also noticing?

• What are your favorite holidays? How do you observe them?

• Consider choosing one of the cross-quarter days. Do a deep dive to explore how you might commemorate it. Put it on your calendar, and set a reminder a few weeks before to allow you time to prepare. Be playful with it.

• What’s different for you now? 

Closing Meditation

The eye of the great God,
The eye of the God of glory,
The eye of the King of hosts,
The eye of the King of the living,

Pouring upon us 
At each time and season,
Pouring upon us
Gently and generously.

Glory to thee,
Thou glorious sun,
Glory to thee, thou sun,
Face of the God of life.

Sources

The Soul’s Slow Ripening: 12 Celtic Practices for Seeking the Sacred, Christine Valters Paintner 

Celtic Christian Spirituality: Essential Writings Annotated and Explained, Mary C. Earle

1. A tangent perhaps, but one I’d like to explore some day. In the meantime, here’s a placard I saw during my pilgrimage in Scotland last year, acknowledging some of the women who were convicted of being witches, sometimes simply because they were “different.”