Still Winter, Not Yet Spring

on Celtic celebrations and mental health

Over the course of a year during the pandemic, I took part in a four-part virtual retreat sponsored by the Jung Society of Washington. The retreat was based on the Celtic quarter days, which were (and are) ancient seasonal observances that take place midway between the solstices and equinoxes. (For example, midsummer is called Lughnasa and takes place between the summer solstice and the autumn equinox.) I was already dreaming about my pilgrimage to Scotland at that point, but also craving a throughline for the year, something to bring a little texture and novelty to what felt like an interminable lockdown. I love Celtic spirituality: the connection to nature, the reverence for the sacred in everyday life. There’s a reason the imperial Christian Church co-opted a lot of that ritual and practice, for better and worse—All Saints’ Day is connected to the observance of Samhain, for example—but that’s a post for another time. 

After a very full few weeks recently, I decided to schedule a reading day this past Wednesday afternoon–a time to do some thinking and ministry planning, and make my way through books and articles that have been piling up. It wasn’t until I woke up on Wednesday morning and saw a light dusting of snow on the ground that I remembered, somewhat randomly, that February 1 is the Celtic celebration known as Imbolc, the midpoint between winter and spring. (Imbolc is connected to the Christian observance called Candlemas, which Diana Butler Bass recently covered in her newsletter.) So my reading day took on a midwinter theme: a morning run in the snow, then Bible study with church folks on Zoom, followed by stacks of books, candles, and mugs of hot tea. 

When I lead Longest Night services in December, I often muse on the fact that while the winter solstice marks the return of the daylight to the Northern Hemisphere, the temperature doesn’t follow suit. Even as the days grow longer, a few minutes at a time, the weather often remains frigid. Such is the nature of healing and hope: the light may increase, but it doesn’t always feel like it.

Something similar is at work in Imbolc. According to tradition, Imbolc heralded the first signs of spring and specifically the lambing season (hence lots of milk-related imagery–this was Northern Europe after all). In reality, spring is still weeks if not months away, and the Old Farmer’s Almanac reminds us that February is the coldest month of the year. Christians have a lot of “already and not yet” in our theology; the Celts were no different. Imbolc feels more like an aspirational spring than a true one.

This week I wrote in my bonus article some of the lessons we’ve learned while parenting kids through major mental health challenges:

Learning the Hard Way, Part 1

There’ll be lots more to come on that topic, based on the energy that came from writing about it, plus the heartfelt response from so many of you. Here’s one thing I want to add today: when you’re dealing with mental illness, it’s very difficult to know where you are in the story. Is the medication not working? Or have we simply not given it enough time? Is this latest rough patch the last hurrah of depression, the extinction burst before things begin inexplicably to improve? Or is it a sign to radically change our approach? Have we reached the bottom, which means there’s only one way to go from here? Or does this murky sea have fathoms we didn’t even realize? 

Or on the other side: can we enjoy how well things are going and let our guard down a wee bit, or do we need to be scanning the horizon for dangers? When does the defensive crouch of crisis mode change to a less rigid posture? 

It’s a very Imbolc state of being: the grasping for spring with snow still on the ground. You want to trust and believe that those additional ninety seconds of daylight are amounting to something, that the first shoots of daffodils are right below the soil, but you don’t know. When people asked how my kids were doing, I would often struggle with how to answer, because I couldn’t tell if it was chapter 17 or chapter 31, or dear God, maybe it was only chapter 2. It’s hard for any of us to discern, moment by moment, if we’re in the exhale of falling action before the denouement, or the pause before getting walloped by more plot. 

(Which reminds me, because I know y’all worry, especially my church loveys: thank you for your kindness and care. We have lots of support, both professional and personal. I am doing fine, in that world’s okayest way. In fact, it’s paradoxically a great gift of self-care to be able to be your pastor, to put energy into ministry that I’m committed to and have gifts for. I also know when to say when–please don’t do that “oh, she has so much on her plate; let’s not trouble her” thing on my behalf.) 

The best I can do when people ask how things are going is to say how things are going right now. It’s a good day. It’s a hard day. The narrative shape will come, but that’s too much to divine in the moment. In fact, that’s my advice for all of you going through something like this: stay in today as much as you can. “Dread is just a prejudice against the future,” says Melanie Beattie, and it goes the other direction too: if today’s a great day, savor it. 

And if you care for someone who’s going through any kind of dark forest experience (thank you Ted Lasso), it’s fine, even good, to express compassion and ask how things are going. But receive whatever answer is offered, even if all they can do is describe that tree right there with the leathery leaves, or the soft patch of moss they’re resting on. (And for God’s sake, don’t hand them your map and tell them how to navigate, unless they ask.)

Some folklorists believe that Imbolc means “in the belly,” given its connection to the lambing season, but also its connection to Brigid, Celtic goddess turned Christian saint, revered in some traditions as being a midwife at the birth of Jesus. What is in the belly, stirring to be born even now, with earth as hard as iron? It’s a question that keeps me alive and curious, when I remember to ask it. 

I’m glad we’re all in this together. Steady on.

~

What I’m Up To

Season 2 of the Blue Room podcast is underway! Episode 1 is available, a conversation with my friend and frequent co-conspirator Marthame Sanders. Listen here:

S02 E01: What Hope Is Not

You can listen and subscribe anywhere you access pods: search “blue room maryann” to find it in your app of choice.

And congrats to giveaway winners Jo Ann, Pat, and Meg! I will be in touch with your voucher codes for the Audible version of Hope: A User’s Manual. Thanks for playing, everyone!

~

Link Love

The wonderful Sandhya Jha recently shared this McKinsey report about the experience of Black people in the workplace. Here’s just one infographic:

I highly recommend Sandhya’s newsletter, by the way, called Joy in Social Justice. Also, Sandhya has a new book out, Rebels, Despots and Saints: The Ancestors Who Free Us and the Ancestors We Need to Free.