Our spiritual lives mirror the changing seasons.
Our spiritual lives take cues from the changes between seasons and the changes within each season—changes in the light, in the proximity of Earth to Sun, in the angle of Earth toward Sun, in temperature, in color, in the land, in the wildlife, in the night sky. All seasonal changes serve as prompts for our spiritual reflection, practice and growth.
Our spiritual winters are for rest and nurture, gestation, germination. They are womb times, dormant times, tomb times, inward times, dream times, seeds-in-the-soil times. As our spiritual winters conclude, we are purified, strengthened, healed, fresh, new, ready to emerge, ready to break through, ready for rebirth.
Our spiritual springs are for rebirth and rejuvenation, bursting forth, rising up. They are fertile earth times, red-buds-on-branches times, green times, warming times, awakening times, resurrection times, planting and sowing times, passion times. As our spiritual springs conclude, we are fully alive, alert, ready for life, ready for engagement, ready to meet challenges, ready to struggle, even looking forward to struggle.
Our spiritual summers are for exploration and play, invention and innovation, learning and growth. They are creative times, work times, vocation times, fully awake times, venturing out times, Sun at our back times; times for testing boundaries, times for wandering along our growing edges. As our spiritual summers conclude, we find we have matured, grown in wisdom, deepened our understanding of who we are and what matters to us. We are ever more mindful of realities and mysteries larger than ourselves, the meanings of which we may never fully grasp.
Our spiritual autumns are for harvest, settling in, winding down, letting go. They are ripening times, reaping times, falling leaves times, waning and decay times, barren times, preparing the fields for winter rest times, reckoning with death times, thinning veil times, remembering-the-ancestors times. As our spiritual autumns conclude, we recognize and accept the limits of our living, we recognize the preciousness of life all the more because we know we must in time let go, let go, let go, return, return, return to rest, to sleep, to unknowing, to the sweet embrace of the eternal.
This is my way of describing generally how our spiritual lives mirror the changing seasons, my way of naming at least some of the spiritual prompts and cues embedded in the seasons and the transitions between them—there are many more. I would be remiss if I did not point out that my description of our spiritual seasons is not universal. I’ve spent almost my entire life in New England where every year we experience four distinct seasons. I respond spiritually—as I know many of you do—to the beauty and movement in each season and the transitions between them. But these responses do not always travel well. They don’t make as much sense at the Equator or in regions of the world where, for example, there are two predominant seasons, rainy and dry. I say “our spiritual lives mirror the changing seasons” because I like the sound and feel and truth of that language, but for some it may be more useful to say, simply, “our spiritual lives mirror the patterns of the earth;” or “Our spiritual lives mirror the changes in the land;” or “our spiritual lives mirror the movements of the night sky.”
Having said that, here we are—those of us who are physically present—at our Unitarian Universalist Meeting House atop Elm Hill on the Manchester/Vernon line, east of the Connecticut River, approximately 41.7 degrees north of the Equator, which puts us well into a region of the Northern Hemisphere where four, discrete seasons grace us through the cycle of each year with their distinctive spiritual prompts and cues.
Here we are, but more than that, here we are on this auspicious day, February 2nd, a cross-quarter day, the halfway point between the winter solstice and the vernal equinox; still a winter day based on our calendaring system, but a day for turning in the midst of winter toward spring.
If our spiritual lives mirror the changing seasons, then this day—and really this time of year—is a time to turn, a time to sense a shifting (as one of you said this week) all around us, and deep within us. If our spiritual lives mirror the changing seasons, then how are you turning? How are we turning? And more specifically, in the midst of spiritual winter—rest, nurture, gestation germination, the womb, the tomb, dormancy, sleeping, dreaming—how are you beginning to turn toward spring—rebirth, rejuvenation, resurrection, bursting forth, rising up, fertility, passion, warming, greening, awakening, planting, sowing seeds and so on? How are you getting ready for spring? How are you preparing? How are you marking the transition at this cross-quarter moment?
I ask because I sense there is something deep within us and very natural—an impulse, an instinct, a yearning, a longing—that wants to turn at this time of year. I suspect this ‘something deep’ emerges out of our ancestral relationships to the land, the earth, the seasons, the cycles of sun, moon and stars. I see it manifested in myriad religious and cultural traditions, celebrations and observances that happen at this time of year and focus on spring, fertility, purification, cleansing, preparing the ground, expelling the old and inviting in the new. Here’s a quick run-down:
Groundhog Day—an ancient tradition with northern European agricultural roots using animal divination to peer toward spring, to predict its coming so that farmers could prepare the ground for planting at the proper time.
Imbolc—the traditional cross-quarter Celtic/Gaelic festival, which many contemporary pagan communities have reclaimed; typically celebrated on February 1st or 2nd, Imbolc translates roughly as ‘in the belly,’ a reference to pregnant sheep. It is associated with the Celtic goddess Brigid, goddess of fertility, poetry, healing, smith-craft and sacred wells. Practices include the lighting of candles and bonfires, rituals of purification, spring cleaning and setting intentions. The Goddess Brigid became the Christian St. Brigid, whose Feast Day in Ireland was celebrated yesterday, February 1st.
Also in Christian tradition, today is Candlemas, at which churches bless and distribute candles, symbolizing Jesus as the “light of the world,” and reputed to have healing properties. Candlemas emerged in the fourth century, an evolution of more ancient Jewish and pagan purification rituals. It celebrates the presentation of the baby Jesus at the temple, and also the purification of Mary, as she was not allowed to enter the temple for six weeks after giving birth—she was deemed by custom to be impure until then. To me it is no coincidence that the New Testament narrative of the infant Jesus’ life is grafted precisely onto the motion of the earth around the sun, and that a Christian ritual of purification happens at this moment when human beings very naturally turn toward spring.
I’m just getting warmed up. Ancient Romans observed Lupercalia on February 15th, a fertility celebration featuring purification rituals, animal sacrifices, matchmaking and fertility blessings for young couples. Lupercalia is associated with the God Lupercus, a protector of farmers and shepherds, flocks of sheep, harvesting and packs of wild animals. Pope Gelasius I, replaced Lupercalia with St. Valentine’s Day in the fifth century. Some say—and it seems intuitively correct to me—that while there is no modern observance of Lupercalia, its association with fertility and matchmaking lives on Valentine’s Day.
Peering eastward, the Chinese Lunar New Year, also known as the Spring Festival, begins with the first new moon following January 21, which was this past Wednesday, the 29th. It’s a massive, multi-faceted holiday with ancient agricultural roots. It emphasizes family, ancestor worship, feasting, prosperity, good fortune, along with sweeping out the old and welcoming in the new.
I’m aware of, though not very familiar, with the Japanese festival of Setsubun, which, this year, happens today, February 2nd, and marks the day before spring in the traditional Japanese lunar calendar. It features a ritual scattering of roasted soy beans around homes, temples and shrines. The ritual is said to drive out evil spirits and draw in happiness.
I’m aware of, though not very familiar, with the Hindu festival of Basant Panchami, which, this year, also takes place today, February 2nd. This festival marks the onset of spring, and is dedicated to Saraswati, the goddess of wisdom, knowledge and arts. Though it is celebrated in many different ways, I see references to wearing yellow, flying kites, and offering prayers to the goddess. People place books, musical instruments and pens on her altars.
Finally, Tu BiShvat, the Jewish New Year of the Trees, takes place on the 15th day of the Hebrew month of Shevat (February 12th this year) and marks the season when the trees in Israel begin to bloom and bear new fruits. It is not an ancient festival but was an important date for Jewish farmers, a guide to knowing when to begin planting. Today it is associated with environmentalism and being kind to our planet.
Our spiritual lives mirror the changing seasons. I’m naming all these festivals, celebrations and observances because I believe they manifest a deeper, natural human need, impulse, instinct, longing, yearning to turn in some way at this specific time of year: to turn toward spring even though winter still blankets the land; to anticipate the thawing ground which is, right now, frozen; to turn and let our turning purify, cleanse and heal; to turn, and in so doing, to make ourselves ready for new life though it is still, on this day, “in the belly;” though it is still, on this day, beneath the surface, hidden, waiting.
I have an assignment for you. I don’t want you to think about your own turning. I don’t want you to contemplate what it is you are turning toward. I don’t want you to name it. The naming will come. The knowledge and awareness will come. If our spiritual lives mirror the changing seasons, let us be mindful that right now our season is winter—the resting time, the womb time, the dormant time, the dreaming time. It’s not a time for consciousness, not a time for thought, not a time for reasoning. My invitation to you is to mark this cross-quarter moment with a ritual. I have three proposals.
First, at some point today, or in the next few days, light a candle and sit quietly by it. If you’re really adventurous, light a bonfire, and sit quietly by it. Though if you’re truly adventurous, and sufficiently able-bodied, you can dance around it. Let the fire speak to the resting, dormant, dreaming part of you. Let the fire reveal the way in which you are called to turn. Don't bring your thoughts to the fire. Let the fire bring the thoughts to you.
If fire doesn’t appeal to you, then second, clean the most cluttered room in your home. Organize it. Create space that wasn’t there before. Lose yourself in the process of cleaning. Let the process of cleaning speak to the resting, dormant, dreaming part of you. Let the process of cleaning reveal the way in which you are called to turn. Don't bring your thoughts to the cleaning. Let the cleaning bring the thoughts to you.
If your home is already immaculate, then third, engage in some creative act, mindful that Brigid is, among other things, the goddess of poets and smiths; mindful, perhaps more distantly, that Saraswati is a goddess of the arts. Let the muses speak through you. Write a poem. Engage in a craft. Let the creative act speak to the resting, dormant, dreaming part of you. Let the creative act reveal the way in which you are called to turn. Don't bring your thoughts to the creative act. Let the creative act bring the thoughts to you.
This is my assignment for you. Engage in a simple ritual and watch what emerges from your winter being. Then, begin to awaken. Begin to stir. With the earth, begin preparing for spring.
Amen and blessed be.
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