A Pagan Family's Holiday Celebration: Yule

We wake up from our naps the day before the Solstice, feeling refreshed and ready for the long night ahead. The Mother Goddess is giving birth the new baby Sun Lord; and we will be waiting as she labors through the long, cold night.

Of course, this is a myth. We do recognize that. But myths are like music for the soul, they help us grasp and explain those thoughts, feelings, experiences- as well as these things' significance in our lives- that are beyond conscious words and comprehension. Even when we don't know all the lyrics, we can still feel the rhythm and be moved by it.

At Yule, the celebration revolves around the myth of rebirth. The Sun God is reborn. On one level, this speaks of nature: the endless cycles of the seasons, the fact that spring will always come again. On another level, it speaks of hope: even in the darkest of times, there is a spark of light. On yet another level, it speaks to our ever-changing lives: life is a constant cycle of endings and beginnings. Bid farewell to that which has passed, and embrace with joy that which is to come.

As dusk approaches, the house fills with the wonderful smells of the feast to come- roasted turkey with pearl onions and gravy, cranberry dressing, mashed potatoes, garlic sauteed spinach, mulled cider. Seasonal cartoons play on the old VCR; we listen to them to get into a festive mood as we cook, and to keep the younger kids busy while they aren't helping. We laugh at the Animaniacs celebrate the Ho-Ho-Holidays, watch Santa Clause come to town or sing to the tunes as Frosty makes his journey north. By the time the table is set, it is getting dark. The TV is turned off and the family gathers around the altar.

We light some ambient candles and luminaries around the room. We plug in the electric lights strung around the room, as well as the Yule Tree. It's not huge; it stands only three feet alone, but is set prominently on an end table draped with a holiday quilt in front of the big sliding glass doors. It drips with crafts the children made, as well as objects found in nature- paper snowflakes, pine cones, dried orange slices, clay painted figures made with cookie cutters, popcorn and cranberry strung garland, and topped with a star made from tied twigs. Through the window beyond the tree, the last vestiges of the orange and pink sunset are being consumed by the indigo night sky and the first twinkling stars appear. The overhead lights are turned off, and the room is glistening with warmth.

Holding hands around the altar, we mark the season by offering a prayer for the Goddess in her labor. We light a candle on the altar for the vigil we will keep until the birthing of the newborn Sun God at dawn.

We pray for blessing over our meal. We pass a piece of bread around the table with the wish, "may you never hunger," each taking a bite. We pass a cup of juice around the table with the wish, "may you never thirst," and each take a sip. We make an offering to the Goddess and God upon our altar.

After dinner is cleared, we begin our holiday baking. We make cookies and sweet breads while listening to Yule songs. This Winter's Night, by Mother Tongue, remains one of my favorites. We sing one of our favorite celebratory chants: light is returning, though this is the darkest hour, no one can hold back the dawn, as we knead bread and decorate cookies. My daughter and I always stop what we are doing to dance and sing to The Wintery Queen, it's powerful drum beat calling us to revelry. We listen to many Christmas songs, as well, loving any kind of carols of hope, rebirth and winter merriment.

We put an offering of cookies on our altar, with milk or hot cocoa, then settle down for a snack of our own. I read the children seasonal stories, such as The Yule Elves, by D.J. Conway, or A Visit To Mother Winter, from the wonderful Pagan family book Circle Round.

The youngest children never make it through the night awake. It's something of a rite of passage when one finally does. The sleepy heads drag out their blankets and pillows and set up camp under the Yule tree and slumber beneath the twinkling lights. My husband, not much of a night owl, also retires with a kiss upon each of our foreheads.

At that point, it's usually just myself and my older teen daughter. We hold a quiet Wiccan ritual at the altar, during which we give thanks for the hope that comes with rebirth and meditate on the meaning of the season.

As mellow Yule tunes play I finish the baking and wrap some fresh bread in foil, to keep it warm in the oven. My daughter and I like to listen to Charles Dicken's, A Christmas Carol, recited by Patrick Stewart on audio cassettes. It may have been written specifically for Christmas, but it holds the same message. To me, all the traditions of different holidays of the season mingle and I take from them whatever holds meaning.

I take a peek out the window, sitting for a while and pondering the deeper meaning of the season and what it reveals to me. I usually step outside to breath in some of the chill air and watch the lights in the window as the world lays in quiet peace. The universe seems to pulsate with the Goddess' labor pains as dawn draws closer.

The sun is about to rise. We awaken everyone else in the house. Sometimes, we bundle up and go out into the car and drive somewhere with an open view; sometimes we just pull back a shade and watch out the eastern-facing window. We pour out some hot cocoa and pass around the warm, freshly baked sweet breads, with heavenly-smelling cinnamon and brown sugar. We whisper and smile at each other. The candles on the altar are nearly spent and glow weakly as if bowing to a greater power.

The sky lightens ever so slowly. We hold our breaths with anticipation. Impatient youngsters sitting on my lap ask, "Where is it? When is it coming?"

"Watch," I whisper into their ears.

Finally, the first little sliver of gold peeks up from behind the trees and buildings.

"It's here! The Sun Lord is reborn!" We cry and cheer. We take in a moment to bask in the warmth that we cannot yet feel with our skin, but feel in our hearts.

After a while, we blow out the remaining candles, and snuggle up together under the blankets, with a smiles on our faces, and a feeling of peace and hope in our hearts.