One of the funny things that happened when Western Culture as a whole decided on a shared calendar was a condensing of holidays. When you know for a fact that October 31st is going to come every year and be aligned exactly the same way in your region every time, traditions that were once more fluid become anchored to a specific date. It’s almost comical at this point in time. We have buildups to the specific date of a holiday and then a hard gear shift to the next holiday in line. It seems like the morning after the holiday we just celebrated we’re already on to the next one. Here in the United States, Halloween begins a hilarious rollout of Death! Gratitude! Presents!
It wasn’t always like this, though. The specific spiritual path I follow in Paganism is Inclusive Heathenry. Contemporary Heathenry is inspired by the mythologies, cultures, and worldviews of pre-Christian Scandinavia, Iceland, and some parts of Germanic Europe. When we’re exploring how holidays worked for those cultures, it’s important to remember that the ancient Heathens followed a lunar calendar. This means that the moon phase was often the most important indication of timing, and the phase of the moon shifts around a bit when it comes to the seasons. There’s a big difference in how a full moon feels on October 1st versus how it feels on October 31st. Additionally, there’s some indication in written records that some holidays were triggered by shifts in the natural world regardless of the moon phase.
This time of year – the cessation of visible growth in the natural world, the slipping of the trees and plants into dormancy, the turn toward the cold darkness, was honored by the ancient Heathens with the holiday of Winternights or Vetrnætr. However, our modern understanding of holidays and how they’re timed and separated can get in the way here. Winternights can best be viewed as the beginning of a tide rolling in. Indeed, many contemporary Heathens refer to this time of year as a holy tide that flows into Yule. Winternights is just the beginning of a series of holidays that honor different but connected aspects of this season. More than a holiday, per se, Winternights is a time of year. Holidays and the honoring of them spread out and they connected to one another in ways so seamless that the transition really was like a flowing of water.
Another useful thing to remember when we’re looking at ancient cultures is that there was no strict uniformity of practice. The ancient Heathens lived in different countries, in settlements sometimes very spread out from each other. There was no printing press to give everyone the exact same stories and practices. There was no Google Calendar to align everyone to the same days. There are themes that are common among these different locations and time periods, but specifics often vary. This arrival of the holy tide was honored in a few different ways that blended the solemn and sacred with celebration, feasting, play, and the joy of community.
Winternights included sacrifices of food and drink to different sacred connections. The word “blót” means “sacrifice” in the ceremonial sense of the word and Winternights included more than one blót. Álfablót was a sacrifice to the Alfar. These powerful beings were connected to luck and prosperity, magic, the dead, and more. Some sources tell us that this ceremony honored the male ancestors of a family line. Some sources indicate that Álfablót was an offering to the protective spirits of a land and community. One interesting aspect of Álfablót is that it appears to have been open only to family members and very close friends, and may have been led by the mother or the lady of a household. Contemporary practices for Álfablót can include all of these things depending on the Heathens in question.
Another ceremony during Winternights was Dísablót. Like Álfablót, written records indicate that this was a ceremony open only to family members and close friends. Dísablót was a sacrifice to the Dísir, the ancestresses of a line, and the powerful Mother-spirits who protect and support the members of that family.
A ceremony that honored the gods was Haustblót, a word that translates roughly to “autumn sacrifice.” The written references we have to Haustblót indicates that Freyr, a deity associated with peace and a good harvest was honored at the ceremony. Contemporary offerings to the Heathen gods at Winternights often include those associated with death and grief as well as harvest.
These more intimate ceremonies of remembrance, grief, and honor occurred alongside larger gatherings during Winternights. Entire settlements would come together to feast, drink, and even have sporting events and games. One Winternights gathering referenced in a saga talks about at least 50 people gathering for a feast. This time of year benefitted from the harvest in terms of available food. Along with grains and vegetables, any animals who were not going to be kept through winter were culled. Likewise, alcohol that had been fermenting during the warmer months was now ready to drink.
In this holy tide, we can see resonance and connection with our contemporary celebrations of Halloween and Thanksgiving. In the culture of the United States, those two holidays are sharply separated, but if we step back and take a raven’s eye view, the thread of connection is there. That thread can lead us into deeper and more meaningful experiences of these holidays.
Rather than shifting sharply from holiday to holiday, what if we allowed the themes to flow together more? Thanksgiving is already a time of gathering to share food with family. What if we consciously include our ancestors? We can seek out older family recipes to include in our gatherings. If we don’t have access to our great grandfather’s roast recipe, we can learn about traditional dishes from our cultures of origin. I’m not saying you should swap the turkey for a haggis, but it might be fun to have a caledonian cream for dessert. We can also honor our landcestors – the human ancestors of our specific region. Hagerstown is Massawomeck land and we can look up recipes that honor our landcestors to include in our holidays. The Sioux Chef is one of my favorite sources for First Nations recipes. “The Mitsitam Cafe Cookbook,” published in association with the Smithsonian Institution’s National Museum of the American Indian, is another good source.
We can invite our ancestors to be present with us at our gatherings. Consider setting an extra plate out when you gather together. Invite those present to think of a loved one they wish could be with them, and offer that empty chair to those ancestors. Tell stories about family members and friends who have gone before. Raise a toast to your beloved dead.
Consider honoring the land around you during this time. You don’t have to have a blót to the land spirits, but if you have a yard, think about what a good gift might be for the fauna and flora there. Maybe a little bit of fertilizer for the trees, or a new bird feeder. Maybe a trellis for one of the plants. Maybe a cleanup of any trash that blew into the yard with the autumn wind.
Make time to go for a walk outdoors. Try to be present to the beings and relationships all around you – the network of fungi in the soil, the trees silently speaking to each other through their roots, the mammals gathering up stores for winter. Allow the beauty of autumn to fill your heart with gratitude.
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That was where I’d gotten to in this sermon before the election results arrived. The aftermath of that immediately took center stage, as well it should. How we’re all going to get through this next several years is at the center of my thoughts.
So I’m going to pivot just a little bit here.
One of the things that draws me to Heathenry is that it is a community religion. What I mean by that is there’s a lot of focus on building strong relationships with each other as well as the land we live on. Those relationships and connections are more important in Heathenry than faith. We have records of atheist Heathens in pre-Christian times and there are atheist Heathens now. The philosophy and culture of Heathenry does not require belief in anything other than each other. For the ancient Heathens, building strong interpersonal bonds was absolutely vital. If everyone in a settlement or farmstead didn’t cooperate, no one was going to make it through winter alive.
Due to that focus on community, Heathen ideas about what makes a good leader or successful person are almost the polar opposite of what our contemporary culture in the United States prizes. For the ancient Heathens, a good leader was one under whom every single being in a settlement flourished. The land was healthy and bountiful. The animals were healthy and productive. All the humans were getting by. A successful leader was known for their generosity and gifted their people regularly – material goods, food, assistance, and more. They shared the bounty of the land and their influence to raise up every single being they were connected with.
Resource hoarding in any form was considered antisocial, destructive behavior. In more than one story, someone who fails to share their resources with their community when need arises meets an ugly fate. Like other folk tales, we can see who the “bad guys” are by what happens to them. Pre-Christian Heathens didn’t have the concept of sin, but we might use that word to describe how they felt about those who do not share with their community or help when help was needed.
And, that spirit of cooperation wasn’t just for those in power. Both in pre-Christian times and now, there’s a good deal of focus in Heathenry on figuring out how you can help within the limitations of your life and then doing so. We work to empower ourselves and each other to get involved in building community. One of our written records is the Hávamál, and I’ve always found stanza 71 to be meaningful:
“A limping man can ride a horse,
a handless man can herd,
a deaf man can fight and win.”
We honor limitations and imperfection, and in so doing, the community is stronger.
In light of everything that happened this week, maybe this is the other thread we weave in the darkness this year. Despite even colder, nastier weather and even longer nights in the far north, the communities there came together to feast and share. They hosted each other in their homes. The leaders in those communities helped coordinate resources so that everyone survived the cold darkness of winter.
We can follow that example by getting more plugged in to the communities and activities around us. If it’s been a while since you’ve looked at what different groups are operating locally, now is a good time to do so. Whether your interests are social and environmental change, tabletop gaming, crafting, astronomy or some combination of all those things, now is a good time to find other people who share your interests and support those groups. Or, if you can’t find a group that shares your interests, maybe you start one. Maybe this year we bundle up and go out anyway in order to build community. As the Icelanders would say, “there’s no such thing as bad weather. Only bad clothes.”
We can follow the example of community-building by figuring out how we can help within our individual limitations. Many years ago during a donations drive at the Unitarian Universalist Congregation of Frederick, I heard a speaker say that the other way you spell love is T-I-M-E. Some of us have material resources we can donate whether that’s money, food, rideshares or space. For those of us without a lot of material margin, maybe we focus on helping instead. We show up to help move chairs, or to support the host of an event. Maybe we support an online group or start one. An additional line for the Hávamál could be “A person without gold can still give.”
Just like my ancient kin of faith, we are going to need all of us in the coming days, months, and years. It is time to reverse the pendulum swing of isolation and individualism. A very cold winter is coming, and one that might last a long time. Our ancestors in many parts of the world left us a map for getting through this darkness, and that map points to each other.
As the holy tide of Winternights rolls across the land, remember the lessons of those who came before us. Gather together with your family and your community. Share resources and celebrate your victories. Shore up those who need it in whatever form is open to you. Together, we can get through the darkness.
This sermon was offered at the Unitarian Universalist Church of Hagerstown on Sunday, November 10th, 2024.
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