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Listening to Christmas

Have you ever heard snow? Not the howling wind of a blizzard, not the crackling of snow underfoot, but the actual falling of snow? We heard it one night in Wisconsin quite unexpectedly while walking up a hill toward our cabin in the woods, a soft whisper between footsteps. We stopped, switched off our flashlights, and just listened. All around us in the darkness we heard the gentle fall of snow on snow. No wind, no sound but the snow. Have you ever heard Christmas? Not the traffic noises in the city, not the bells and hymns and carols, beautiful as they are, not even the laughter of your children as they open their presents-- but Christmas itself? Have you been by yourself and just sat and listened to the silence within, patiently, without letting the mind race to the next Christmas chore? Perhaps if you have, you felt the pulse of all humanity beating in your own heart. Perhaps you noticed an outflowing of love for all your brothers and sisters on the earth, a soft sense of Oneness with all that lives. In the silence of a snowy night, listen intently, holding your breath, and you may hear snow on snow. Serene, alone, undisturbed by thought, listen to the silence in your heart, and you may hear Christmas.
Twas the night before Christmas, when all thru the abode only one creature was stirring, and she was cleaning the commode. The children were finally sleeping, all snug in their beds, while visions of Nintendo 64 and Barbie, flipped through their heads. The dad was snoring in front of the TV, with a half-constructed bicycle on his knee. So only the mom heard the reindeer hooves clatter, which made her sigh, "Now what's the matter?" With toilet bowl brush still clutched in her hand, she descended the stairs, and saw the old man. He was covered with ashes and soot, which fell with a shrug. "Oh great," muttered the mom, "Now I have to clean the rug." "Ho-ho-ho!" cried Santa, "I'm glad you're awake." "Your gift was especially difficult to make." "Thanks, Santa, but all I want is some time alone." "Exactly!" he chuckled, "I've made you a clone." "A clone?" she asked, "What good is that? Run along, Santa, I've no time for chit-chat." The mother's twin. Same hair, same eyes, same double chin. "She'll cook, she'll dust," she'll mop every mess. You'll relax, take it easy, watch The Young & the Restless." "Fantastic!" the mom cheered. "My dream come true! "I'll shop. I'll read., I'll sleep a whole night through!" From the room above, the youngest began to fret. "Mommy?! I scared... and I 'm wet." The clone replied, "I'm coming, sweetheart." "Hey," the mom smiled, "She knows her part." The clone changed the small one, and hummed a tune, as she bundled the child, in a blanket cocoon. "You are the best mommy ever. " I really love you." The clone smiled and sighed, "I love you, too." The mom frowned and said, "Sorry, Santa, no deal." That's my child's love, she's trying to steal." Smiling wisely Santa said, "To me it is clear," Only one loving mother, is needed here." The mom kissed her child, and tucked her into bed. "Thank you, Santa, " for clearing my head. I sometimes forget, it won't be very long, when they'll be too old, for my cradle-song." The clock on the mantle began to chime. Santa whispered to the clone, "It works every time." With the clone by his side Santa said, "Goodnight. Merry Christmas, Mom, You'll be all right."
Five minutes before the Winter Solstice circle was scheduled to begin, my mother called. Since I'm the only one in our coven who doesn't run on Pagan Standard Time, I took the call. Half the people hadn't arrived, and those who had wouldn't settle down to business for at least twenty minutes. "Merry Christmas, Frannie." "Hi, Mom. I don't do Christmas." "Maybe not--but I do, so I'll say it." she told me in her sassy voice, kind of sweet and vinegary at the same time. "If I can respect your freedom of religion, you can respect my freedom of speech." I grinned and rolled my eyes. "And the score is Mom -one, Fran - nothing. But I love you, anyway." People were bustling around in the next room, setting up the altar, decking the halls with what I considered excessive amounts of holly and ivy, and singing something like, "O, Solstice Tree." "It sounds like a...holiday party." Mom said. "We're doing Winter Solstice tonight." "Oh. That's sort of like your version of Christmas, right?" I wanted to snap back that Christmas was the Christian version of Solstice, but I held back. "We celebrate the return of the sun. It's a lot quieter than Christmas. No shopping sprees, no pine needles and tinsel on the floor, and it doesn't wipe me out. I remember how you had always worked yourself to a frazzle by December 26." "Oh honey, I loved doing all that stuff. I wouldn't trade those memories for all the spare time in the world. I wish you and Jack would loosen up a little for the baby's sake. When you were little, you enjoyed Easter bunnies and trick-or-treating and Christmas things. Since you've gotten into this Wicca religion, you sound a lot like Aunt Betty the year she was a Jehovah's Witness." I laughed nervously. "Yeah. How is Aunt Betty?" "Fine. She's into the Celestine Prophecy now, and she seems quite happy. Y'know," she went on, "Aunt Betty always said the Jehovah's Witnesses said those holiday things were Pagan. So I don't see why you've given them up." "Uh, they've been commercialized and polluted beyond recognition. We're into very simple, quiet celebrations." "Well," she said dubiously, "as long as you're happy." Sometimes long distance is better than being there, 'cause your mother can't give you the look that makes you agree with everything she says. Jack rescued me by interrupting. Hi, Ma." he called to the phone as he waved a beribboned sprig of mistletoe over my head. Then he kissed me, one of those quick noisy ones. I frowned at him. "Druidic tradition, Fran. Swear to Goddess." "Of course it is. Did the Druids use plastic berries?" "Always. We'll be needing you in about five minutes." "Okay. Gotta go, Mom. Love you." We had a nice, serene kind of Solstice Circle. No jingling bells or filked-out Christmas Carols. Soon after the last coven member left, Jack was ready to pack it in. "The baby's nestled all snug in her bed," he said with a yawn, "I think I'll go settle in for a long winter's nap." I heaved a martyred sigh. He grinned unrepentantly, kissed me, called me a grinch, and went to bed. I stayed up and puttered around the house, trying to unwind. I sifted through the day's mail, ditched the flyers urging us to purchase all the Seasonal Joy we could afford or charge. I opened the card from his parents. Another sermonette: a manger scene and a bible verse, with a handwritten note expressing his mother's fervent hope that God's love and Christmas spirit would fill our hearts in this blessed season. She means well, really. I amused myself by picking out every Pagan element I could find in the card. When the mail had been sorted, I got up and started turning our ritual room back into a living room. As if the greeting card had carried a virus, I found myself humming Christmas carols. I turned on the classic rock station, but they were playing that Lennon-Ono Christmas song. I switched stations. The weatherman assured me that there was only a twenty percent chance of snow. Then, by Loki, the deejay let Bruce Springsteen insult my ears crooning, "yah better watch out, yah better not pout." I tried the Oldies station. Elvis lives, and he does Christmas songs. Okay, fine. We'll do classical ~ no, we won't. They're playing Handel's Messiah. Maybe the community radio station would have something secular humanist. "Ahora, escucharemos a Jose Feliciano canta `Feliz Navidad'." I was getting annoyed. The radio doesn't usually get this saturated with holiday mush until the twenty-fourth. "This is too weird." I said to the radio, "Cut that crap out." The country station had some Kenny Rogers Christmas tune, the first rock station had gone from John and Yoko's Christmas song to Simon and Garfunkel's "Silent Night," and the other rock station still had Springsteen reliving his childhood. "--I'm tellin' you why. Santa Claus is comin' to town!" he bellowed. I was about to pick out a nice secular CD when there was a knock at the door. Now, it could have been a coven member who'd forgotten something. It could have been someone with car trouble. It could have been any number of things, but it certainly couldn't have been a stout guy in a red suit--snowy beard, rosy cheeks, and all--backed by eight reindeer and a sleigh. I blinked, wondered crazily where Rudolph was, and blinked again. There were nine reindeer. Our twenty-percent chance of snow had frosted the dead grass and was continuing to float down in fat flakes. "Hi, Frannie." he said warmly, "I've missed you." "I'm stone cold sober, and you don't exist." He looked at me with a mixture of sorrow and compassion and sighed heavily. "That's why I miss you, Frannie. Can I come in? We need to talk." I couldn't quite bring myself to slam the door on this vision, hallucination, or whatever. So I let him in, because that made more sense then letting all the cold air in while I argued with someone who wasn't there. As he stepped in, a thought crossed my mind about various entities needing an invitation to get in houses. He flashed me a smile that would melt the polar caps. "Don't you miss Christmas, Frannie?" "No." I said flatly, "Apparently you don't see me when I'm sleeping and waking these days. I haven't been Christian for years." "Oh, now don't let that stop you. We both know this holiday's older than that. Yule trees and Saturnalia and here-comes-the-sun, doodoodendoodoo." I raised an eyebrow at the Beatles reference, then gave him my standard sermonette on the appropriation and adulteration that made Christmas no longer a Pagan holiday. I had done my homework. I listed centuries, I named names--St. Nicholas among them. "In the twentieth century version," I assured him, "Christmas is two parts crass commercialism mixed with one part blind faith in a religion I rejected years ago." I gave him my best lines, the ones that had convinced my coven to abstain from Christmassy cliches. My hallucination sat in Jack's favorite chair, nodding patiently at me. "And you," I added nastily,"come here talking about ancient customs when you--in your current form--were invented in the nineteenth century by, um... Clement C. Moore." He laughed, a rolling, belly-deep chuckle unlike any department-store Santa I'd ever heard. "Of course I change my form now and then to suit fashion. Don't you? And does that stop you from being yourself?" He said, and asked me if I remembered Real Magic, by Isaac Bonewits. I gaped at him for a moment, then caught myself. "This is like `Labyrinth', right? I'm having a dream that pretends to be real, but is only made from pieces of things in my memory. You don't look a thing like David Bowie." "Bonewits has this Switchboard Theory." Santa went on amiably, "The energy you put into your beliefs influences the real existence of the archetypal--oh, let me put it simpler: `in the beginning, Man created God'. Ian Anderson." He lit a long-stemmed pipe. The tobacco had a mild and somehow Christmassy smell, and every puff sent up a wreath of smoke. "I'm afraid it's a bit more complicated than Bonewits tells it, but that's close enough for mortals. Are you with me so far?" "Oh, sure." I lied as unconvincingly as possible. Santa sighed heavily. "When's the last time you left out hot tea and cookies for me?" "When I figured out my parents were eating them." "Frannie, Frannie. Remember pinda balls, from Hinduism?" "Rice balls left as offerings for ancestors and gods." "Do Hindus really believe that the ancestors and gods eat pinda balls?" "All right, y'got me there. They say that spirits consume the spiritual essence, then mortals can have what's left." "Mm-hm." Santa smiled at me compassionately through his snowy beard. I rallied quickly. "What about the toys? I know for a fact they aren't made by you and a bunch of non-union Elves." "Oh, that's quite true. Manufacturing physical objects out of magical energy is terribly expensive and breaks several laws of Nature--She only allows us to do that on special occasions. It certainly couldn't be done globally and annually. Now, the missus and the Elves and I really do have a shop at the North Pole. Not the sort of thing the Air Force would ever find. What we make up there is what makes this time a holiday, no matter what religion it's called." "Don't tell me," I said, rolling my eyes, "you make the sun come back." "Oh my, no. The solar cycle stuff, the Reason For The Season, isn't my department. My part is making it a holiday. We make a mild, non-addictive psychedelic thing called Christmas spirit. Try some." He dipped his fingers in a pocket and tossed red-gold-green-silver glitter at me. I could have ducked. I don't know why I didn't. It smelled like snow, and pine needles, and cedar chips in the fireplace. It smelled like fruitcake, cornbread savory herbal stuffing, like that foamy white stuff you spray on the window with stencils. It felt like a crisp wind, Grandma's hugs, fuzzy new mittens, pine needles scrunching under my slippers. I saw twinkly lights, mistletoe in the doorway, smiling faces from years gone by. Several Christmas carols played almost simultaneously in a kind of medley. I fought my way back to my living room and glared sternly at the hallucination in Jack's chair. "Fun stuff. Does the DEA know about this?" "Oh, Frannie. Why are you such a hard case? I told you it's non-addictive and has no harmful side effects. Would Santa Claus lie to you?" I opened my mouth and closed it again. We looked at each other a while. "Can I have some more of that glittery stuff?" "Mmmm. I think you need something stronger. Try a sugarplum." I tasted rum ball. Peppermint. Those hard candies with the picture all the way through. Mama's favorite fudge. A chorus line of Christmas candies danced through my mouth. The Swedish Angel Chimes, run on candle power, say tingatingatingating. Mama, with a funny smile, promised to give Santa my letter. Greeting cards taped on the refrigerator door. We rode through the tree farm on a straw-filled trailer pulled by a red and green tractor, looking for a perfect pine. It was so big, Daddy had to cut a bit off so the star wouldn't scrape the ceiling. Lights, ornaments, tinsel. Daddy lifted me up to the mantle to hang my stocking. My dolls stayed up to see Santa Claus, and in the morning they all had new clothes. Grandma carried in platters with the world's biggest Christmas dinner. Joey's Christmas puppy chased my Christmas kitten up the tree and it would have fallen over but Daddy held it while Mama got the kitten out. Daddy said every bad word there was but he kept laughing anyway. I sneaked my favorite plastic horse into the nativity scene, between the camels and the donkey. I came back to reality slowly, with a silly smile on my face and a tickly feeling behind my eyes like they wanted to cry. The phrase "visions of sugarplums" took on a whole new meaning. "How long has it been," Santa asked, "since you played with a nativity set?-" "But it symbolizes--" "The winter-born king. The sacred Mother and her sun-child. Got a problem with that? You could redecorate it with pentagrams if you like, they'll look fine. As for the Christianization, I've heard who you invoke at Imbolc." "But Bridgid was a Goddess for centuries before the Catholic Church-oh." I crossed my arms and tried to glare at him, but failed. "You're a sneaky old Elf, y'know?" "The term is `Jolly Old Elf.' Care for another sugarplum?" I did. I tasted gingerbread. My first nip of soy eggnog the way the grown-ups drink it. Fresh sugar cookies, shaped like trees and decked with colored frosting. Dad had been laid off, but we managed a lot of cheer. They told us Christmas would be "slim pickings." Joey and I smiled bravely when Mama brought home that spindly spruce. We loaded down our "Charlie Brown Christmas Tree" with every light and ornament it could hold. Popcorn and cranberry strings for the outdoor trees. Mistletoe in the hall: plastic mistletoe, real kisses. Joey and I snipped and glued and stitched and painted treasures to give as presents. We agonized over our "Santa" letters...by now we knew where the goodies came from, and we tried to compromise between what we longed for and they thought they could afford. Every day we hoped the factory would reopen. When Joey's dog ate my mitten, I wasn't brave. I knew that meant I'd get mittens for Christmas, and one less toy. I cried. On December twenty-fifth we opened our presents ve-ery slo-wly, drawing out the experience. We made a show of cheer over our socks and shirts and meager haul of toys. I got red mittens. We could tell Mama and Daddy were proud of us for being so brave, because they were grinning like crazy. "Go out to the garage for apples." Mama told us, "We'll have apple pancakes." I don't remember having the pancakes. There was a dollhouse in the garage. No mass-produced aluminum thing but a homemade plywood dollhouse with wall-papered walls and real curtains and thread-spool chairs. My dolls were inside, with newly sewn clothes. Joey was on his knees in front of a plywood barn with hay in the loft. His old farm implements had new paint. Our plastic animals were corralled in popsicle stick fences. The garage smelled like apples and hay, the cement was bone-chilling under my slippers, and I was crying. My knees were drawn up to my chest, arms wrapped around them. My chest felt tight, like ice cracking in sunshine. Santa offered me a huge white handkerchief. When all the ice in my chest had melted, he cleared his throat. He was pretty misty-eyed, too. "Want to come sit on my lap and tell me what you want for Christmas?" "You've already given it to me." But I sat on his lap anyway, and kissed his rosy cheek until he did his famous laugh. "I'd better go now, Frannie. I have other stops to make, and you have work to do." "Right. I'd better pop the corn tonight, it strings best when it's stale." I let him out the door. The reindeer were pawing impatiently at the moon-kissed new-fallen snow. I'd swear Rudolph winked at me. "Don't forget the hot tea and cookies." "Right. Uh, December twenty-fourth, or Solstice, or what?" He shrugged. "Whatever night you expect me, I'll be there. Eh, don't wait up. Visits like this are tightly rationed. Laws of Nature, y'know, and She's strict with them." "Gotcha. Thanks, Santa." I kissed his cheek again. "Happy Holidays." The phrase had a nice, non-denominational ring to it. I thought I'd call my parents and in-laws soon and try it out on them. Santa laid his finger aside of his nose and nodded. "Blessed be, Frannie." The sleigh soared up, and Santa really did exclaim something. It sounded like old German. Smart-aleck Elf. When I closed the door, the radio was playing Jethro Tull's "Solstice Bells." HAPPY HOLIDAYS!!! (author unknown)
Holly, Jolly Old Elf, Other Traditions Show Solstice's Mongrel Past Pagan celebration of Winter Solstice is a tradition with its roots in the ancient past, twining from hunter-gatherer cultures through the Old Religion of Europe, influenced by the rise of Christianity from the Middle East. A look at some of the history can help you design your personal Solstice traditions. Santa the Shaman For tens of thousands of years, we humans have celebrated the seasons, the lunar and solar cycles and other natural events. While our bodies are not as strictly regulated as animals' regarding mating, migration or hibernation, we are deeply affected by our circadian rhythms, the lunar pull and our hormones, which interact with the sun. According to Jeremy Rifkin in Time Wars, "Chronobiology provides a rich new conceptual framework for rethinking the notion of relationships in nature. In the temporal scheme of things, life, earth and universe are viewed as partners in a tightly synchronized dance in which all of the separate movements pulse in unison to create a single organic whole." Our ancient ancestors felt this connection without benefit of scientific explanations. Following their hearts and beliefs, they played their part in that dance. "Our holiday celebrations evolve in a cycle. We even refer to it as 'The Wheel of the Year,'" notes Richard Heinberg in Celebrate the Solstice. "Being aware of the different cycles in life, and understanding our place in them, were a part of our development as humans." In this cycle, in northern regions, Winter Solstice is often seen as the ending of the old year and the beginning of a new year. In the early European cultures, a shaman of the Herne/Pan god led Winter Solstice rituals, initiated the new year, rewarded the good, punished the bad, officiated at sacrifices and headed fertility rites, according to Tony van Renterghem in his book When Santa Was A Shaman. This Herne/Pan god went by many names, always portrayed as dark, furry or wearing animal skins, with antlers or horns and - up to the seventeenth century - with an erect penis. Van Renterghem asserts "these (Herne/Pan) shamans sang, danced, jumped over fires in sexually symbolic fertility rites, some involving the besom, the broom-like phallic rod." Shamanic traditions survived into historic times. Leaders and kings who wanted to see themselves as divine priest-kings - such as Moses and Alexander the Great - were depicted with shamanic horns. Shamanic horns on Moses shows an overlapping of pagan and Judeo-Christian beliefs that also appears in celebrations at Solstice. Santa as a Christian and a Sailor "(Christmas) was a seeming Christian answer to the pagan festival Natalis Solis Invicti, which carried with it the flavour of merrymaking of the Roman Saturnalia," Vivian Green writes in A New History of Christianity. Christianity grew up with paganism, specifically Roman paganism. The Roman Empire ruled the land where the cult of Christianity was formed. The beliefs of this new religion were radically different from most pagans', and many people assumed the group would quickly die, as do many fads. But within 300 years, the cult was considered an unlicensed religion within the Empire. While the Romans had a long history of assimilating the gods of the conquered peoples into their own religion as a way of easing the transition, this was not easily accomplished with Christianity. There were a couple attempts to wipe out the religion, but the Christians maintained their foothold in the Empire by appealing to the lower classes and the illiterate. Constantine called the Nicean Council of 325 after he reunited the faltering Empire. Having converted to Christianity, he wanted to bring unity and a single leadership to the faith. The emperor was openly hostile to pagans. Peter Partner, in Two Thousand Years-The First Millennium: The Birth of Christianity to the Crusades, tells us that "although pagan beliefs were not in themselves made illegal, many of the institutions that supported pagan worship were in effect proscribed." A semblance of the Old Religion was allowed to continue, but only lip service was paid to religious tolerance. As Christianity marched on, entire tribes were converted. Charlemagne instituted a "baptize them or kill them" campaign against the "barbarians" on his borders. The conversion of Germanic peoples to Christianity changed the texture of the Roman Christian church. Gregory of Tours' History of the Franks, circa 590, and Bede's Ecclesiastical History of the English People, circa 720, both expressed anxiousness about the wealth and privilege the church received as rulers and great magnates were converted. The church had to absorb these rulers' values and culture, with the end result that "Christianity had been successfully assimilated by a warrior nobility," according to John McManners in The Oxford History of Christianity. This was a "nobility which had no intention of abandoning its culture or seriously changing its way of life, but which was willing to throw its traditions, customs, tastes and loyalties into the articulation of a new faith." The mass conversion "did not sweep away pagan culture in a few moments," writes McManners. "We are reminded every year by the feasts of Christmas, the Winter Solstice celebration of the northerners for which the nativity of Christ is a cheeky Christian misnomer, and of the New Year, in Roman usage the great pagan feast of Lupercalia. In Rome the ancient fertility rites of Carnomania were still celebrated annually in the presence of the pope, as late as the eleventh century." Pagan customs persisted within the heart of Christianity, and both faiths coexisted at the outer borders of the new religion's territory. While many people assume Christmas celebrations have a dark, distant pagan origin, it would be more accurate to say the two grew up together. As Charlemagne began his conversion process, the legend of St. Nicholas was born. He was said to have been the Bishop of Myra in Lycia, now Turkey. According to "The Origin of Santa Claus" at www.religioustolerance.org, "He is alleged to have attended the first council of Nicea; however, his name does not appear on lists of attending bishops." Www.religioustolerance.org calls him a "Christianized version of various pagan sea gods - the Greek god, Poseidon, the Roman god, Neptune, and the Teutonic god, Hold Nickar." Crichton dates St. Nicholas even earlier, claming he was imprisoned in 303, during the Roman emperor Diocletian's effort to return the Empire to the worship of its old gods. Later, Constantine supposedly released him. Nicholas was credited with many miracles, including aiding sailors at sea, providing dowries for young women who otherwise could not marry and using prayer to resurrect three little boys who had been killed and pickled in brine. He performed miracles even after his death on December 6, 342; a mysterious liquid dubbed the Manna of St. Nicholas was collected annually from his tomb and used to heal the faithful. The tales of St. Nicholas spread to Russia as Christianity converted the Eastern world. He became known as "Nikolai Chudovorits," the Wonder Worker. By the seventeenth century, the patron saint reached Siberia, where tribes of nomadic horsemen lived. These tribes lived in tents during the summer, but north of the Arctic Circle, they needed something sturdier during winter. Their timber huts became buried in snow, with the only way in or out being by ladder through the smoke holes in the roof. Their annual renewal ceremony, according to Crichton, took place with their shaman entering a trance and climbing on a symbolic journey through the smoke hole. Christian tradition overtaking the indigenous religion, Nikolai became a Super Shaman, acting as a "mystic go-between for the people and their new Christian God." He would descend the smoke hole, another way of jumping over fire, to deliver gifts. Nicholas traveled other directions as well, to reach the Normans, who as well as conquering England in the eleventh century engaged as traders and mercenaries in lands they did not control. They ruled the seas, and learned about St. Nicholas at Myra. As they had done with other saints elsewhere, the Normans accepted St. Nicholas into their belief system. Traveling with the Normans, St. Nicholas spread up the rivers and into the towns. A basilica was built in Bari, which became a great shrine to Nicholas. During the Crusades, countless people passed through Bari, making their obligatory stops at the shrines. From there, St. Nicholas traveled throughout the continent and beyond. Dutch Santa and His Moorish Slave In the fifteenth century, the Netherlands became a Spanish territory. Trade with the Indies and Americas made the Netherlands an important area. Spaniards filled the government and religious offices, and they brought St. Nicholas with them. To this day, the Dutch "Sinter Klaas" arrives by boat from Spain, dressed as a bishop with the tall hat and miter, riding a white horse. As was fashionable at the time during the Spanish Empire, Sinter Klaas had a Moorish slave who became known as "Zwarte Piet." In Crichton's book, we find that "many of the customs surrounding Sinter Klaas are vestiges of an older, pre-Christian religion. Checking up on naughty children, riding a white horse, and leaving food out at night, can all be traced back to Woden or Odin." In Finland, St. Nicholas "assumed human form, adopting the older name of 'Joulupukki,' which literally means Yule Goat, and again harks back to Odin and the Old Norse customs." In van Renterghem's work, we see that the Herne/Pan side of St. Nicholas was further restored. In 1581, the Dutch declared independence from both the Roman Catholic pope and the Spanish monarchy. Zwarte Piet, Sinter Klaas' dark servant, was returned to the fore as their shaman-god. When the Church tried to denounce Zwarte Piet as a devil, the Dutch retaliated by drawing him as a Spanish-looking devil, further aiding the Dutch cause. Children were encouraged to be good, or they would be carried off in Zwarte Piet's bag to Spain. As the legend of St. Nicholas grew, he often had helpers who were easily traced to pagan roots. According to WorldBook, examples of these helpers include Knecht Ruprecht in Germany, Pere Fouettard in parts of France and Hoesecker in Luxembourg. The Protestant Reformation ended the religious observance of Christmas temporarily in some places, more permanently in others such as England. This sparked several inventions that seemed even more pagan-oriented than the newly outlawed Christmas. In Germany, the Protestants invented "Christkindl," "a Christ child figure often played by a girl in a white robe with a veil and a star on her head - another legacy from the Roman Festivals," from Crichton's perspective. In Hungary, where Catholicism again replaced Protestantism, "the religious St. Nicholas, the secular Christkindl and the fur-clad Weihnachtsmann (Christmas Man) all exist side by side." In North America, the Puritans made it a punishable offense to celebrate Christmas. But when Dutch settlers sailed to Manhattan, the figurehead on the flagship was none other than Sinter Klaas. Gradually the name was changed to Santa Claus. In England, Queen Victoria and Prince Albert helped re-invent Christmas, and Santa was reintroduced to England around this time. As a British gift-giver, Santa Claus had many rivals including CheapJack, The Lord of Misrule, Knecht Rupert and Father Christmas. In the United States, Santa Claus was further refined in literature and illustration. In 1822, Clement Clark Moore wrote The Night Before Christmas. In 1863, Thomas Nast used childhood memories of a small fur-clad fellow to create images for Harper's Magazine. In the 1930s, Santa hawked Coca-Cola, and in 1939, Robert L. May added Rudolph to the reindeer herd. By the 1960s, Santa had become quite commercial. During Vatican II, the Roman Catholic Church concluded that St. Nicholas had never been officially canonized, recognizing the probable source of his notoriety as being pagan gods and legends. Many other modern Solstice traditions have such pagan origins. Mistletoe was sacred to the Greeks and Romans as well as to the Celts, who according to When Santa Was A Shaman, "called this mistletoe 'Thunder-Besom' (from the besom, or broom, an ancient sexual symbol of male and female organs)" - which besom dates back to the Herne/Pan shamans. "The Germanic tribes believed that all who passed under the mistletoe were kissed (blessed with sexual power) by Freya, their goddess of fertility." The modern practice of a kiss beneath the mistletoe could still be seen as a minor fertility rite. Whether performing in a pageant or dressing up as the jolly old elf for the kiddies, putting on Winter Solstice costumes also has ancient origins. Crichton notes that "in all primitive religions when a player dons a mask he is deemed no longer an ordinary man. For himself and those who take part in the ritual, he embodies the spirit he is impersonating." It should come as no surprise that we continue with rituals and practices that some believe are 10,000 years old. Children still play with toys from the 5000-year-old tale of Noah's Ark. We still use the names of 2000-year-old Germanic and Greco-Roman pagan gods and festivals to identify the months and the days of the week. So too, we keep Santa in his many masks. How Pagans Can Renew the World Winter Solstice in northern climes is often a time of world renewal and the New Year. Theodor H. Gaster's New Year: Its History, Customs, and Superstitions outlines the rites of nearly all ancient New Year and world renewal ceremonies as following the same four steps: mortification, purgation, invigoration and jubilation. In mortification, whose root-word "mort" means death, it is easy to see death symbolized in how the life of the people and the land slowed down. Often during this time, no business was transacted. The king was either ritually or actually slain, depending on the custom. Sometimes this involved mock combat between Life and Death, or Old Year and New Year. His death paid for the evil of the past year. Next, the community purged itself of all evil influences through fires, ringing of bells and cleansing with water. Life was then invigorated with positive steps that symbolized renewal. The people and the land were made fertile and productive again by a deliberate release of sexual energy. Then, in jubilant celebration, feasts and other merriment were enjoyed. Life had prevailed. Nature and the community would continue for another year. Drawing on this outline and the superabundance of Solstice ideas and examples, today's pagan can create a personal tradition. To gain a deeper connection between you and the cycle of Solstice, try adding something new. Visit a sacred site, or spend time with the land where you live. Visit a place where you can observe wild animals. Where possible, plant a tree, or some green plants indoors. Watch the sunrise and the sunset on Solstice Day, and feel a connection with your ancestors. Play the Super Shaman for your friends and family. Attach a note to each gift you give with something amusing about the person, and have everyone read the note aloud. Food and drink can play a part. Adopt a certain dish to be made only at this special time of year. Or pass around a large chalice, reminiscent of the English Wassail bowl, pronouncing blessings or words of jest to the person who receives it from you. However you do it, make the Solstice holiday a time of getting rid of that which weighed you down in the past and tying up the year's loose ends. Find ways to symbolize the renewal that the New Year brings, and mark the time most joyously. Whether you celebrate alone, in a small close-knit group or as one of thousands, have a happy Solstice.
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