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| Star of Bethlehem flowering at the 1,000 year church, April 2017 |
Stars have become more and more important to my own spiritual path and I hope to share something of that over Epiphanytide if I can find the words. But, for now, I want to share something of the star that is most important in the coming days; the Star of Bethlehem.
Epiphany remembers the visit of the Wise Men, or Kings, to the Christ child, having followed the Star of Bethlehem to find him. There is a belief that our Christmas decorations, especially those representing stars or light, shouldn't be taken down before Epiphany Eve as it might prevent the Wise Men from finding their way. I love that, in folk belief, there is only now; the Wise Men are always travelling, and each Epiphany they arrive, with a little help from the twinkling star trail we put out for them. This is no small thing; we are not irrelevant, no matter how small we feel. Our smallest action is the pivot around which the universe spins. And when our fairylights have been put away and the stars have shifted, there is a little white flower who comes to remind us that that remains true, no matter what.
It's said that the Star of Bethlehem first appeared on the night of Christ's birth to guide the Wise Men, whose journey was made complicated by their maps and charts, to the child. When its work ended it burst into thousands of brilliant fragments and fell to earth. Where it came to ground a blanket of milk-white flowers grew.
You will know that you have found Star of Bethlehem when you see a flower with six white petals surrounding six stamens, each with a yellow anther. They bloom in the spring from early March until late May or early June. The flowers open in the early morning and are usually closed by noon revealing a beautiful green stripe on their underside, hence some of their common names; sleepydick, nap-at-noon, star-at-noon, johnny-go-to-bed-at-noon, and eleven o'clock ladies. When the flowers have died a three-celled seed capsule forms containing several black seeds.
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| Star of Bethlehem, Wiki Commons |
Her genus name, 'ornithogalum', comes from the Greek words 'ornis' for 'bird' and 'gala', meaning 'milk', and was named and described by Dioscorides (40 to 90CE) in his 'De Materia Medica' due to her abundance of white flowers that 'when opened look a lot like milk'.
In herbal healing she is known as the 'comforter' and is a gentle companion in sitting with the after-effects of shock, even those received long ago in childhood. She has been described as the 'Guardian of Grieving', and used in the treatment of those who are suffering from suicidal depression and Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, offering a light to lead the afflicted out of the darkness. Indeed, she does that work for us all, blooming at the beginning of spring and reminding us of the need to come into the light after the dark winter months. She is the way-shower, a guide for the lost, just as she guided the Wise Men through the vast silence of the desert. Generous indeed for a star who has herself has been broken into pieces; the archetypal 'wounded healer', just as Christ is. I would never trust a spiritual path that didn't know how to honour the parts in all of us that are broken.
I find the image of the star fallen to Earth deeply moving and have often thought of her as a teacher, showing us that it's possible to follow diverse spiritual paths, whilst still being part of one wild and beautiful truth. In her myriad mirrored fragments, her many white petals, her brilliance of being, the Star of Bethlehem reflects them all. There is no 'other', just broken parts of one great beating heart. Perhaps that's why she is sometimes called the 'Reconciliation Star', the star of at-one-ment. And it does feel that there is much to reconcile, and to atone for. There is mending to be done, but we have our guide and she is pulsating with the energy that drives the universe towards justice.
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| Star Circle, Wiki Commons |
But it doesn't feel that there is too much justice in the world just now; not when the President of the United States, who we might remind ourselves is also made of stars, appears to be wilfully driving us towards WWWIII, a war which many of our sisters and brothers would be justified in saying started many years ago. The world truly does feel shattered into a thousand sharp and ragged pieces.
Three years ago, in the wake of several star-shattering world events, a poem came whilst I was writing about the healing properties and folklore of this little white flower. Much of this piece of writing is based on that. If you would like to read it you can find it here. I continue to pray, as I did then, that by the time she returns in the spring there will be much healing between us to be held out in offering to her. Epiphanytide is our opportunity to realign ourselves with the star who, like Christ, fell to Earth to help us mend.
Star of Bethlehem is tired
of dragging around the baggage
that we try to hide,
divisions that won't be reconciled,
the willful non-seeing of the so-called wise.
Wakes bright with morning,
asleep by noon,
offers guidance with maps and tea;
pours milk, leaves not bags,
her best bone china
slips from her exhausted hands,
smashes into a thousand shards of stars
on her kitchen floor,
reads the auguries in their constellations.
Weeps for the weight of what she sees
swept under the carpet.
Star of Bethlehem carries diversity
as a prayer in her shopping bag,
walks with Jah, Allah, Shekinah
wearing goose feathers in her hair
in the stews of the Liberty.
Keeps a torch by the back door,
shines a light on intruders ~
Guantanamo, Yemen, Syria,
the housing of the poor,
a nail bomb on Electric Avenue,
knows that she can't take much more.
No amount of bleach in her bucket
will make this pure.
No amount of soap will scrub this whole.
And her batteries are running out.
She may have to brave the dark.
Star of Bethlehem hangs her head
in the churchyard
closes in on herself at shadow fall,
offers her flesh for the breaking of bread,
ties her scarf more tightly round her head.
Tuber or tumour, hate or hope.
The murder of the innocents,
child radicalised,
drowned on the refugee boat,
finding belonging in the EDL,
bleeding out in the stairwell in Peckham Rye.
Herod turns his head, shuts his eyes,
she opens her petals wide.
And she is growing wild,
escaping the confines of the flower bed.
Sinking her roots into holy ground,
gathering up the pieces that she let slip,
knows it's time to get a grip.
She weeps for mercy, grieves for grace,
what we might have been, what we are.
Yet still she loves the pilgrim soul in us,
the spark that journeyed
from the furthest star
and fell to earth forged in fire.
She puts the kettle on.
~ Jacqueline Durban, 2017
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| Star of Bethlehem flowering at the 1,000 year church, 2017 |
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What an amazing piece of writing. Great poem and I loved the film. Thank you.
ReplyDeleteI echo the early hours comment. I find words hard to articulate on this day you have so poignantly reflected on except these two: Thank You.
ReplyDelete