Thursday 28 November 2019

Illuminate: an Advent Poem ~ Celtic Advent Day 11

Photo: Jacqueline Durban 

Advent is a time of waiting in the dark, a waiting in the dark in hope, and poetry speaks to that place in us in a way that prose can rarely ever do. And so, for the 11th day of Celtic Advent, I share this beautiful poem; 'Illuminate: an Advent Poem' by Brittany Deininger.

The first word you ever spoke was “light”
and the heat from your voice thawed us.
You spoke your poetry into being,
created with words like sacred alchemy,
to make even a fragile thing
give birth to the holy.

You began with words
a genealogy of faith, lit
a fire in the human voice
and said, “testify”
and said “create”
and said “come.”

Listen, to the voices
weaving the sum of life,
still hanging in the loom:

This is the plea of Eve,
fashioned from Earth, speaking
with dust still on her breath: “Become
a little more pregnant
every day
with poems and books, movements
and dreams, still developing cell
by cell. Carry them until they’re ready
to be born with depth
to speak of experience and expression
as one. Wait a while
where the rooted night grows,
you’ll feel its movement coming ashore.
Give in to parenting
your close-knit gift to the world.”

This is the plea of Mary,
who took time to be holy
held a fire in her belly
and pondered it in her heart,
“Become a little more pregnant
every day with God and God’s voice,
with hope and promises. Build
the church inside you, not a building
but a soul, faith straining
to have birth in the silence
of a holy night and a dawn of grace.”

From https://theseattleschool.edu/blog/illuminate-poem/

Stir-up Sunday ~ Celtic Advent Day 10


Matt Riggott, Wiki Commons

Our festivals so often begin and end in food, in warm, full bellies, and in the warmth of good company; so deeply human in this wild world of the woven sacred. And so, what a fine few days we had at the beginning of this week with, firstly, Stir-up Sunday, falling every year on the Sunday before Advent begins, and then, on Monday, one of my favourite holy days, Catterntide; both fragrant with the evocative scents of winter spices ~ cinnamon and clove, caraway seeds and mixed spice, ginger and nutmeg. Delicious!

Stir-up Sunday, which has become associated with the making of Christmas puddings, in fact takes its name from the opening words of the collect of the day in the 1594 edition of the ‘Book of Common Prayer’; ‘collect’ being the name for a short prayer that gathers up the theme for a particular day in the Christian liturgy;

Stir up, we beseech thee, O Lord, the wills of thy faithful people; that they, plenteously bringing forth the fruit of good works, may of thee be plenteously rewarded; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.” 

Because the ‘stir-up’ prayer came with the specification that it "shall always be used upon the Sunday next before Advent”, and, as most Christmas pudding recipes require the pudding to be kept for several weeks to mature before eating, it acted as a fine reminder that the time had come for pudding making.

Although the Sunday before Advent is now more usually celebrated as ‘Christ the King’, it has retained its popularity as a prompt to gather around the kitchen table and make puddings in preparation for Christmas Day.



Traditionally this would be a family exploit, with parents teaching their children how to add the ingredients and everyone taking a turn to stir wishes into the pudding mix. I have heard tell that stirring a Christmas pudding can be hard work, with it containing thirteen ingredients to symbolise Jesus and the Twelve Apostles, and so this tradition also served to share the load.

Sometimes silver coins would be added, to bring wealth to the finder when the pudding was eaten. Other hidden charms might include a wishbone for good luck, a tiny anchor for safe harbour, and a silver thimble for thrift, with the mix stirred East to West to symbolise the journey of the Three Wise Men. I love how mindfulness and meaning is threaded into every action in our oldest traditions, something that we could learn much from today.

Indeed, a survey conducted by The Cumberland News in 2013, found that two-thirds of British children had never experienced stirring the Christmas pudding. In this age of shop bought and conveniently ready-made food so much togetherness has been lost, and of course in our modern houses many kitchens aren't large enough for a table, let alone for a family to gather around it. No wonder then that we are encouraged to forget what once bound us together.

doningtonleheath.org.uk


So many things seem to be only done now because ‘that’s just what you do’, rather than because it has meaning, although I value that somewhere in our deep memories we still feel the pull to do it anyway. A precious thread. How much better then to consciously stir the once-remembered meaning into every mouthful of our festive food?

Traditional Christmas pudding may have its origins in medieval England in a Christmas porridge known as Frumenty, although recipes for the pudding that we would recognise appear only in the 17th Century. One of the earliest is to be found in in Mary Kettilby’s 1714 book, ‘A Collection of Above Three Hundred Receipts in Cookery, Physick and Surgery’. Another precursor may be the medieval dish known as figgy pudding, which was made with figs, ginger, wine, and honey.

There is an unconfirmed story that King George I, sometimes referred to as the ‘Pudding King’, asked for a Christmas pudding to be served at his Christmas feast in 1714, his first Christmas in England, but it wasn’t until the 1830s that our familiar pudding became truly associated with our midwinter feast. Prior to this it was mostly eaten at harvest time; a strange thought now.

As for Christmas pudding, often referred to as ‘plum pudding’, due to the pre-Victorian habit of referring to raisins as 'plums'. many households would once have had their own recipes, handed down through generations.

https://stmargarets.london/archives/2016/11/advent.html

The thirteen ingredients mentioned earlier included a mixture of dried fruits, candied peel, and spices, held together with flour, suet, and beaten eggs. Sometimes these would be moistened with treacle giving the pudding its traditionally dark colour. And, of course, there was the addition of alcohol, such as brandy, stout, or porter. In poorer households, who could make a steamed pudding even without an oven, this might have been replaced with cold tea, and the eggs omitted, but even then the Christmas pudding was meant to be heavy and luxurious, drawing together many ingredients that wouldn’t have been used at other times of year. Something special, unlike our modern era where the Christmas pudding has become something to be endured at the end of an already heavy meal. This, again, is a reminder that so many of us have so much more than we need that our celebrations of abundance have become almost more than we can stomach. Bloated on plenty, we have lost our sense of food as holy, althougu the echoes are still there. And, of course, this is encouraged too, with our holidays becoming shorter and shorter and we expected to be productive on every day and in every season; a spell that needs to be broken, a wish to stir into the pudding mix.

As ever, Charles Dickens, who more or less single handedly invented the Christmas we know today, brings us back to the heart of the matter. In 1843, in ‘A Christmas Carol’, he wrote;

"Mrs Cratchit left the room alone – too nervous to bear witnesses – to take the pudding up and bring it in... Hallo! A great deal of steam! The pudding was out of the copper which smells like a washing-day. That was the cloth. A smell like an eating-house and a pastrycook's next door to each other, with a laundress's next door to that. That was the pudding. In half a minute Mrs. Cratchit entered – flushed, but smiling proudly – with the pudding, like a speckled cannon-ball, so hard and firm, blazing in half of half-a-quarter of ignited brandy, and bedight with Christmas holly stuck into the top."

Cratchit's Christmas Pudding, pinterest

And here is my promise to myself that, next year on Stir-up Sunday, I will invite our friends and neighbours to help stir our Christmas pudding. In your own house you may still have time to do that this year. Traditions may be lost but it's never too late to make new ones.

In the meantime, I wish for us all the joy of a Christmas pudding, stirred through with wishes and topped with a sprig of holly, to grace our table on Christmas Day. And I wish too for us all the wild-mindedness to know what it means.

References: 

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stir-up_Sunday 

https://stmargarets.london/archives/2016/11/advent.html

https://www.goodhousekeeping.com/uk/christmas/christmas-countdown/a550045/ultimate-stir-up-sunday-when/ 

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Christmas_pudding 

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Figgy_pudding

Tuesday 26 November 2019

Making Cattern Cakes ~ Celtic Advent Day 9


Cattern cakes, 2019

I am just in the midst of writing about Catterntide, which falks on 25th November, for Celtic Advent but, whilst we're waiting, I thought that a spot of seasonal baking might be nice.

Solid Dennis takes charge 

My main Catterntide activity, once I had removed our lodger Solid Dennis the cat from my recipe book, was to make Cattern cakes from an, almost unchanged,Tudor recipe.

These were traditionally made by English lace makers to celebrate St Catherine's Feast Day, of which more shortly.


The cakes are delicious; caraway is a much underused ingredient I feel, & Mr Radical Honey has declared them his favourite cake, biscuit, biscuit/cake hybrid, things ever!

Here's the recipe.

Ingredients:

Ancestral 1970s apron and carboot sale rolling pin (optional)

9oz self-raising flour (sieved)

1/4 tsp ground cinnamon ~ but that is nonsense. I put in a whole teaspoon & added even more later!

2oz currants

2oz ground almonds

2 tsp caraway seeds

6oz caster sugar

4oz melted butter

1 medium egg, beaten

Extra sugar & cinnamon for sprinkling

Sieve the flour into a bowl and mix in all the other dried ingredients, plus extra cinnamon on top!



Add the melted butter & beaten egg and mix to form a soft dough. I also added a tiny bit of warm water.





Roll the dough out on a floured surface until you have a rectangle, approx 10 x 12 inches. Mine was smaller than that due to lack of space but I still achieved delicious cakes so do not fear.

Brush the rolled out dough with water and then sprinkle with cinnamon (lots!) and sugar.

Gently roll, as you might for a swiss roll. It doesn't need to be too tight.

Cut into approx 2cm wide slices and pop on a baking tray, leaving space in between. I find that these spread a lot whilst cooking and mine joined together, but it was easy enough to separate them.

Bake in an oven preheated to 200°c/Gas Mark 6 for about 10 minutes, or until golden and crispy on the top. Mine took about 25 minutes! I had to go out at this point so I left Mr RH in charge. He is a diamond geezer. If you don't have one of those probably best not go out at that stage.

Remove from the oven & pop on a wire rack to cool. You can sprinkle on some more caraway seeds at this point, and even more sugar & cinnamon if liked.

Store in an airtight container for up to 7 days, or send to Mr Radical Honey c/o the hedgehermitage.



Traditionally, these cakes would be enjoyed with a 'hot pot' mixture of rum, beer, and eggs, but tea is just as lovely.

Do let me know if you decide to make them.



Recipe taken from 'Cattern Cakes & Lace: a Calendar of Feasts' by Julia Jones and Barbara Deer.

Sunday 24 November 2019

The Wild Hope of Goose Night ~ Celtic Advent Day 8

'Supposing Him to be the Gardener' by Barry Parman. Photo: Max Reeves.

I have been away over the weekend and so I am a little late with my posts for days 8 and 9 of Celtic Advent, but my journey was so full of the Wild Goose Spirit that lateness feels like a small price to pay. And that is because 23rd November 2019 was the 23rd Goose Night at Crossbones Graveyard.

Redcross Mary's shrine, Goose Night 2019


In Southwark, close to London Bridge station in one of the oldest, dirtiest, and poorest, parts of London, an extraordinary thing has happened. Where once there was only bare concrete a wild garden has bloomed, its roots threaded through the bones of the outcast dead. This is the Crossbones Graveyard, once known as the Single Women's churchyard. Here, in this most sacred earth, lie the bodies of sex workers and paupers, who were either refused, or too poor to be granted, burial in consecrated ground. From at least the 14th Century until 1853, when the graveyard was closed having become 'overcharged with dead', an estimated 15,000 people, many of whom were babies & children, were buried there in unmarked graves.

Marking the graves of the Outcast Dead


It is an irony indeed that the medieval sex workers buried there were licenced by the Bishop of Winchester, under an ordinance signed by Thomas Becket in 1161, to work in the stews, or brothels, of Bankside's Liberty of the Clink. These women became known as the 'Winchester Geese' & enjoyed a measure of protection from the bishop, who owned the land, whilst alive but were denied Christian burial at the end. The most brutal of judgements on women from whom the church had benefitted financially.



Having been closed, the graveyard was forgotten until the ground was disturbed by the building of an electricity substation for the Jubilee Line extension in the 1990s. This was when the bones of the outcast dead began to return to the surface of both land & memory. It was at this time that the lost history of the graveyard also returned in the visionary work of John Constable, revealed by the Goose to John's alter-ego, urban shaman John Crow, on the night of 23rd November, 1996.

A ritual drama, The Halloween of Crossbones, based on John's book, 'The Southwark Mysteries', and ending with a candlelit procession to the gates of the Crossbones people's shrine, was performed every year from 1998 to 2010. Since 23rd June 2004, a vigil to renew the shrine & to honour the outcast, dead & living, has been held at the gates every 23rd of the month at 7pm. Each November, in honour of the anniversary of the Goose's appearance to John Crow, the vigil is known as 'Goose Night'. You may wonder who 'The Goose' might be but the answer will perhaps be different for each person who stands at the gates; a muse, the spirit of a medieval sex worker, the Goddess incarnate. She is all these things & so much more.

"Oh, you don't know me yet, dear.
You will dear I promise you.
I am a tricksy tart.
My aim is to astonish you!"

(from 'The Southwark Mysteries' by John Constable)

And so, last night, we gathered once more in good company for Goose Night on the 23rd anniversary of her first meeting with John Crow. Black Swan border morris danced for us, John performed the 'Book of the Goose', and Frank Turner sang his song inspired by Crossbones, 'The Graveyard of the Outcast Dead'. How far her wild wings have taken us!




And, most tenderly and touchingly, after 186 consecutive monthly vigils, this was the last one to be personally conducted by John Crow. From now on a 'magical collective' will take the vigils into the future. Crossbones has always been about more than one person, and yet John Crow, and his 'ground control', Katy Kaos, have been fierce protectors of, & advocates for, the dead who had no voices; an extraordinary act of devotion. A completion.



And, what of Crossbones, her dead, and her wild garden? The people's shrine, hung with ribbons and other offerings, has been in existence for many years, and we have stood beside them imagining a garden as a permanent memorial to the Outcast Dead, sung to the greenman & to the spirits of the future children who might play there, perhaps never quite daring to believe that it would happen. The site belongs to Transport for London and is worth millions to developers. How could a tiny group of strange, raggle taggle, edge people, singing by some rusty iron gates to the spirits of medieval sex workers and the poorest of the poor, ever hope to stand up to that?



And yet, slowly, slowly, over many years, Crossbones began to appear on official maps, Southwark Council placed planters trailing ivy on the gates, a plaque was attached informing passers by that;

 'This is the Crossbones Graveyard. In medieval times this was an unconsecrated graveyard for prostitutes or 'Winchester Geese'. By the 18th Century it had become a paupers' burial ground, which closed in 1853. Here, local people have created a memorial shrine. The Outcast Dead R.I.P'.

Even that is extraordinary but, behind the gates, something truly astonishing was happening. A security guard, living on site in a caravan had begun to create a guerilla garden from building rubble & findings, decorated with oyster shells, once the food of the poor, discovered there. And it was beautiful.



Then, slowly, slowly, Transport for London offered to lease the land for three years so that a 'meanwhile garden' could be created on site. It has been there for five. Hawthorn, crab apples, borage, pink yarrow, mugwort, foxgloves, mistletoe, hollyhocks, toadflax, and thyme, grow there. Dragonflies, honeybees, bright-eyed mice, and tiny, fierce wrens, make it their home. A meadow of flowers has bloomed on the bones of the Outcast Dead. And, in the summer, children play there, just as we inagined it.

I often ponder on what the geese would think if they came by. I wonder if any of them ever saw anything so beautiful. They certainly couldn't ever have imagined that it would all be there for them.



One day several years ago, a few of us were standing at the gates and a homeless man walked by. He asked why we were there and we explained who was buried there and that many people were working hard for them to be brought back to memory and honoured, for who they were and who they might have been. And he replied, "but they were just like me!", and then he cried, and we all cried, and then we hugged. Crossbones offers healing in all worlds, especially in the lost, lonely places of our raw and ragged world.

And each year, on Mary Magdalene's Feast Day, the Dean & clergy of Southwark Cathedral come in procession to perform a 'Service of Regret' for the way in which the Church treated the dead of Crossbones. We might stop and read those words a few times, reflect on them, let it sink into our own bones how astonishing that is.

Often I think that the spirits there have healed us much more than we have ever healed them, or the holy earth they lie in. I hope that the Church has found some forgiveness and been offered grace. This is a mending and a medicine for us all, much sweeter than honey, more precious than gold.

I share this for Celtic Advent because, for me, Crossbones, my favourite place on earth, offers incredible hope that the extraordinary, the unimaginable can happen when the Spirit of the Wild Goose is allowed to do her work, to spread her wings, to fly free.



Here is Mary's revolutionary Magnificat made real, no longer a call to what might be, but a praise song to what is. On a grey side street in Southwark the rich have been sent away empty and the poor filled with good things.

Redcross Mary's shrine


If that can happen at Crossbones, have hope that ANYTHING can change.

And remember...



For more on Crossbones Graveyard visit www.crossbones.org.uk, or
https://linktr.ee/crossbonesgraveyard, where you can also sign a petition to protect the graveyard for future generations.


Friday 22 November 2019

Hoping for a Sea-change ~ Celtic Advent Day 7

Image: Jacqueline Durban 

Today's offering is another favourite, a poem of waiting from Seamus Heaney; an excerpt from his much longer poem, 'The Cure at Troy'.

The word 'advent' is from the Latin, 'adventus' & the Greek, 'paraousia', meaning 'coming'.      This is a time of preparation & expectant waiting for what's coming, for something new and better to be born. Seamus Heaney's words provide the perfect meditation for this time. And quite appropriate as we await the General Election too!


History says, Don't hope

On this side of the grave...

But then, once in a lifetime

The longed-for tidal wave

Of justice can rise up,

And hope and history rhyme.


So, hope for a great sea-change

On the far side of revenge.

Believe that a further shore

Is reachable from here.

Believe in miracles

And cures and healing wells.

(Seamus Heaney)



Register to vote (by 26th November) at https://www.gov.uk/register-to-vote


References:

On Seamus Heaney

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Seamus_Heaney

On 'The Cure at Troy'

Buy it at Waterstone's

https://www.topangaauthorsgroup.wordpress.com/2015/06/08/junes-poem-pick-from-the-cure-at-troy-by-seamus-heaney

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Cure_at_Troy

Thursday 21 November 2019

St Werburgh: Resurrection, Reciprocity, & Rewilding ~ Celtic Advent Day 6


Stoke Festival's 'Werburgh Wander', 2019, Via Marg Hardcastle on Twitter

Over the next few days of Celtic Advent I thought that it might be nice to learn about two female saints with an intimate connection to the wild spirit of swans and geese. We have already learned that these water birds are more often found in relationship with the feminine and yet we tend to hear their stories in relation to male saints, such as St Martin and St Hugh. Instead, let's sink into the tales of St Werburgh & St Pega, both of whom have feast days during Christmastide. 

St Werburgh, whose Feast Day is at Candlemas on 3rd February, was an Anglo-Saxon princess born around 650 CE in Stone, Mercia (now in Staffordshire). Her father was the Christian King, Wulfhere of Mercia, & her mother St Erminhilda of Kent. She was a nun for most of her life & began her training at home with her mother and St Chad, later Bishop of Lichfield, who himself had been a student on Lindisfarne. Chad controversially followed the ways of Celtic Christianity, both before & after the Synod of Whitby which voted to place the British Church under the control of Rome. Later, Werburgh, who was instrumental in convent reform, followed in the wake of her grandmother & great-aunt as Abbess of Ely Cathedral. 

St Werburgh statue
Werburgh died in Trentham, Staffordshire & was buried there in 700 CE. It's said that her brother, Coenred, decided in 708 to move her remains to a more conspicuous place in the church at Hanbury, but I have discovered a tale which says that nuns from Hanbury stole her remains and took them home with them! It's said that at this time her body was found to be incorrupt, or preserved; a sure sign of saintliness. A year later, Coenred took holy orders and became a monk in Rome, which is when stories of Werburgh & her geese began to emerge.


The Goff Window, St Peter & St Paul's, Weedon Bec, Northamptonshire

The first was that, whilst living in Weedon Bec, Northamptonshire, she banished all the geese from the village & so protected the crops from damage. Interestingly, her distant cousin, St Mildrid of Thanet, is said to have done the same thing and was the protectress of wild geese in Kent. The geese were said to have done as she asked, a sure sign of relationship, rather than domination. 

Often these relationships were reciprocal, as in one story of St Cuthbert on the remote Farne Island. One day, a group of ravens flew down and began to gather straw from the thatch of Cuddy’s roof. He chased them away but, three days later, one returned as he dug his garden and bowed its head to him with wings outspread in apology. Cuthbert told the raven that they were welcome to return and on their next visit they brought with them the gift of a lump of lard, which Cuddy kept and encouraged visitors to use for the purpose of waterproofing their shoes. So many of the stories of our wild edge early Christian saints are grounded in respect and sharing with non-human family. What I particularly love is that this isn't a paternalistic interaction, where we are the pinnacle of Creation beneficently choosing to care for 'lower animals'. No, in these stories the other-than-human beings have agency and a will of their own. We negotiate, rather than impose. We accept having a little less for the good of all. And it works. So it is with the geese of Mildrid & Werburgh.

Wild goose on the Thames, Jacqueline Durban
The other tale of Werburgh & geese is extraordinary, as her most famous miracle concerns her resurrection of a cooked goose.

Werburgh discovered one day that a large flock of geese was destroying her growing corn by feasting on it. To prevent this she gathered them up and began to keep them as though they were domestic geese. In the morning, she called them to send them out for day but discovered one missing. When she found that the goose had been eaten by her servants she demanded that the feathers and bones of the bird be brought to her.

When they had been gathered together she prayed over the remains and commanded that the goose should live; much like La Loba, Bone Woman, singing over the bones of dead creatures in Clarissa Pinkola Estes' 'Women Who Run With the Wolves'. The geese were, of course, delighted, cheering and crying out at the return of their lost sister. Werburgh quieted them & asked that no goose should ever enter that field again. On gaining their agreement she set them free to become wild geese once more and, from that day to this, their promise has been kept.

Here is a mutual contract between humankind & the wild, one which at its heart carries the requirement to share what we have without resentment, rather than believing that everything on the Earth is here for our own benefit, or fearing that we might suffer a lack. The wild geese of Spirit remind us.

Werburgh & Her Geese by Dru Marland https://www.etsy.com/uk/shop/DruMarland

And here is also a story of rewilding. At first, Werburgh thinks to control the geese by safely cloistering them in her convent. When she realises that she can't guarantee their survival she liberates them, because it matters more that they live than that she guarantees her own security. This is a reminder of how delicately balanced our relationship with all other-than-human beings can be, and that, especially in this age of climate change, our decisions must be based in mutual benefit for all beings, not just for us (and only a small number of us at that!). We aren't only individuals, a society, or even a species. But we are a community; part of a web of wellbeing and co-operation. The saints remind us.

From pinterest.co.uk

Earlier I told the tale of Werburgh's body being stolen by the nuns of Hanbury & taking them back to be buried there. And there they remained until the Viking raids of the 9th Century threatened their safety. Then, they were relocated to within the walls of the city of Chester. By the 11th Century, Werburgh had come to be considered the patron saint & protector of the city. During the Middle Ages a badge of a basket of geese was given as proof of having made a pilgrimage to her shrine. 

15th Century St Werburgh pilgrim badge, via https://finds.org.uk/database/artefacts/record/id/424565
 
St Cuthbert's remains were also moved due to the Viking raids. Having died on 687, his body was buried on Lindisfarne. In 875 Danish raiders took over the monastery & the monks fled, taking Cuthbert's remains with them. They wandered for seven years before finding them a resting place in Chester-le-Street. In 995 a further Danish raid prompted their removal to Ripon. There the saint 'revealed' that he wished to remain in Durham, and so he has.

Once, the bodies of saints mattered. It seems perhaps superstitious to us now but I find here an echo of prehistory when we believed that the ancestors became part of the land, when our barrows & stone circles held their bones and marked their passing, and, even further back, the time when our beloved dead were buried beneath the floors of our homes, part of life that included death. Once, we knew to keep the dead close. We have become so removed. And we understood that resurrection was a natural part of being, were reminded each spring in the return of green and living things, each autumn with the return of the wild geese. The monks of Lindisfarne didn't carry St Cuthbert's remains with them for nothing, and the nuns of Hanbury had reason to steal the body of St Werburgh. Once, we knew that there was power in bones; they anchor us, root us in place, remind us that we live on holy ground, whilst the wild beauty of life continues to spin and shine around us. 

And, just a little aside to perhaps reflect upon. There was a time when 'goose' became euphemism for a sex worker. In the medieval period sex workers, licenced by the Bishop of Winchester to ply their trade in the Liberty of the Clink in Southwark, were known as the 'Winchester Geese'. As my friend, Christina Zaba pointed out, wouldn't it be powerful to imagine that the 'goose' in St Werburgh's resurrection miracle was a sex worker instead. And it would put quite a different slant on the story of St Martin, who hid amongst geese when he was trying to avoid being made a bishop and was given away by their cackling! 

The Goose spirit may be even wilder than we realise!

Misericord at Chester Cathedral depicting scenes from the life of  St Werburgh, via: http://orthochristian.com/77344.html


References:

St Werburgh









St Mildrid  



La Loba 


St Cuthbert



Wednesday 20 November 2019

Advent Calendar ~ a poem for Celtic Advent Day 5


Photo: Jacqueline Durban

For Celtic Advent Day 5, a favourite poem from 104th Archbishop of Canterbury, Rowan Williams. It's full of frost, and it melts me.

Advent Calendar

He will come like last leaf’s fall.
One night when the November wind
has flayed the trees to the bone, and earth
wakes choking on the mould,
the soft shroud’s folding.

He will come like frost.
One morning when the shrinking earth
opens on mist, to find itself
arrested in the net
of alien, sword-set beauty.

He will come like dark.
One evening when the bursting red
December sun draws up the sheet
and penny-masks its eye to yield
the star-snowed fields of sky.

He will come, will come,
will come like crying in the night,
like blood, like breaking,
as the earth writhes to toss him free.
He will come like child.

© Rowan Williams

Poem from Rowan Williams' first book of poetry, 'After Silent Centuries' (Oxford, 1994). Also to be found in his 'The Poems of Rowan Williams' (Oxford 2002).

Tuesday 19 November 2019

St Hugh & the Swan Wife ~ Celtic Advent Days 3 & 4


Here we are at Celtic Advent Days 3 & 4.

Advent, Christmastide, & Epiphanytide begin with the goose of Martinmas & end with the swan of St Brigid at Candlemas. I love this image & yet, marvellously, I discovered just the other day that there is a swan here at the beginning of our journey too. This is the Swan of Stow & of St Hugh of Lincoln, the patron saint of swans, whose Feast Day is on 17th November (16th November in the Catholic Church).

http://www.danielmitsui.com/00_pages/hugh_lincoln.html

I have come to love and value the saints. Although 'saint', like God, can be an emotive word, for me these are the tales of our ancestors. Like all tales they contain many tangled threads, which we can choose to untangle, or not, as we wish. I have no doubt, for example, that many of the 'Royal Saints' who proliferated as the Anglo-Saxon kings converted to Christianity, had more to do with facilitating & legitimising land grabs than grace. But, underneath all that, there is a strata of beings in deep communion with the wild places & the creatures to be found there, a continuing animism that stretches back to the beginning of human consciousness & to the place where we are all bound together no matter what our religion. For example, there are few visions of which I am more fond than of the St Cuthbert who emerged quite naturally & gently during one 'Novena for the Fallen Through'; antlered, with a cormorant on his shoulder & otters at his feet.

The association of God with water birds is as old as prayer, as ancient as bone. Marija Gimbutas writes often of the life-creating and protecting Bird & Snake Goddess, appearing in ancient iconography “as separate figures and as a single divinity. Their functions are so intimately related that their separate treatment is impossible. She is one, and she is two, sometimes snake, sometimes bird. She is the goddess of waters and air, assuming the shape of a snake, a crane, a goose, a duck, a diving bird."1 She tells us too that “geese, cranes (herons), and swans are encountered painted or engraved in Upper Paleolithic caves.”2

12,000 year old carving of human figures & water birds, Image: University of Barcelona
I remember a poll of Britain’s favourite, and least favourite, birds that was carried out some years ago. Swans were amongst our favourites, but they were also much disliked coming second to crows. The main reason given being that their necks were ‘too snake-like’.

In his book, ‘When God Was a Bird: Christianity, Animism, & the Re-Enchantment of the World’, Mark I Wallace speaks of both Moses and Jesus as employing a form of ‘snake shamanism', with Moses casting a bronze serpent to mediate the healing power of God (Numbers 21), and, 800 years later, Jesus aligning himself with the serpent of Moses and “animistically shape-shifting into becoming the sacred serpent for the renewal of the people.”3 "Just as Moses lifted up the serpent in the desert, so the Son of Man must be lifted up." (John 3:14-15).

Despite the attempts of representatives of worldly power, such as King Hezekiah (715-686 BCE), to eradicate this ancient ‘snake cult’ & to impose a more governable & useful religion, Wallace suggests that, “the Bible articulates an unbroken line from Moses to the reign of David and the time of Jesus as a continuous exercise in shamanic healing featuring one of God’s non-human creatures ~ the snake ~ as central to restoring biological and social equilibrium.”4 It matters then to notice that goddess-saint Brigid is associated totemically with both the swan and the snake. 

These ideas may be unfamiliar, and perhaps challenging, to some but there is nothing to fear. Here is an unbroken thread from the first drumbeat and praise song stretching through all of the world’s religions if we have the open-heartedness & the courage to see it. Attempts to sever this thread, and so to locate power in worldly things, are about control & the enslavement of Spirit, nothing more. Why would we want to unroot ourselves? There is something here both about our 'animal bodies', and about our solidarity and relationship with the wild, that is longing to be included in our spiritual, and religious, experience. Something lost waiting to be welcomed home. The water bird, the snake, the wolf, the bear, are waiting to be offered room at the inn.

Bone swan pendants, Siberian, Middle Upper Palaeolithic


And for us, if the waiting of Advent is about anything, then it is about the coming of mercy, grace, and justice for all beings in physical form, the embodiment of God on Earth. Although that world-shaking event has been hijacked by Empire, it remains deeply subversive and liberating & needs to be reclaimed as just that. At Advent we wait in the luminous darkness for the Child of Light to be born, and this child will turn the world upside down. That includes the Church. No wonder then that so many fear him. The Saints, often choosing to live alone on the wild edges with only other-than-human beings for company, rejecting power & status, are a rich source for reclaiming what this season truly means.

And so to St Hugh of Lincoln and his companion swan.

Altarpiece from the Carthusian monastery of Saint-Honoré, Thuison-les-Abbeville, France, Wikipedia

Hugh of Lincoln, also known as Hugh of Avalon, was born in 1135/40 as a member of French nobility. His mother died when he was just 8 years old &, later, his father withdrew from the world, entering a monastery taking his son with him.

Having chosen a life within the Church, Hugh was sent to England in 1179 in order to found the first Carthusian (or charter) house. That Henry II facilitated this was part of his penance for the murder of Thomas Becket, the then Archbishop of Canterbury.

We are told that Hugh was often in conflict with the Crown, establishing his independence from the king & standing up to him where needed. He even excommunicated the king's forester for mistreatment & extortion of the poor. This was brave when Thomas Becket had been murdered for much the same thing.

Hugh was known for his kindness & generosity, particularly towards the outcast, & attempted to protect members of the Jewish faith, who suffered great persecution at the beginning of Richard I's reign. His biographer, Adam of Eynsham, writes that Hugh would "wash and dry the lepers' feet, sit with them, teach them, console and encourage them, and embrace and kiss them one by one."5



From St Benet Church, Beccles, Suffolk, by Simon K on Flickr

But, at this Advent time, it's Hugh's 'deep & lasting friendship' with a swan that we might reflect upon. We are told that Hugh loved to spend time in nature, delighting in the company of wild creatures. Around the time of his ordination as a bishop, a swan appeared on the lake of Stow Park, where he often went to find peace, & drove off all the other animals.The swan was particularly aggressive towards humans but, on meeting Hugh, it became docile, eating out of his hand & refusing to leave his side. It even watched over him as he slept and attacked anyone who came close. Their friendship endured for more than fifteen years.



The swan is revered in many of the world's cultures. Often seen as symbols of love & fidelity, they are also representatives of light.

In Norse mythology two swans drink from the Well of Urd and are turned white by the purity of its water. Five flying swans are the emblem of the Nordic countries. In Hinduism they are connected to saints, who are both in the world and unattached to it, just as a swan's feather can be in water without getting wet. A royal swan was the vehicle of the Hindu goddess, Sarasvati.

Swans are believed to have the power to move between worlds, possibly because of their long migrations. Hence, their role as psychopomps, carrying the souls of the dead to the Otherworld. In 2016 a Mesolithic era burial of a young woman and her infant son was found in Denmark. The child had been laid on a swan's wing.

In Western Europe, swans arrive in the autumn and leave in the spring. When whooper swans and greylag geese migrated northwards from Scotland in springtime, it was said they were carrying the souls of the dead ‘north beyond the north wind’. In addition, swans often travel at night and so may have contributed to beliefs about the Wild Hunt & other processions of the dead found throughout Europe.

Although so intimately connected with the dark, swans are also deeply woven in with the light. Through their association with divine twins they have become solar symbols of the Indo-European Sun Goddess; the Sun and the Son being born in Midwinter from the deepest dark. Their star constellation; Cygnus (the Swan, also known as the Northern Cross), marks the beginning of the Great Rift, or the Dark River, a band of interstellar dust clouds that appear to divide a third of the Milky Way lengthwise in half, much like parted legs. Here, light flows from the womb of primordial darkness through the constellation of swans in flight.

A.T. Hatto, in his paper, “The Swan Maiden - A Folk-Tale of North Eurasian Origin7, tells us that shamans of Arctic or North Central Siberian societies often wore bird costumes, with the Buryat, Tungus, and Yakut, considering the Swan to be their ancestress and/or totem. There are echoes here of the celtic bards who may have worn feathered cloaks known as tuigen, including the skin, feathers and necks of swans. Hatto suggests too that swans and geese were particularly associated with female shamans, as is also the case with female saints! More of that tomorrow perhaps.

But what then of St Hugh of Lincoln, patron saint of swans? There is a concept in shamanism of the 'spirit spouse', a primary helping spirit who assists the practitioner in their work, & the world's mythology is threaded through with tales of the 'animal wife'. These are shape-shifting women, often alternating between human form and their other selves as seals/selkies, foxes, cranes, and yes, swans.

Via Twitter

This may seem to have little to do with Advent & the birth of Jesus, and I am not suggesting that St Hugh thought of his swan in this way, although many of us know how deep the love can be between us and a companion animal and how that can connect us to, and guide us in, the more-than-this. We can remind ourselves that the Holy Spirit often appears in the Bible as a dove and that Christ might also be described as a 'spirit spouse'; appearing to nuns, who are the 'Brides of Christ', in dreams. Some, including male clerics & monks, have been inspired to write the most beautiful and passionate love poetry in response. Some of it makes me positively blush! In addition, the oldest known example of a form of possible 'swan shamanism' is to be found in Israel at the 420,000 year old cave site of Qesem in Tel Aviv where evidence has been found of deliberate defeathering of a swan's wing for what is believed to be ritual purposes.

And so, here at the outset of our journey through Celtic Advent, we have the swan; a symbol of the sun, of light being born from star-filled darkness, and of both earthly royalty & otherworldly divinity, & so of negotiating between the two as St Hugh of Lincoln was able to do. Here too is our reminder that we will struggle with 'turning over the tables in the temple' if we have not first wedded ourselves to the wild & its Wilder God. Once, God was a bird.



I will end with Mary Oliver's powerful-as-wild-wings poem, The Swan.

Did you too see it, drifting, all night, on the black river?
Did you see it in the morning, rising into the silvery air -
An armful of white blossoms,
A perfect commotion of silk and linen as it leaned
into the bondage of its wings; a snowbank, a bank of lilies,
Biting the air with its black beak?
Did you hear it, fluting and whistling
A shrill dark music - like the rain peltingthe trees - like a waterfall
Knifing down the black ledges?
And did you see it, finally, just under the clouds -
A white cross streaming across the sky, its feet
like black leaves, its wings like the stretching
light of the river?
And did you feel it, in your heart, how it
pertained to everything?
And have you finally figured out what beauty is for?
And have you changed your life?

- Mary Oliver




References:

1. p. 112, Gimbutas, Marija, 'The Goddesses & Gods of Old Europe', Thames & Hudson, 1974

2. p. 3. Gimbutas, Marija, 'The Language of the Goddess', Thames & Hudson, 1989

3. p.35-36. Wallace, Mark I, 'When God Was a Bird: Christianity, Animism, and the Re-Enchantment of the World', Fordham, 2019

4. p.36. Wallace, Mark I, 'When God Was a Bird: Christianity, Animism, and the Re-Enchantment of the World', Fordham, 2019

5. http://thegoodheart.blogspot.com/2008/11/swan-of-stow.html?m=1, retrieved 18th November 2019

6. As 5.

7. Hatto, A.T. (1961). The Swan Maiden: a Folk-Tale of North Eurasian Origin? Bulletin of the School of Oriental and African Studies, 24(2), pp. 326–352. doi: 10.1017/S0041977X00091461, in 
http://www.thesoulofbones.com/blog/the-cult-of-the-swan

On St Hugh of Lincoln

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hugh_of_Lincoln

https://catholicherald.co.uk/news/2014/11/13/the-saint-who-protected-the-jews-of-lincoln/

http://thegoodheart.blogspot.com/2008/11/swan-of-stow.html?m=1

On Marija Gimbutas

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Marija_Gimbutas

On swans

https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Swan

https://www.poetseers.org/contemporary-poets/mary-oliver/mary-oliver-poems/the-swan/

http://maryarrchie.com/2019/01/21/vedbaek-burial-a-baby-buried-upon-swans-wing/

An absolutely invaluable resource on the 'Cult of the Swan'

http://www.thesoulofbones.com/blog/the-cult-of-the-swan

On swan animism

https://www.ancient-origins.net/news-history-archaeology/swan-0012657

http://www.bradshawfoundation.com/sculpture/flying_swan_pendants.php

https://www.haaretz.com/archaeology/.premium.MAGAZINE-why-archaic-humans-in-israel-collected-feathers-420-000-years-ago-1.7883700

https://www.smithsonianmag.com/smart-news/birds-and-people-mingle-rare-piece-rock-art-180971690/

Neolitihic swan bone flutes https://www.nytimes.com/2009/06/25/science/25flute.html

Saturday 16 November 2019

The Spirit is a Wild Goose ~ Celtic Advent Day 2


Greylag goose, Jacqueline Durban, 2013

We come to Celtic Advent Day 2.

The 'Wild Goose', an Geadh-Glas in Gaelic, Geif Gwyllt in Welsh, is the name that Celtic Christians are said to have given to the Holy Spirit, perfectly embracing the untameable, free, & unpredictable nature of our connection to the indwelling Divine. There is little proof that the name was used before the 1940s but, for me, that doesn't discount the symbol. Christianity comes from a land of dry desert & wide open spaces where, perhaps, things are more obvious. Here, it finds itself responding to a landscape of green misty valleys & sea fog, of ever-changing tides & sheets of grey rain. Nothing is obvious here. Rather, like the Grail, it is only half-glimpsed before it's gone and we are lucky if we can catch a feather or two to reassure us that it was here at all. In the goose, Spirit is embodied in the form of a wild bird bridging water, earth, & sky, and that image is a vision of both God & land.

For our ancestors their goose would probably have been a Greylag, like this one encountered in my canal days. The Greylag is the ancestor of our domestic goose, having been domesticated as early as 1360BCE. The connection of the goose to the Divine is long. She is associated with the Sumerian healer Goddess, Gula, the Egyptian Sun God, Ra, & the love Goddess Aphrodite of Greece, where goose fat was once used as an aphrodisiac.

At Advent we await not a tamed & domesticated God but one who is destined to accompany us as we stand against entrenched power, a God who sought wisdom in the wilderness of desert & mountain. The goose, who in the winter comes to our shores to find sanctuary in the marshes, estuaries, & edge places, is a perfect reminder that we wait for a Wilder God, freed from a year of watching the Church both speak out against, & enable, many injustices in the world, made new in the pure starlight & biting cold of Midwinter, born outcast to call us back to the holy edge.

Great Spirit, Wild Goose of the Holy One.
Be my eye in the dark places;
Be my flight in the trapped places;
Be my host in the wild places;
Be my brood in the barren places;
Be my formation in the lost places.

Ray Simpson, Community of Aidan & Hilda, Holy Island of Lindisfarne.

On this second day of Advent we might also consider a daily devotion which could be gently adopted as a reminder of the journey we are on. I love the Celtic Advent Calendar from Contemplative Cottage. I have also set an alarm to chime every 3 hours from 9am to midnight each day until Christmas Eve. I love this practice because it echoes in part the monastic Liturgy of the Hours. When the bell rings I spend a few moments in mindful contemplation of the starlit dark, even if that only means taking a few deep breaths. I hold expectation gently. As Susan Forshey of Contemplative Cottage says, this is an opportunity to practice grace.

Celtic Advent Resources ~

https://contemplativecottage.com

including the Celtic Advent Calendar 2019


https://godspacelight.com/blog/

https://www.faithandworship.com/Advent/Advent_Celtic_Christian_Celebration.htm

'Celtic Advent: 40 Days of Devotions to Christmas' by David Cole https://www.eden.co.uk/celtic-advent/