Rhythms of Change

Rhythms of Change: Cycles of the Earth and Sun

Live Oak, July 15, 2007

Linda Webster

I am a pagan and a Unitarian Universalist. The Wheel of the Year has been part of my spiritual practice for the last 20 years. I see myself and my life reflected in the seasons of the year, and I draw energy and insight from the Earth for the joys, challenges and changes I experience. The pagan seasonal holidays, which are the focus of my sermon, as a source of delight and creativity for me, and a pathway of mystery and magic. I keep spiraling around the wheel, year after year, noticing where I’m changing, noticing where I’m stuck. The big questions keep coming around. And the Wheel of the Year provides a framework and a reminder to keep asking these important spiritual questions. The perspectives that I share this morning are from contemporary, eclectic, evolving pagan practice in the United States, particularly teachings by Starhawk and Ruth Barrett.

The Wheel of the Year is the story of birth, growth, fullness, decline, death and rebirth—the seasonal cycle of the Earth’s changes. The Wheel of the Year also tells many stories of the Goddess and the God and their cycles of transformation. Just as night cycles into day and back to night, and the moon cycles from new to full to dark to new again, so too do our life seasons and the seasons of the Earth. There are big cycles that take us a lifetime to complete (birth to death and rebirth of some sort?). There are cycles in our relationships. There are smaller cycles: the creation of a church service, from a tiny seed idea to creation to presentation to ending. Our lives are full of cycles of beginnings and endings.

The Wheel of the Year looks like an actual wheel with eight spokes. Each spoke represents one of the eight pagan celebrations (each six weeks apart). At the north-south spokes are the Solstices; east-west are the equinoxes. Between these four spokes are the cross-quarter days, holidays that celebrate the shift from one season to the next. We travel around the outside of the wheel, moving from one holiday to the next as the wheel turns.

Let’s begin. We start where we are: during the time of the Summer Solstice, in the direction South, full sunlight. As we journey around the wheel, I invite you to reflect on the meaning of these seasonal themes for you. How do you dance with the changing patterns of light and the dark?

At Summer Solstice (June 21), the sun reaches its peak. This is the longest day of the year. Earth is in full bloom. The Sun brings expansiveness and pleasure, playfulness, and joy in being alive. We radiate with the Sun’s brightness. We let our light shine. The Goddess is the Generous Mother, giving us not just what we need, but more. We can be generous also, giving more than we’re asked, doing more than our fair share to make abundance for all.

We shine.

We give.

And we wonder:

What shines brightly in me right now? Or what keeps me from shining? Where do I find shade (when the heat is too intense)? How do I cool off and refresh myself? On the labyrinth, we walk at sunset. We sing songs to the sun. We tell stories of shining moments in our lives. And stories of how we’d like to shine.

As we move forward, the next holiday is Lammas (which means “celebration of bread”) /Lughnasad (LOO-na-sa) (Aug. 1). The days are already growing shorter, although we are still at the height of summer. In an agricultural community, this is a time of hope and fear, when things begin to ripen but the harvest is not yet gathered in. For us, the harvest may be a creative endeavor, a work project, or a committee assignment here at the church. It’s a long, hot summer. And it’s hard to keep going. Our task now is to nurture and protect the commitments we have made, to bring our crops safely to harvest. We need inner strength to face our fears of failing or of making mistakes; to say no to things that are not right for us; and to finish what we start. The Goddess is the Harvest Mother. The God is Lugh the Many-skilled (thus the name Lughnasad), God of the talents and knowledge that create community for the work that needs to be done.

We nurture and protect.

We hope and we fear.

And we wonder:

What needs to be weeded, thinned, or cut away for a full harvest that is yet to come? How do I keep going in the face of uncertainty and fear? So far, we haven’t had a Lammas celebration on the labyrinth. Who has ideas?

The wheel turns, and we arrive at the Fall Equinox/Mabon (MAH-bon) (Sept. 21). Day and night are equal and in balance. We are in the direction West,. The summer lingers, but change is in the air. We gather in our harvest, finding both reward and disappointment, praise and blame. We give thanks for what we have, and we begin to turn our attention inward. Persephone and Inanna journey to the underworld. As the wheel turns, we, too, enter a time of increasing darkness.

We gather the harvest.

We give thanks.

And we wonder:

Where do I need balance in my life? What can I do to thank and take care of the Earth? On the labyrinth, we walk for balance. The design of the labyrinth with its equal number of right and left turns helps us find center within ourselves.

The next point on the wheel is Samhain (SAH-win)/Halloween (Oct. 31). Samhain is the year’s death, but it is also the Witches’ New Year. The Goddess is the Crone, the old wise one. This can be a time of letting go. As the old year dies, we make room for the new year to be born. The time between Samhain and Winter Solstice is the waiting time, a time of gestation. We don’t yet know what the new year will be, but we can dream and imagine. We might seek guidance from a divination tool like the Tarot or the I Ching. We honor the ancestors, and we remember our beloved dead.

We remember.

We let go.

And we wonder:

What do I leave behind in the year that has passed, and what do I wish to take with me? How do I listen to the Wise One within myself? On the labyrinth, we tell stories about our ancestors and our beloved dead. We sweep away what we want to leave behind. We stir the cauldron of change for the new year.

The wheel turns, and we come to the longest night, the Winter Solstice/Yule (Dec. 21). We are in the North. The sun, who has grown old and tired, goes to sleep in the arms of Mother Night, and is reborn. We become the reborn year, all that is new and growing, the Miracle Child whose wondrous birth brings back the light. It is out of darkness that flowers eventually emerge, babies are born, and inspiration comes. We celebrate the dark, where the inner life is honored and nurtured.

We rest in the dark and dream.

We tend our inner light.

And we wonder:

What hopes and dreams do I carry inside? How do I rest and renew myself? On the labyrinth, families light their lanterns at the center from a candle held by a child. Each family brings this light out into the world by placing their lighted lantern on the path of the labyrinth as they walk out.

The year grows, and the sun gets stronger. The days begin to lengthen. Seeds that have been resting in the earth crack their casings and send out a root. The first lambs are born, and the ewes give milk. (The Celtic word for this feast “Imbolc” means lactation.) At Brigit’s Day/Imbolc/Candlemas (Feb. 2), the year is beginning to grow up. As we grow, our task is to become our true selves, distinct and individual. We become the initiate, the one who learns by facing challenges. Brigit is our teacher, the ancient Goddess of fire and water, of poetry, smithcraft, and healing.

We learn about ourselves.

We choose a path.

And we wonder:

What are my spiritual goals for the coming year? What is stirring inside me that seeks to grow, and how will I nurture this growth? On the labyrinth, the women’s group walks to Brigit’s well at the center and focuses on Her healing waters. A lighted candle brings us Her fire of creativity.

The wheel turns and again we are at a point of balance. Day and night are equal at the Spring Equinox/Eostar (A-yo-star) (March 21). We are in the East. The Earth awakens, and we awaken with her. Everything is fresh and new. We are young and playful; we are wild and free. The Goddess is the Maiden. Persephone returns from the underworld, and the Earth rejoices. Eostre (from whom the word Easter is derived) is Goddess of the dawn and new beginnings. Her animal is the magic hare, or rabbit, who lays the egg of life. The God is the Green Man, the power of growth and renewal. As the wheel turns, we enter a time of increasing light.

We grow.

We green.

And we wonder:

What am I awakening within myself? Who am I becoming? At the Spring Equinox, we celebrate the birthday of our labyrinth. When we walk together after church, we enjoy the excitement of the children, the friends and family members who walk together, and the ones who hold the silence. We are grateful to those who dreamed, and planned, and worked to create our labyrinth.

At Beltane/May Eve (May 1), the earth is fully awake, and everything is blossoming. This is the time when sweet desire weds wild delight in the greening of the year. The Maiden grows to womanhood, and the God is Her Lover. We celebrate love and passion, and life bursting and blooming everywhere. Our task now is to become the lover of all living things, to dance with joy, to bloom and grow.

We love.

We blossom.

And we wonder:

How can I more fully participate in the joyful dance of life? How can I be more open to giving and receiving love? What is my heart’s desire? On the labyrinth, we dance around the Maypole (or the Tree of Life), weaving ribbons of bright colors, forming a beautiful pattern of community, diversity, and wholeness. We look around and see wildflower meadows adjacent to the labyrinth. We are smiling, and we are glad to be alive. The wheel turns, and we return to our beginning point: right here, right now—the time of the Summer Solstice.

The wheel turns, and our journey continues.