“[Anglo-Saxon pagans] began the year on the 8th calends of January [25 December], when we celebrate the birth of the Lord. That very night, which we hold so sacred, they used to call by the heathen word Modranecht, that is, ‘mothers’ night,’ because (we suspect) of the ceremonies they enacted all that night.”
—The Venerable Bede, 8th century, The Reckoning of Time (Trans. Wallis)

Many Northern European pagan traditions honoured a mother goddess who gave birth to a child of light, representing the sun, as the sun is reborn at the winter solstice.

The Sámi, the indigenous reindeer herding people of the Nordic countries, honoured the goddess Beaivi by smearing warm butter—yellow like the sun—on doorposts at the winter solstice. Beaivi, the sun goddess, flew through the sky as a reindeer, carrying the life-giving light of the sun in her antlers on the night of the winter solstice. The offerings of the people helped her gain strength and fly higher and higher into the sky to return fertility to the land.

Saule, the Lithuanian and Latvian goddess of the sun, also flew across the sky in a sleigh pulled by antlered reindeer, throwing pebbles of amber into chimneys to symbolise the sun. (The next time you see Santa, spare a thought for the forgotten Mother Christmas!)

It’s no coincidence, then, that the Christian Church chose the winter solstice for the celebration of the birth of Jesus. In that story, Mary struggles through hardships to give Jesus birth. Just two or three generations ago, many of my female ancestors died in childbirth or were widowed early. As part of my observance of Yule and Christmas, I honour them by lighting candles and spending some quiet time remembering them with gratitude.

I think of women like my great-grandmothers: Elsie, who worked in a bicycle pump factory; Ethel, who spent her teenage years working as a servant until she married; Lizzie, a blacksmith’s daughter who married a farmer, had six children, and died of pneumonia aged 34; and Nellie, who ran the family farm, bringing up her five children alone when her husband Frank died in the 1919 Spanish Influenza epidemic.

Many family relationships can be complex and difficult, and my family certainly has its fair share of those relationships. Nevertheless, I’m grateful for the sacrifices my ancestors made to give me the precious gift of life. Whatever our spirituality or beliefs, may we honour the precious gift of life with gratitude this holiday season, and may our memories be blessed.

Prayer

Hail Grandmother Spirit, full of Grace and Eternal Love: Blessed are you, blessed are we, and blessed are the fruits of our labours of Love. Holy Mother of all life and death, forever enfold us in your loving embrace. Amen.