Seasonal Living through the Church Year (Guest Post)

I have a very exciting guest post to share with you today! I reached out to Kristen and Tessa of All the Household to see if they would write something for Coram Mundo, and I may have squealed when I read their reply. Kristen and Tessa are a wealth of knowledge when it comes to celebrating the Church year in the home. Their website is full of both theoretical and practical resources to help you consider the why and how of liturgical living.

In today’s post, Kristen and Tessa share fascinating connections between seasonal living and living in the historical Church year. There is so much good information here, so take your time and enjoy the feast–even if you have to break it into bite-sized chunks. I hope it inspires you as much as it inspired me!

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Over the past couple of years, there has been a significant resurgence of seasonal living in popular culture. If you walk around your favorite book store; google the phrases “slow living,” “slow eating,” or “slow cooking;” or follow those advocating for more holistic and natural lifestyles, chances are you’ll encounter any number of people talking about their attempts to pattern life alongside the seasons. This isn’t the type of living that people engage in when they decorate the exterior of their house for Halloween, overbuy gifts for Christmas, or pay for Easter eggs to be hidden around their yard. No, this is a quieter movement, interested in better adhering to cycles of labor and rest, growing food in their backyards to feed their families, spending more time outside, and following the broader gestures of creation.

When you think about it, it makes sense that there has been a swell of interest in this topic. Modernity has ensured that you can do and eat whatever you want despite the time of year you’re living in. Are you interested in playing hockey in the middle of summer in Atlanta, Georgia? Year-round ice-cold air-conditioned rinks make it possible to do so. Do you enjoy ice cream in the middle of January, even though you live in northern Minnesota? All you have to do is go to the grocery store to pick up a pint of your favorite flavor.

St. Mark Rogation Walk, Quasimodogeniti Carrot Cake, St. John’s Eve Fire

Intentional, seasonal living is a refreshing breather from all of this. It serves not only to connect you to those who have gone before you (the ancestors who lived seasonally for millennia) but also to connect you with your body’s patterns, the earth, and the embedded sense of order found in the world around us. You can also view this type of living as a sort of generational rebound or counterculture movement, directly pushing back on the habits, traditions, and common knowledge lost with our parents and grandparents.

All of this is well and good, of course. However, it doesn’t take long once you dive a little deeper into the world of seasonal living to find yourself waist-deep in discussions about earth, animal, and crystal energies, the reincarnation of life, and ways to celebrate the various solstices and equinoxes. If you see it for what it is, a good portion of it is flat-out paganism. So what is an appropriate Christian response to seasonal living and our natural desires to better connect with our “roots?”

Seasonal Offerings of the Church Year

Luckily, the Christian calendar and liturgical cycle of the Church that has been around for thousands of years are interested in the exact sorts of things we find much of our culture drawn to today. When you start learning more about the way that the Church has historically stuck to an annual cycle of the same Scriptural readings, holy days, and traditions associated with them, you’ll find much of the same appeal, customs, and focus that come with seasonal living.

Does it seem like fun to celebrate the peak of summer in June and the dead of winter in December? Look no further than the Feast of the Nativity of St. John the Baptist or the Feast of the Nativity of Our Lord to have an excuse to throw the biggest parties you’ve ever been a part of.

St. Nicholas Speculaas Cookies, Twelfth Night Star Bread, St. Lucia Lussekatter

Have you ever wanted to garner the health benefits of plant-based eating and veganism or, on the opposite end, wanted to indulge in all your favorite desserts? Have you wanted to learn how to cook new, challenging, or culturally-inspired dishes? There’s a time in the Christian year for all of this, ensuring that you’ll never get bored, or “stuck,” or trapped in the strictures of a boring religion.

Do you desire to stop your tendency to “go, go, go” and to shed the expectations our world puts on us to be constantly on the move? Do you get sick of always cooking the same old foods at home or feeling like you have to plan a four-course dinner every night for a table full of ravenous children? Look no further than the constant ebb and flow that the Church provides in its celebration of high, festive feast days and then in its observance of somber, mundane fasts. Learn more about how there are certain seasons and weeks of the year (like the octaves of Easter, Pentecost, or Christmas) meant for celebration, festivities every night, and feasting on the best foods. Then, on the other hand, there are other times when we are called to become introspective and inwardly-focused, are encouraged to say “no” to outside obligations and desires, to cozy up by the fire with our books and meditations, and to adopt more meager eating, cooking, and socializing habits. It gives us a chance to rest and reset. To “hibernate” for a period before reemerging into the world.

Do you want to get outside more and live your days by the light of the sun? Rogation days, Ember days, and the Ascension encourage you to get outside at all times of the year and to better attune yourselves to the seasonal transitions at play.

Do you crave seasonal foods and want to plan your weekly menu around what is available in your garden and cheapest in the grocery store (which is certainly not a bad idea considering food prices these days)? Follow the wisdom of those who have gone before you and who have created traditions for the Church year that naturally follow the harvesting of foods that are at their peak. You only have to learn more about St. Bartholomew and honey in August, October’s blackberries and St. Michael, and the mulled wine of St. John in December to increase your knowledge regarding seasonally appropriate foods.

St. Bartholomew Honey Cake, St. Michael & All Angels Bannock, St. John Mulled Wine

Do you want to have an excuse to pull out fun decorations for your kids, teach them about holidays and customs, sing songs, hang banners, and recite poems? The Church year is absolutely chock full of this stuff and provides you with more inspiration and ideas than you could possibly execute! And the best part is when you start looking into it, there’s more and more to learn.

Through the Lens of Scripture

Believe it or not, even though the aforementioned ideas are steeped in living in the “here and now,” all of these things can point us (and others!) towards our Lord and better instill in us a heavenly and purposeful focus for our time on this earth. It’s not just our human application and overlay of the Bible upon the ways of the world. No, we see these patterns of seasonal living in Scripture itself.

The themes of End Times as well as St. John the Baptist and his pointing to Christ within the season of Advent in December directly prepare us for Jesus’ birth and John 8:12 revelation that he is “the light of the world.” As St. John teaches, Christ’s birth brought humankind the dawning of a new day—his birth in the absolute darkest of days is the start of the pendulum swinging towards the increase of light. The Baptist said, “He must increase, but I must decrease” (John 3:30). Similarly, one of the most beloved Lutheran hymns, sung in Epiphany during the days right after Christmas, reminds us of Christ, the Morning Star (LSB 395).

Candlemas in early February, which marks the Presentation of Jesus and the Purification of Mary, mimics the instructions God gave the Israelites in Egypt and how he delivered them out of the darkness of slavery. Again, the blessing of candles on this day and the tradition of holding an evening service lit with candlelight remind us of Jesus’ Epiphany to the world and the opening of all Christians’ eyes to his divinity: “for mine eyes have seen thy salvation, which thou hast prepared before the face of all people; a light to lighten the Gentiles, and the glory of thy people Israel” (Luke 2:28-32).

St. Mary Lavender Cookies, Candlemas Crepes, The Visitation Blueberry Heart Shortcakes

The Annunciation in March with the celebration of Christ’s incarnation reminds us that new life blooms in the spring. The angel Gabriel came to Mary nine months before December to tell her the good news of the babe in her womb: “And behold, you will conceive in your womb and bring forth a Son, and shall call His name Jesus” (Luke 1:31). Likewise, Easter and Christ’s Resurrection on the third day are all tied to the end of winter, the rejuvenation of the earth, and the fulfilled promise of life after death: “If Christ is in you, though the body is dead because of sin, yet the spirit is alive because of righteousness” (Romans 8:10).

St. Mary’s other holidays throughout the height of summer, including the Visitation in July and the Assumption in August, allude to her fertility and fruitfulness as the “highly favored one,” blessed among women (Luke 1:28). That is the reason why Mary is called the “Flower of Flowers,” with many plants explicitly named after her (i.e. Rosemary, Marigold, and the Madonna Lily). Hostas were even known as “Assumption Lilies” since a thin stalk with a small and beautiful bluish flower rises out of the leaves in late summer, a reminder of Mary’s transition into heaven that the Church commemorates in mid-August.

Yet with fall comes Michaelmas, Ss. Simon and Jude, and All Saints’ Day in September, October, and November. These days are suggestive of the fight of good vs. evil, the gruesome death that comes to believers, and the eternal sleep that we all fall into. While the world prepares for winter, as the days shorten, and we’re kept busy in anticipation of harvest, we learn from the Church’s year that God is the ultimate reaper: “The grass withers, the flower fades, because the breath of the Lord blows upon it; surely the people are grass. The grass withers, the flower fades, but the word of our God stands forever” (Isaiah 40:7-8).

Ss. Simon and Jude Soul Cakes, St. Jonah Stuffed Gourd, Holy Cross Day Lemon Pound Cake

Conclusion

When put together and celebrated year after year, these days form the Church’s cycle and her own way of practicing seasonal living. These stories, traditions, and customs remind us of the ways we can be present: how we can be better attuned to nature and the order that God has put into the world. They help us retain and maintain our spiritual footing in an unstable world. They help us remember what’s truly important.

If you’re drawn to these things and want to tap into a different way of living, we encourage you to keep learning more about the Church and her seasons. Together with all those in the history of Christendom—both those living today and the millions who have gone before us in the faith—you can carry on the knowledge of these traditions and Christians’ seasonal wisdom. In the process you’ll surely reap many of the benefits associated with seasonal living. Yes, you’ll regain a slower way of life. You’ll probably connect more with yourself, with others, and with creation. But, most importantly, you’ll connect with God and the legacy of the Church.

He Shepherds Us, Too

I haven’t been in a liturgical church long enough to know whether Good Shepherd Sunday often falls on Mother’s Day, but I loved how beautifully the two themes coincided this year. I had just listened to this inspiring interview in which Mari Hoverson of Abide Bible Club (who also happens to be my sister-in-law) talks with Laura Booz about her recent book Expect Something Beautiful: Finding God’s Good Gifts in Motherhood. When Mari asked for a verse that can encourage women, Laura gave an unexpected answer: Isaiah 40:11. This verse, immediately preceded by a declaration that “the Lord GOD comes with might,” describes Christ’s tender care for His sheep: “He will tend his flock like a shepherd; he will gather the lambs in his arms; he will carry them in his bosom, and gently lead those that are with young.”

The Good Shepherd by Bernard Plockhorst

Yesterday, as the pastor preached on the Good Shepherd in John 10, he noted how we are like sheep. We do dumb things, we don’t recognize the food and water that are good for us, and we need to be rescued again and again. Anyone who has spent much time around kids might think this illustration sounds all too fitting. It’s easy for me to see my one-year-old daughter in that description. But do I see myself there? Do I recognize my own need for a Shepherd?

Christ promises to “gently lead those that are with young.” He cares for us mothers just as He cares for our little ones. Sometimes I get so accustomed to being the one upon whom another depends that I forget my own dependency. I get caught up in giving to my daughter and forget that everything I give must first be given me by God (1 Cor. 4:7). Just as “we love because he first loved us” (1 John 4:19), so we gently lead our children because Christ gently leads us. He does not give us what we need to begin and then leave us to figure out the rest for ourselves. Our Good Shepherd goes before us (John 10:4). He knows us; no one can snatch us from His hand (John 10:27, 28). We would have nothing to sacrifice for our children if He did not give us life by laying down His own.

One of Hosanna’s favorite books to read is this little board book of Henriette L. von Hayn’s hymn “I Am Jesus’ Little Lamb.” It’s easy for me to think of this as a children’s song and forget how gently and lovingly the Good Shepherd cares for my every need. I like how Emily of Total W(h)ine says it: “Good parenting means remembering I’m a child.” This is the reminder I need this Mother’s Day. I am weak and helpless. I do dumb things. I wander from the good pastures. I sin against the Shepherd who died for me. But Christ seeks me and gently leads me. He washes me. He feeds me with His own body and blood. He holds me with more love than I will ever have for my little girl.

“Blood Squirted Out!”

Since moving to Indiana, a highlight of Wednesday has become taking Hosanna to Word for the Wee in the seminary library. It’s so precious to see the littlest members of the seminary community praying, singing, and listening to Bible stories. 

A Word for the Wee lesson last year

Last week one of the seminary students gave a lesson on Jesus’ death and resurrection, which was followed by a fun egg hunt for the kids. To help hold the attention of his young audience, he had brought along a few props, including a large nail. When the children were asked about the nail, one boy of about four years old piped up, “Blood squirted out!” We chuckled at his exclamation. It wasn’t exactly the polite Sunday School answer that a mom wants her child to give. But I keep thinking about the truth of that little boy’s words; I wonder if he recognized something that sometimes gets downplayed in our telling of the Good Friday story.

Blood squirted out! He was right. That same evening, as I listened to the continuation of the Passion narrative in my church’s Lent service, I heard similar words from St. John:

“But when they came to Jesus and saw that he was already dead, they did not break his legs. But one of the soldiers pierced his side with a spear, and at once there came out blood and water. He who saw it has borne witness–his testimony is true, and he knows that he is telling the truth–that you also may believe” (John 19:33-35, emphasis added). 

Blood and water flowed from Jesus’ side. Through blood and water, the church is fashioned from her Bridegroom’s side, just as Eve was fashioned from Adam’s side (see Gen. 2:21-22). John recorded this moment of the crucifixion so that we might believe. 

Yet how often we are tempted to spare our children–and ourselves–the offensive, gory details of Christ’s death. My heart goes out to all the children who know only a sanitized Christianity: children for whom church is nothing more than a place to sing feel-good music and listen to inspirational messages, children who recognize the cross as a nice piece of home décor but do not know of Christ’s body on the cross bleeding and dying for them, children who will be confused when suffering strikes because they do not know of Christ’s suffering for them.

I’m thankful for that little boy’s answer. Even if his understanding is incomplete and his young mind jumps first to the graphic details, I’m thankful that he knows of Christ’s blood shed for him. When he sins, he will know that the price for his transgression is death, and that the price has been fully paid by the sinless Christ. When he suffers, he will know of the Suffering Servant who bore the agony of the cross for him. He may not understand it yet, but these profound truths flow from his simple statement: “Blood squirted out.”

Cristo crucificado by Diego Velázquez (1632)

I want to close with the words of a beautiful Lent hymn, “O Dearest Jesus, What Law Hast Thou Broken” by Johann Heerman (translated by Catherine Winkworth). There are fifteen verses that are all well worth your time, but I’ll just share the first seven. You can read the full text here.

(1) O dearest Jesus, what law hast Thou broken

That such sharp sentence should on Thee be spoken?

Of what great crime hast Thou to make confession,

What dark transgression?

(2) They crown Thy head with thorns, they smite, they scourge Thee;

With cruel mockings to the cross they urge Thee;

They give Thee gall to drink, they still decry Thee;

They crucify Thee.

(3) Whence come these sorrows, whence this mortal anguish?

It is my sins for which Thou, Lord, must languish;

Yea, all the wrath, the woe, Thou dost inherit,

This I do merit.

(4) What punishment so strange is suffered yonder!

The Shepherd dies for sheep that loved to wander;

The Master pays the debt His servants owe Him,

Who would not know Him.

(5) The sinless Son of God must die in sadness;

The sinful child of man may live in gladness;

Man forfeited his life and is acquitted;

God is committed.

(6) There was no spot in me by sin untainted;

Sick with sin’s poison, all my heart had fainted;

My heavy guilt to hell had well-nigh brought me,

Such woe it wrought me.

(7) O wondrous love, whose depth no heart hath sounded,

That brought Thee here, by foes and thieves surrounded!

All worldly pleasures, heedless, I was trying

While Thou wert dying.

Ash Wednesday Reflections and a Poem about Eve (“Hold Me”)

Yesterday marked my fourth year attending an Ash Wednesday service and my third year doing so in a Lutheran church. It is a sobering, humbling experience to have the ashes placed on my forehead as the pastor repeats the words, “For you are dust, and to dust you shall return.” But this time I was especially moved as the ashes were placed on my daughter’s head for the first time. Hearing those words spoken to my sweet, silly, carefree baby, I was reminded of the awful reality that she too is affected by the Fall. Like me and like all of us, she is dying.

Here she is goofing off in front of the mirror, blissfully unaware of the sober events of the evening. (Most of the ashes had rubbed off by the time we got home.)

I wonder if the death of Abel was the first time Adam and Eve really reckoned with what their sin had done. They had eaten of the tree and ushered in sin, death, and decay. And now death had come for their own son through his brother’s hand.

A couple of years ago, I wrote a poem imagining Eve’s deathbed perspective. It isn’t exactly an Ash Wednesday poem. But any poem about death is, loosely speaking, an Ash Wednesday poem. In this poem, I explore what it would have been like for Eve to tell Adam goodbye, to face that separation of death that they never should have known. Genesis doesn’t tell us whether Adam or Eve died first, so I’ve taken the artistic license of writing as if it was Eve. Here is my retelling of the first few chapters of Genesis through the lens of Eve’s death.

Hold Me

Hold me as you held me in the garden that first day,

On the day you woke and saw me, and I took your breath away.

I remember that first meeting when God brought me to your side, 

The side from which He fashioned me, your helper and your bride.

I remember how you held me then–your strong arms round me clasped–

How you sighed with wondrous joy and breathed out the words, “At last!”

~

Hold me as you failed to do the day the serpent came,

When you failed to intercept him in his crafty, deadly game.

Protect me as you didn’t when you blamed me for the sin

That cast us out of paradise and cursed this world we’re in.

~

Hold me as you held me when the curse’s awful pain

Gripped me as I labored to bring forth our darling Cain.

I wondered in that moment if that’s how it feels to die.

But lovingly you held us, and at last we heard his cry. 

~

Hold me as you held me when he took his brother’s life,

And I felt my heart sliced open by death’s cold and cruel knife. 

You held me as I learned our boys were never coming home: 

One hidden in the dust of death, the other made to roam.

You held me as I learned he would not crush the serpent’s head;

The one I hoped would save us crushed his brother’s skull instead.

~

Hold me, Adam, as you’ve done for all our many years,

Hold me as you’ve held me through our joys and our tears.

This should’ve been forever; I can’t bear to say goodbye.

You named me Mother of All Living; and now you must watch me die.

Our life was full and full of love, but now it’s gone so fast,

And still it feels like yesterday that you first said, “At last!”

Oh Adam, let me lean on you and feel your sweet embrace;

One final time let me behold my lover’s lovely face.

Let me feel the arms I knew before the curse had sapped their strength.

Let’s recall our full love story, in this one moment grasp its length.

What should have been forever now with lightning speed flies past.

So hold me one last moment, for at last I breathe my last.

Advent Tears: A Poem for the Holy Innocents

Massacre of the Innocents by Guido Reni (1611)

Advent has come and gone, and it’s the second Sunday after Christmas. But, at the same time, Advent can’t be over. We are still waiting for Christ to return in judgment and glory. On the heels of the Advent season, when the blue paraments have only just been packed away, the one-year lectionary bring us to a Gospel reading that screams our need for a second Advent.

Christ was born. The angels celebrated His arrival. Shepherds spread the good news. Magi made the long journey to come and worship the young King. And then, almost before the festivities had faded, Herod slaughtered the baby boys of Bethlehem. 

This massacre reminds us of our need for Christ to come again. The cries of the Holy Innocents interrupt our Christmas celebrations and cause us to remember that all has not yet been made new.

Two years ago, as I was reflecting on the penitential, expectant nature of the Advent season, I wrote this poem. I started by imagining what it would be like for Mary to travel to Egypt as the boys of Bethlehem were massacred, and then I extended the Advent theme to her perspective on other events in the life of Christ. May the story of these little boys cause us all to pray for our Lord’s return.

[Update: Click here to listen to the poem.]


Advent Tears 


On the Road to Egypt

“Comfort ye,” the prophet said. 

So why have I from Bethlehem fled?

Why I alone while others weep

And cry to God His word to keep?

For Rachel’s cheeks will not be dry

While babes of hers are slain and die.

All comforters she will refuse;

How now can heralds speak good news?

Like unchecked streams her tears will flow

While I alone to Egypt go. 


Though all seemed well that holy night

When darkness fled at love’s pure light,

That song of joy is choked by grief–

By Rachel’s tears for lives so brief. 

From Ramah hear her wailing voice 

Rise up for all her little boys. 


O Child, I hold You to my breast 

And wonder that I am so blessed.

Why should I be the favored one

To now embrace God’s only Son?

But Gabriel said that You would reign.

So why are Bethlehem’s infants slain?

O Child, Almighty God and King,

When will You that kingdom bring?


The Crucifixion 

O King, now wearing crown of thorns,

I wept for joy when You were born. 

But now my tears like Rachel’s flow,

And all my heart’s weighed down with woe.

All my hopes nailed to that tree,

Dying there, my Lord, with Thee.

“Unending reign,” the angel said. 

How can this be? For You are dead.


After the Ascension 

Now once again with joy I weep.

O risen Lord, Your word You keep.

From empty tomb glad tidings ring

Of peace on earth from God our King.

You died and rose, and death is slain.

My Lord, eternally You reign.

Ascended to Your Father’s side,

You reign for us for whom You died. 


Yet still I hear dear Rachel’s cry. 

Lord, come again her tears to dry. 

Come comfort Rachel as she wails.

Come soon before our eyesight fails.

As watchmen long for morn to break, 

We long for Thee; our mourning take.

For Rachel, Lord, come soon, I pray.

Maranatha! Don’t delay.

For Sarah laughs, but Rachel weeps.

Come soon; Your Advent promise keep.