The Old Ways: Midsummer Stars by Linda Raedisch - Litha

Sabbats Almanac: Samhain to Mabon - Kristoffer Hughes 2018

The Old Ways: Midsummer Stars by Linda Raedisch
Litha

SEVERAL OF OUR WITCHES’ sabbats once bore the names of Christian saints. St. Bridget is still going strong in Ireland while St. Walpurga perseveres pretty much in name only. St. Michael, whose feast day coincides with Mabon, has been forgotten even by the Catholics I’ve spoken to, but June 24 is still known as St. John’s Day in most of Europe. Rather than suffering from the indelible stamp of Christianity, it remains one of the most important dates in the Pagan calendar. In ancient days, Midsummer Eve probably eclipsed Yule as the solar event of the year. After all, the winter solstice is just a promise, but at Midsummer that promise is made good.

In the more northerly latitudes, it won’t get dark at all tonight. Witches and fairies enjoy the sunshine as much as everyone else, so they’ll probably want to come and dance around the bonfire too. As long as they don’t forget their crowns of summer blossoms, they’ll be able to blend right in with the crowd. Whether you know it as Litha, Midsummer, or St. John’s Eve, the summer solstice is one of the easiest Sabbats to observe at home: all you need is flowers.

If, on the other hand, you prefer to go abroad, one of the best places for a Pagan to celebrate the year’s longest day is the Lithuanian countryside. Join the throngs of people on one of the flower-dotted hills on the bright evening of June 23 to watch the Lithuanians celebrate Midsummer Eve, or Ligo, in ancient style. Lithuanian is the oldest living Indo-European language. In other words, if you already speak Lithuanian, you’ll have a leg up on learning the Bronze Age liturgical language of Sanskrit, should you ever choose to do so. Many of the Lithuanian gods and spirits have direct counterparts in Vedic Hinduism, for these were the gods worshipped by the cattle-driving Indo-Europeans before they parted ways on the steppes of Central Asia thousands of years ago. Because the Lithuanians did not officially adopt Christianity until 1387, much of the old religion that has been lost elsewhere in Europe survives in Lithuanian folklore and festivity.

The name Ligo means “to sway,” and to sway while singing is a sign of joy. Along with swaying, singing, and bonfire-feeding, flowers carry the day at Ligo. The men wear wreaths of green oak leaves while the women and girls weave chaplets of blue cornflowers, red fern fronds, and whatever else they happen to pick along the way: elder blossoms, vervain, purple vetch, and the foamy white corymbs of wild carrot. Most important are the daisies, which, to the Lithuanians are “little suns” or “wheels.”

No, you can’t beat Ligo for ancient Paganism in action, but the Lithuanians don’t have a monopoly on Midsummer flowers or Hansblumen as they are called in German. In Germany, it was supposed to be good for the eyes to view the St. John’s fires through a bouquet of larkspur. There, Johannestag was also known as Holdertag, Elder Day, as in the elder shrub, Sambucus nigra. “Nigra” refers to the purplish black berries that appear in the fall, but at Midsummer, the elder is still a-froth in white blossoms. For a Midsummer treat, Germans dip the umbels in a thin batter and fry them like pancakes.

At this time of year, it was only practical to add corn flowers and corn poppies to one’s Midsummer bouquet. Though strikingly pretty, the sky blue Centaurea cyanus and scarlet Papaver rhoeas are really just weeds and best yanked out of the “corn” or grain fields where they like to grow.

The fern fronds that Lithuanian women like to weave into their flower crowns bear no flowers of their own; baby ferns are achieved by the broadcasting of tiny spores, not flower seeds. Nevertheless, at midnight on St. John’s Eve, ferns were supposed to burst out in golden blossom, a belief that must have had more to do with Midsummer drunkenness than the sober observation of nature. Even ordinary plants had magical properties if picked at midnight on the twenty-third or noon on the twenty-fourth, and magical plants were twice as potent.

If a young swain wanted to know how he and his girlfriend would get on in the coming year, he could plant two shoots of orpine, aka Johnny, Orphan John, Midsummer Men, or Sedum telephium, side by side at midnight on St. John’s Eve, one for her and one for himself. If the shoots twined around each other, they would marry. If one of the shoots died, it meant that person would not live to see another Midsummer.

In parts of Spain, Midsummer Eve is known as Verbena after the purple vervain, Verbena officinalis. In appearance, vervain is about as exciting as statice, but its reputation precedes it. The ancient Greeks used it to clean their altars, and the Persians used it as a sacrament in their solar rituals. The Romans liked to burn it in their temples, and the Druids treated it with almost as much reverence as the mistletoe. The Druids did not simply pick it. First, an offering was made—no need for a human sacrifice; a little honey would do—then a circle was drawn around the plant with a knife or piece of iron. Only then could the plant be dug up, and only with the left hand.

So what makes vervain so special? I’m sure a hardcore herbalist, perhaps even a Druid, could tell you, but I am at a loss. Only one of the go-to practical herb books I keep in my library even mention it, and that one informs me that it is regarded as a “pernicious weed” in much of the United States. According to this source, verbena means “sacred herb” in Latin, but my dictionary argues for “green shoot.” Elizabethan writer Thomas Lodge says that “veruen” is like “poyson one waye and pleasure an other,” so it’s certainly an herb to treat carefully.

St. John’s Wort, Hypericum perforatum, is no mystery at all. My herbals were all clamoring to tell me how this plant, taken as a tablet or a tea, lifts the mood, a boost I need more during the dark days of Midwinter than at Midsummer, but perhaps summer is the time to start. And if picked at midnight on Midsummer Eve, it ought to make me twice as merry! St. John’s Wort, like vervain, is also considered a weed outside its native Eurasia. If you do make its flowers part of your Midsummer celebration, be sure to leave a few of them unpicked so you can enjoy watching them turn into pinkly blushing berries in the fall.

It’s easy to see why St. John’s Wort was named for the season in which it blooms. The golden yellow petals and long filaments resemble the rays of the sun whose special day this is. If you can’t get your hands on Hypericum perforatum, any summer-blooming flower that resembles the radiant sun will do as a sacrament: feverfew, chamomile, arnica, daisy and even dandelion. For the center of your bouquet, consider the “king’s candle” or mullein, which is also in its glory on Midsummer Eve. And the frosted velvet leaves of the wormwood plant can add a little touch of Faerie to a crown.

According to an old English folk rhyme, “Vervain and dill/Hinder witches from their will,” but vervain was also supposed to be a key ingredient of witches’ flying potions. Likewise, daisies, chamomile, and pretty much any member of the Asteraceae or “starry” family were supposed to be deterrents against witchcraft, but none of the witches I have spoken to have had a problem with them.