My beloved hadn’t seen the 1993 film Groundhog Day, so we watched it last night. I had forgotten some poignant scenes, such as when Bill Murray sits with two guys in a bar in Pennsylvania coal-mining country and describes being stuck in a time loop: “What would you do if you were stuck in one place, and every day was exactly the same, and nothing that you did mattered?” One of the men responds, “That about sums it up for me.”
Most or all of what I know about the Groundhog Day tradition came from that movie. Only this week, I learned that the holiday originated with my ethnic group, the German-speaking immigrants who came to be called the Pennsylvania Dutch (an anglicization of Deutsch). Skipping over some complicated history, here’s a fun fact: the German ritual was watching a badger emerge from its den on Candlemas. Along with Saint Brigid’s Day and Imbolc in the Celtic parts of Europe, the first two days of February celebrate the halfway point until the spring equinox.
I’ve been thinking more about the various holidays marking the seasons after reading Wintering: The power of rest and retreat in difficult times by Katherine May. She begins by asserting that winters can begin any time, metaphorically speaking. Tragedy and injustice, pain and grief can leave us with only enough energy to survive each day. “We may drift through years in which we feel like a negative presence in the world,” May writes, “but we are capable of coming back again.” As life remains in the roots of trees and perennials, each of us can store up what we need until the seasons change. Our capacity for wisdom and compassion can expand.
Since Solstice, I have been listening to Sufjan Stevens’ “Sister Winter” (blowing right past Epiphany though it is a Christmas song.) More light peeks around my curtains each morning, but I have not resumed my three-seasons waking time. My body, healing, must rest more. Sister Winter embraces me.
In “Sister Winter,” the lyrics express less than the way the instrumentation changes from the beginning to the end. (This is even more true with another of my favorites, “Casimir Pulaski Day.”) We move toward a return to joy. Like the coming of spring in our snowy areas, it is often in fits and starts, with setbacks like April storms or stretches stuck in the mud. But whether or not burrowing mammals see their shadows, no winter lasts forever.
Book update
I’ve signed a book contract with Wipf & Stock for What You Sow Is a Bare Seed: A Countercultural Christian Community during Five Decades of Change in the Church. From now until the end of March I’ll be finalizing my manuscript, citations, and bibliography. If you are so inclined, I welcome prayer and good wishes for energy and focus.
Reading & listening
In addition to the above books and songs, Mudhouse Sabbath: An Invitation to a Life of Spiritual Discipline. By Lauren F. Winner (Paraclete Press, 2007). In the section on sabbath, Winner makes note of the argument that was trendy at the time (and still today) that resting makes you more productive at other times. Without disputing that, Winner notes that “rest for the sake of future productivity is at odds with the spirit of the sabbath.” Amen.
Jennifer Gonnerman, “The Total Package: The lives of UPS workers and the chances of a strike.” The New Yorker. January 16, 2023.
I’ve also been listening to more Nina Simone. The range is incredible—from the warmth of “Here Comes the Sun” to the potency of her political songs, which do not spare anyone her anger at racism. There are a surprising number of her concert recordings available on music streaming services, allowing us to hear the resonances in our time.
Wonderful to learn you have a publisher. I’m greatly looking forward to reading the book for a history of the visionary people that comprised the church, and the strong lesson in transitions that happen as neighborhoods, personnel and possibilities/opportunities change.