Many years ago, when my ligaments were more flexible and my knees still fresh, I loved to cross-country ski. Every winter we’d take trips up to the Sierra and make tracks in the snow. We favored mountaineering skis with metal edges that allowed us to take off into the woods, follow snow-covered dirt roads or trails up to open bowls, and spend the day telemarking (not to be confused with telemarketing) and playing among the granite outcrops in the white and green wonderland.
For several reasons, one of our favorite haunts was Sequoia National Park. Not least was the chance to ski among the presence of those giant conifers. I remember fondly one particular trip where we went out on a full moon, the ground glowing beneath our feet as we slid in and out amongst the stately trunks of those leviathans. Several of us, freed from our skis, craned our necks looking up at one of the monstrous trees. Then we hit upon an easier way to gaze up at them. One by one, we let our torsos, like falling tree trunks, fall backward. Whump! Our bodies were immediately surrounded, cushioned by the soft snow as we lay comfortably in a depression made by our bodies, now staring up at the giant sequoia out of a cold moonlit frame of snow crystals.
The tree’s crenulated trunk and branches cast bright contrasting shadows illuminated by the moonlight, and the faint stars in the night sky beyond its crown seemed to enlarge the giant and give it an ethereal presence. One of my companions stated, “If this tree were to fall on me right now, I’d be okay with it”. Another softly murmured, “This could be my God”.
For many people, it’s hard not to feel humbled when encountering such long-lived monarchs in the forest. It’s been that way for humans for many years. Looking back at our ancestors’ cultures, we’ll find similar reverential sentiments about trees. After all, trees, especially large trees, encompass all three realms, the underworld, the earth, and the sky.
The Aztec paradise, Tamoanchan, was said to be at the top of the highest mountain. It was a beautiful place, at its center stood a tree whose boughs were not to be broken, or its flowers plucked. The Hindus called their sacred center Idavarsha where two trees of cosmic life lived, the Kalpadruma, the Tree of Ages, and the Parajita, the Tree of Every Perfect Gift. In Scandinavian cosmology, Yggdrasil is the giant tree that supports the universe. It has branches that extend into the heavens and roots that reach into other realms. In the Old Testament, we hear of the Tree of Life and the Tree of Knowledge that grew in the Garden of Eden. Shinto beliefs in Japan view all trees as antennas to the spirit world. In the northern climates evergreen trees, like the Cedars of Lebanon and large conifers in Northern Europe were particularly revered because they maintained the green of life during the dark half of the year.
The winter solstice is the zenith of the dark half of the year. Many of our ancestors celebrated this time with rituals involving fire (to bring back the sun), feasting, and trees. Yule or jol is one of the most well-known of these times celebrated in Northern Europe by Germanic groups such as the Norse and the Anglo-Saxons. Part of their rituals consisted of bringing in evergreen boughs or in some cases whole trees, particularly fir trees, to symbolize the perseverance of life through winter. Adorning these plants with candles, fruits, and symbolic ornaments added to the festive nature of the rituals and the season.
Most scholars attribute the choice of December 25 as the day to celebrate the birth of Jesus to Hippolytus (170-235 CE), a prominent theologian of the Catholic Church in Rome. He came to this conclusion by using what some call Calculation Theory.
“In Jewish tradition, the date of conception of a holy person coincides with the date of death. Early Christians believed that March 25 was when Jesus was crucified.
Based on this theological assumption, the calculation shows that Jesus’ conception also happened on March 25. This means, Jesus was born exactly nine months later, or on December 25.”
Martinus Ariya Seta
This was exceedingly convenient for early priests and monks trying to spread Christianity to pagan lands. The people were already engaging in solstice celebrations like Yule, the Romans’ Saturnalia, or Mithras in Persia. It was easy to weave Christian themes into them and have them assimilated. As Christianity spread throughout Northern Europe, “Yule” slowly became synonymous with Christmas. Luckily, the idea of bringing greenery inside homes during this time of year persisted.
The 16th-century Germans are often credited with laying the foundations of the Christmas tree tradition as we know it today. Instead of boughs, they brought whole trees into their homes and decorated them with candles, nuts, and fruits, symbolizing hope for the new spring. When they migrated in the 18th century, they brought this yuletide tree tradition to England and America.
Yule trees and Yule logs played important parts in the solstice celebrations of the past. The Yule logs were huge trunks, sometimes decorated or carved, and burned for days and nights during the solstice season. A piece was always saved to light the next year’s fire, symbolizing continuity and completing the wheel of the year.
In our home, we carry on this tradition in our own way. The trunk of our live Yule Tree (no fake trees here, we’re sacrificing a living thing for this ritual) is cut into stove-length firewood then saved and used in lighting next year’s solstice fire to warm our home and our hearts.
Trees provide many things, including paper, building materials, food, beauty, air recycling, and shade. What’s often overlooked, though, is their ability to link us to our past—not just to family traditions or our ancient ancestors, but to that universal deep resonant feeling of Spirit we get when encountering an ancient, stately giant of the forest.
So good!