Alright, grab your cocoa and settle in because we’re about to unwrap a holiday truth bomb. You see, Christmas—the beloved, snow-dusted, tinsel-laden celebration of Jesus’s birth—isn’t as “Christian” as you might think. In fact, many of the traditions we hold so dear are straight-up Pagan. Yep, you heard me. That Christmas tree in your living room? Pagan. Those carols you’re singing? Pagan. Even the date itself—December 25th—likely has nothing to do with Jesus’s actual birthday and everything to do with ancient solstice celebrations.
Let me back up before Aunt Karen faints into her eggnog. I’m not here to steal anyone’s holiday joy; I’m just saying maybe we should take a closer look at where these traditions actually came from. Spoiler alert: they didn’t drop out of the sky with angels singing “Hark the Herald.”
But before you roll your eyes and think I’m here to ruin Christmas, let me assure you: I love this time of year. I love the traditions, the lights, the sense of togetherness. What I don’t love is how disconnected we’ve become from the roots of those traditions—and from the light they’re supposed to bring into the darkest days of the year.
Here on the farm, the seasons guide everything we do. Winter is a time to rest the soil, to feed the land, and prepare for what’s to come. It’s a time to look inward, to reflect, and to find hope in the promise of spring. This is why the solstice has always been so important—not just to pagans like me, but to farmers, to ancient peoples, and to anyone who’s ever relied on the land to survive.
Finding Light in the Darkness
For centuries, people celebrated the Winter Solstice as a turning point—the day the sun begins its slow return. In the cold and dark, they lit fires, hung evergreens, and feasted, not just for survival but for hope. The solstice reminded them that the darkness wouldn’t last forever. And let’s be honest, that’s a message we desperately need right now.
Look around. Between overdose deaths, mental health crises, chronic disease, and the hate that seems to have infiltrated every corner of this country, it feels like we’re drowning in darkness. We’re isolated, overworked, and disconnected from the things that matter—family, community, and the earth itself.
But here’s the good news: just like the solstice, the light can return. It starts with us.
The Traditions We Share
Let’s talk about those Christmas traditions for a second. The tree? Pagans hung evergreens to honor life in the dead of winter. The wreaths? They symbolized the endless cycle of seasons, life, and death. Even the date—December 25th—wasn’t chosen because it marked Jesus’s actual birthday (spoiler alert: it doesn’t). It aligned with solstice celebrations like Saturnalia and Yule because early Christians were savvy—they knew that if they wanted to convert people, it was easier to work with existing customs than to fight them.
Think about it: long before Christianity, people celebrated the Winter Solstice, the shortest day and longest night of the year. It was a turning point, marking the return of the light. For ancient peoples, this was a time to honor the rebirth of the sun—not the Son. When the days are dark and the nights are freezing, doesn’t it make sense to throw a big party to celebrate the promise of warmth and life returning?
The Romans had Saturnalia, a week-long festival of feasting, gift-giving, and decorating with greenery—sound familiar? Germanic pagans celebrated Yule by lighting fires, adorning trees, and honoring nature spirits. And those evergreens? They symbolized life and resilience during the harshest months. Germanic tribes would decorate trees to honor their gods and invite blessings for the coming year. Sound like your family’s annual ornament extravaganza?
Here’s the thing: Christianity didn’t erase these traditions; it absorbed them. Early Christians were strategic, not sacred, in their approach. They recognized the universal human need for light, hope, and connection during the coldest, darkest time of the year. By aligning Christmas with these deeply ingrained solstice celebrations, they bridged the gap between faiths, blending old customs with new meaning.
And that’s why I’m not here to tell you to stop celebrating Christmas. I’m here to tell you to celebrate it more deeply. To reconnect with the land, with the cycles of nature, and with the people around you.
On the farm, we do this in our own way. We honor the solstice by reflecting on the year behind us and the year ahead. We light candles and talk about what we want to bring into the coming season—light, love, growth. We thank the earth for what it’s given us and commit to caring for it better. We even “put the garden to sleep” with a little ceremony of gratitude and hope for the next harvest.
Bringing the Light Back
So, what does this mean for you? It means stop rushing through the holidays and start thinking about what they’re really about. It means looking past the consumerism and the plastic-wrapped junk and asking: what am I celebrating? What am I bringing into this world?
For me, as a farmer, a mom, and a pagan, it’s about bringing light back into a world that feels increasingly dark. It’s about feeding the soil, nurturing the land, and teaching my kids to see the magic in planting a seed and watching it grow. It’s about community—about knowing your neighbors, supporting local farms, and finding strength in working together.
And maybe, just maybe, it’s about realizing that whether you call it Christmas, Yule, or the Winter Solstice, we’re all reaching for the same thing: hope. Light. A better tomorrow.
So this year, when you light your tree or hang your wreaths, take a moment to think about where these traditions come from—not just the pagans who started them, but the universal need to find light in the darkness.
Because that’s what we’re really celebrating. And if we’re going to fix what’s broken in this world, we need all the light we can get.
Until next time,
Traci
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