How the Grinch Stole Ostara!
Over the past couple of weeks, in light of the global pandemic of Coronavirus, I've been recommending that Ásatrúars celebrate Ostara in their homes and share photographs. Let all see that the world still turns, that life goes on, and indeed that Ostara returns. During this time, the current article began to take shape in my mind. I write these words while under a somewhat self-imposed quarantine, but otherwise quite comfortable in my home on the morning of 23 March 2020.
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Oddly enough, as I consider the holiday of Ostara this year, my mind returns to fond memories of the Christmases of my childhood. One special memory is that of my family gathering around our Zenith TV to watch the Dr. Seuss holiday special, How the Grinch Stole Christmas. Theodor “Dr. Seuss” Geisel wrote a book by the same title and published it in 1957. I was unaware of the story however until it appeared in cartoon format in 1966. The cartoon, that was vastly superior to the various live-action remakes that would come in the years that followed, starred horror-film great Boris Karloff memorably as the voice of the Grinch.
The Grinch was a Krampus-like creature that lived atop a towering mountain, the snowy Mount Crumpit, situated to the north of the small village of Whoville, the home of a very warm and welcoming folk, the Whos. Each year the Grinch was particularly annoyed by the singing and merriment of the Whos as they celebrated Christmas. The Grinch developed a plan to put an end to the Whos’ holiday festivities—he would steal all their presents and decorations. Disguised as Santa Claus, the Grinch descended from Mount Crumpit. As the anti-Santa, the Grinch burglarized the homes of the Who and stole everything—or so he thought—that the Who needed to celebrate Christmas. Beyond the gifts, he stole the (Yule) logs from their fireplaces and the food and desserts planned for their special day. After ascending back to the top of the mountain, the Grinch was quite pleased with the execution of his diabolical scheme.
As Christmas morning arrived, the Grinch anticipated cries of woe from the little town below. He had fully expected to have “stolen” Christmas. To his shock and dismay, the Whos gathered as they always did in their small village and sang their traditional song of Christmas. We are told that the Grinch’s little heart suddenly grew three sizes that day. For he realized at that moment that all the trappings of Christmas—the hustle and bustle, the gifts, the music, the decorations, were unnecessary—it would arrive just the same. The story ends with the Grinch returning all the items that he stole to the faithful Whos and partaking in their holiday celebration.
What, you may ask, does any of this have to do with Ostara in 2020? We have our very own Grinch—or Jotun—to contend with, one that has seemingly ruined many an Ostara celebration. Over the weeks leading up to Ostara, all learned of the growing threat of Coronavirus—a highly contagious and sometimes deadly disease. Upon learning of the virus, I had planned a sumbel ritual in which celebrants would drink from their own personal horns rather than a communal one—but even that would prove insufficient as the situation quickly worsened. Many kindreds and tribes including my own Skylands Ásatrú Fellowship made the decision to cancel our events in advance of such orders by state and local authorities.
Indeed, as a tribe we will not participate in blót together. We will not raise horns of mead, as is our custom. We will not sit down to a bounteous feast. Nor will we share the stories of our ancestors and Gods and their wondrous accomplishments.
But, just as the Grinch failed in his superficial attempt to “steal” Christmas, so Coronavirus is unable to stop Ostara from coming. Just as surely as the Earth turns, the cycle of the seasons change and signal Ostara’s return. The Goddess Ostara still rises from the East and wakes the Earth from its sleepy slumber.
“Hail to thee, day! Hail, to the sons of day!
Hail to thee night! Hail, to the daughters of night!”
Ostara, our Queen of the dawn, clothed in white and gold, brings forth her might—and demonstrates her awesome power of rebirth. All around us we see the signs: the grass is greener; the buds on the trees begin to blossom; flowers begin to bloom; rabbits and birds appear again around our homes; the days are longer and the weather is warmer.
As Christianity spread across the lands of our ancestors, Ostara’s memory was all but vanquished. But even Christianity failed to extinguish Ostara’s flames entirely. So dear was she to the people of the North, that the Christians adopted her name for their most significant holiday—Easter. Through the adoption of that ancient name, Ostara’s eradication was incomplete. Today, by the thousands, people are returning to the faith of their forebears—and more are celebrating Ostara’s return than they have in the past 700 years.
This year, while we may not be able to gather with the traditional trappings of our holiday celebrations, we are still able to light candles in our homes to represent the dawn of our year. We are still able to pour a libation of mead and ale—setting aside an offering for our powerful Goddess. We are still able to raise a horn to Ostara and announce, “Ostara, in the dawn, we see your birth; in the day we know your power; in the dusk we trust that you shall turn back to us full well soon!”
For no virus, no Jotun, no Grinch is able to stop Ostara from coming.
"Welcome Ostara! Welcome, welcome!"
*********
Oddly enough, as I consider the holiday of Ostara this year, my mind returns to fond memories of the Christmases of my childhood. One special memory is that of my family gathering around our Zenith TV to watch the Dr. Seuss holiday special, How the Grinch Stole Christmas. Theodor “Dr. Seuss” Geisel wrote a book by the same title and published it in 1957. I was unaware of the story however until it appeared in cartoon format in 1966. The cartoon, that was vastly superior to the various live-action remakes that would come in the years that followed, starred horror-film great Boris Karloff memorably as the voice of the Grinch.
The Grinch was a Krampus-like creature that lived atop a towering mountain, the snowy Mount Crumpit, situated to the north of the small village of Whoville, the home of a very warm and welcoming folk, the Whos. Each year the Grinch was particularly annoyed by the singing and merriment of the Whos as they celebrated Christmas. The Grinch developed a plan to put an end to the Whos’ holiday festivities—he would steal all their presents and decorations. Disguised as Santa Claus, the Grinch descended from Mount Crumpit. As the anti-Santa, the Grinch burglarized the homes of the Who and stole everything—or so he thought—that the Who needed to celebrate Christmas. Beyond the gifts, he stole the (Yule) logs from their fireplaces and the food and desserts planned for their special day. After ascending back to the top of the mountain, the Grinch was quite pleased with the execution of his diabolical scheme.
As Christmas morning arrived, the Grinch anticipated cries of woe from the little town below. He had fully expected to have “stolen” Christmas. To his shock and dismay, the Whos gathered as they always did in their small village and sang their traditional song of Christmas. We are told that the Grinch’s little heart suddenly grew three sizes that day. For he realized at that moment that all the trappings of Christmas—the hustle and bustle, the gifts, the music, the decorations, were unnecessary—it would arrive just the same. The story ends with the Grinch returning all the items that he stole to the faithful Whos and partaking in their holiday celebration.
What, you may ask, does any of this have to do with Ostara in 2020? We have our very own Grinch—or Jotun—to contend with, one that has seemingly ruined many an Ostara celebration. Over the weeks leading up to Ostara, all learned of the growing threat of Coronavirus—a highly contagious and sometimes deadly disease. Upon learning of the virus, I had planned a sumbel ritual in which celebrants would drink from their own personal horns rather than a communal one—but even that would prove insufficient as the situation quickly worsened. Many kindreds and tribes including my own Skylands Ásatrú Fellowship made the decision to cancel our events in advance of such orders by state and local authorities.
Indeed, as a tribe we will not participate in blót together. We will not raise horns of mead, as is our custom. We will not sit down to a bounteous feast. Nor will we share the stories of our ancestors and Gods and their wondrous accomplishments.
But, just as the Grinch failed in his superficial attempt to “steal” Christmas, so Coronavirus is unable to stop Ostara from coming. Just as surely as the Earth turns, the cycle of the seasons change and signal Ostara’s return. The Goddess Ostara still rises from the East and wakes the Earth from its sleepy slumber.
“Hail to thee, day! Hail, to the sons of day!
Hail to thee night! Hail, to the daughters of night!”
Ostara, our Queen of the dawn, clothed in white and gold, brings forth her might—and demonstrates her awesome power of rebirth. All around us we see the signs: the grass is greener; the buds on the trees begin to blossom; flowers begin to bloom; rabbits and birds appear again around our homes; the days are longer and the weather is warmer.
As Christianity spread across the lands of our ancestors, Ostara’s memory was all but vanquished. But even Christianity failed to extinguish Ostara’s flames entirely. So dear was she to the people of the North, that the Christians adopted her name for their most significant holiday—Easter. Through the adoption of that ancient name, Ostara’s eradication was incomplete. Today, by the thousands, people are returning to the faith of their forebears—and more are celebrating Ostara’s return than they have in the past 700 years.
This year, while we may not be able to gather with the traditional trappings of our holiday celebrations, we are still able to light candles in our homes to represent the dawn of our year. We are still able to pour a libation of mead and ale—setting aside an offering for our powerful Goddess. We are still able to raise a horn to Ostara and announce, “Ostara, in the dawn, we see your birth; in the day we know your power; in the dusk we trust that you shall turn back to us full well soon!”
For no virus, no Jotun, no Grinch is able to stop Ostara from coming.
"Welcome Ostara! Welcome, welcome!"
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