During my many decades as a church musician, I’d take a deep breath of gratitude at the arrival of Twelfth Night, either January 5 or 6, depending on who’s counting. Having plowed my way through the annual blizzard of Christmas pageants, carol sing-alongs, renditions of Handle’s “Messiah” and midnight masses, I welcomed the church’s Epiphany — official end of the Christmas season.

In the secular world, Christmas has long since been forgotten by now, buried under New Year’s Eve revelry and (resulting?) “Dry January” resolutions. Meanwhile, in churches Epiphany marks the arrival of the Three Kings. Now a new tradition is taking hold, designating January 6 as “Women’s Christmas.” 

Methodist minister Jan Richardson explains that Women’s Christmas originated in Ireland as Nollaig na mBan, a day when the women, “who often carried the domestic responsibilities all year, took Epiphany as an occasion to celebrate together at the end of the holidays, leaving hearth and home to the men for a few hours.”

A prolific artist and writer, Richardson issues an annual collection of meditations, poetry and illustrations for Women’s Christmas. Her art includes Three Wise Women en route to the manger. (You can see it here.) As I struggle with Christianity’s two millennia of patriarchal oppression, I’m only too happy to see the women gently nudge the old guys aside with their own presence and gifts. For sure, the Kings’ gifts of gold, frankincense and myrrh are highly symbolic and precious. In her poem, “Wise Women Also Came,” Richardson notes the equally essential aspect of women’s giving:

“Wise women also came,
and they brought
useful gifts:
water for labor’s washing,
fire for warm illumination,
a blanket for swaddling.”

This past Christmas I received an unusual, unsought gift: a head cold. I’d decided already to spend the day mostly in quiet solitude. December 25 is my late husband’s birthday. I choose to devote at least part of the day in the presence of his spirit and memories of his life. This year his spirit was having to put up with my sniffles and sneezes. Had he been here in person, he’d have made me his curative hot drink of whiskey, honey and lemon. I settled for diluting my coffee with a little brandy. 

I didn’t feel the least bit sorry for myself. I live between two beautiful cathedrals, St. Mark’s and St. James. The previous Sunday — the Fourth Sunday of Advent — I’d managed to visit both. That last Sunday before Christmas, the church pays close attention to two women: Mary and her cousin Elizabeth. In the morning I heard a woman Episcopal priest sermonize on Elizabeth’s wisdom as counselor to her younger cousin. In the evening, at Catholic Vespers, I was immersed in candlelight and incense while contemplating, “Lo! How a rose e’er blooming … with Mary we behold it … ”

I was well prepared for a Christmas that was as quiet as any “Silent Night,” a Christmas that was healing and empowering. I always smile during December days when people ask the standard question: “Are you ready for Christmas?” I inevitably answer, “I’m always ready for Christmas.” Of course we’re probably talking about two very different states of readiness.

Merry Women’s Christmas. 

(Whether you’re female or male, I recommend Richardson’s free Women’s Christmas guide: https://sanctuaryofwomen.com/womenschristmas.html.  And please note, to not infringe on Jan Richardson’s copyrighted art, I’m using clip art to illustrate this post. You can see her Wise Women here.