Here we are again, remembering the Medieval tradition that was celebrated at this time of year.  This time in mid-winter when we have been waiting for the Solstice, waiting for the return of the light.  According to this tradition, it is not only we humans who wait with anticipation for warmth and light to return to our lives, but all of creation waits with us.  The minerals, the plants, the animals wait in hushed anticipation for light and warmth to arise again.  We have been moving closer each day to this pivotal moment in earth’s yearly cycle.  Now we have stepped into the shortest day followed by the longest night.  Yet, miraculous as it may seem, this is the turning point:  at the deepest winter hour….light is born into the darkness.  There are many traditions and stories that image this transformation for us.  But in medieval Europe this moment is imagined as the birth of a child, the Child of Light.  These stories tell us that in our deepest and darkest moments, a door is opened and new possibilities arise, possibilities of transformation into a new state of consciousness.  Last week we heard the story of the Little Fig Tree, who loved the Child of Light so much, she did something no green-growing-thing had ever done before:  she pulled her root-y feet out of the earth and walked, so she might greet him.  Today we will hear of the animal realm taking a new step in consciousness, as well.

                  The First Robin Redbreast

As you remember, once, a very long time ago, an old man and a young woman took a long icy winter’s journey.  Because there was no room at the inn, they slept at night in a humble stable, with the animals’ sweet breath warming them, and golden hay for a bed.  A baby was born to them that night.  Although the old man made a small fire to warm the baby, still, the infant was cold.  At the baby’s cry, the old man put on his cloak.  He went out into the snowy night to gather more wood, that the fire might burn warmer, to comfort the baby’s tears.

So, the young woman was left alone.  She needed to rock her baby and keep him wrapped snug, but also to tend the tiny fire of straw and sticks, keeping it alive till the old man returned.  This was not easy for the young woman.  She was quite cold herself.  Every time she stood up to gather a few more sticks, the baby’s wrappings loosened, and he cried more pitiably.  Each time she sat holding and rocking her baby, the little flames burned low, threatening to go out altogether.  Back and forth she went, working between the fire and her very cold little baby.  She tried not to cry, herself, knowing it would upset him even more to hear her tears.  Yet her eyes glistened in the firelight.

Now, this stable was made in such a fashion, that up above, in the roof rafters, there were snug places, out of the wind and weather.  Here a flock of little brown birds nestled through the winter.  The birds had been watching, with their bright and curious eyes, all the surprising events of the evening.  They saw the young woman’s plight, and chatted, in their chirping voices, together.

“That poor baby is so cold.”

“Do you know, humans don’t even get to have feathers when they are babies!”

“Why, in the great blue sky, not?  It would help everything so much, don’t you agree?”

Many little feathered heads bobbed up and down.

“Well, feathers would certainly help keep him warm, but he hasn’t got any.  So, maybe we can help in another way.”

There was a flurry of wings, and tiny birdcalls.  Suddenly the young woman saw a wee brown wing swoop low over the fire.  She saw one piece of straw drop from an orange beak onto the smoldering fire beside her.  The flames licked up the hay, hungry for more.  Straw by straw, the flock of birds gathered and fed the flames.  The fire burned more steadily, now, and the baby grew calmer.

One bird, in particular, loved the baby’s dear smile, and wanted to stay close beside him.  So, this special little brown bird made it his duty to stand near the fire.   He flapped his feathered wings, to fan the fire, till the old man might return.  He was happy to just be near this tiny new human being.

At last, the door opened with a whoosh of snow and cold.  The old man threw down a great bundle of pine boughs, and got to work quickly.  When at last the fire was cheery, and the baby slept soundly, the young woman saw that one small bird was still standing on the stable floor, close beside her and her son.  She looked carefully at him, and then she saw something that touched her heart.  He had stood close to the fire, fanning the flames for so long, that his little round tummy had been burned!  Now, his tummy was red!  She reached out her hand and touched him, and then all the hurt went away.

“Because you love my baby so much and stood so close to the fire, from now on you and all your children, and all your ever-ever-so-great grandchildren will have red breasts.  And you will be the bird best-loved by children all over the world.”  So, the very first robin red-breast, twittered happily and merrily flew  to his family in the rafters above.  

And everyone was happy indeed.