Jules Breton: The Feast of Saint John; 1875

THE tradition of communal bonfires on June 24 in honor of the Nativity of St. John the Baptist has never been widely observed in this country. It’s a shame, partly because bonfires are so much fun but mostly because of the effects of these fires on the soul. They uplifted and cheered. They spoke of happiness and the light that unites human beings.

The custom has its earliest origins in pagan celebrations of the summer solstice. Skeptics will say “Aha!” when they find that a Christian feast has its roots in pagan culture. Holidays are just made up, they say, and change with human whim. But it is fitting that celebrations would evolve to reflect greater human knowledge. God has revealed Himself gradually, not all at once.

Christ said that John the Baptist was a “a burning and a shining light” (Jn 5:35) and hence the custom of bonfires in honor of his birth by the barren Elizabeth and the blind Zachary was born. Tradition in Action has background on the custom:

The fires were traditionally lit at the moment that the sun set, except for in the far Northern countries where the sun would not set on this night. St. John’s fires were lit all over Christendom from Russia to South America on every mountaintop, hilltop, valley, seashore and fiord. In cities, old furniture would supply the fuel for fires that lit every street. How glorious is this tribute to the Saint outside of whom no greater born of woman exists.

In many places, these fires would be lit in a chain starting at one mountaintop or coast; then, the same flame was carried to other fires throughout a region.

In Catalonia, all of the village fires are lit from a fire started on the mountain of Canigó. From this fire lit in the evening, other torches are lighted and carried throughout the region, but first to Barcelona where the flame carrier is received with all due pomp by the city officials. After the ceremony, its flame is used to light various torches that are given to representatives of each district to light all the fires in the city.

Before the French Revolution, every man, woman and child – be he the King himself or the lowliest peasant – supplied some sort of fuel for the fire, even if it were only a tiny twig.

In some places, a burning wheel was rolled along the streets to represent the movement of the sun. In others fireworks were set off. If we cannot have these happy events ourselves now, we can try to restore them in our own lives or look back with gladness at customs that filled the human heart and imagination with hope and the beauty of summer, knowing that they represent a beneficent God who looks out for us still. We can honor the saint who lives eternally and was “a burning and shining light” to all.

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