It’s January 7, and in the Julian calendar-observing Orthodox Christian world, today is Christmas Day. In Serbian, as in Croatian, the curious term for “Christmas” is “Božić” (pronounced BŌH-zheech) and it literally translates to “the Little God.” Of course, Christians say it of course refers to the birth of little baby Yeshua/Isus. However, given that in Serbian folk Orthodoxy, everything surrounding this important midwinter festival entails symbols stemming from the Pagan world—oak tree limbs and fire—the “Božić” in question is one of the Slavic Sky or Solar Gods, such as Svarog, Svarožic (Svarog’s son, aka “Little Fire”), Perun, or Dajbog, or all of Them!

The sacred oak, or badnjak, is ritually harvested at dawn on January 6, the Christmas Eve known instead as Badnji Dan, the “Day of the Oak” or “Oaken Day.” Notice that Christ has nothing to do with this!

The responsibility of harvesting the badnjak falls on the head of the household, traditionally the father of the family. I loved accompanying my father before sunrise to one of our area’s many forest preserves and helping him select the proper badnjak. It had to be from a young and slender, healthy oak with east-facing limbs. It was one of those limbs—not the whole tree—that would get chopped with one fell swoop of my father’s hatchet, which I now have as a treasured heirloom.

First, of course, came prayers to “God” and to the spirit of the tree. Offerings of honey, rakija, and dried grains of wheat at the base of the tree were customary. Tata sometimes laid down several dollars’ worth in quarters as “payment” too.

When we’d return to his and my mother’s house, where she’d be carefully waiting with an armful of walnuts and coins, my black-haired father served as the “first footer,” announcing he had the forces of life and health with him. My mother bade him to enter. As he did so—right foot first, of course—my mother would pelt him with coins and nuts, reciprocity for the wealth and well-being the badnjak granted us.

My mother and I would sing a quick folk song, hailing the oak as “cousin to the Serbian people,” welcoming it warmly into the house. Depending on its size, the badnjak would either be laid out on the table where the feast would take place or else propped up on the east wall of the saints’ corner, where our family altar stood.

Those are my happy memories of our last Badnji Dan and Božić together, in 2020.

The evening would be spent attending a very long, standing-on-your-feet-the-entire-time Divine Liturgy service at either Holy Resurrection Serbian Orthodox Cathedral in Chicago or at St. Sava Monastery in Libertyville. At either church, the resident deacon and fellow clergy would burn last year’s badnjak in a spectacular outdoor bonfire. Then the service would entail the blessing of this year’s badnjak, with every parishioner taking home at least one branch home with them to serve as a talisman for the year. The sacred oak is always worth the wait, and worth contending with stupendous crowds!

The way I roll in Dual-Faith practice, my kipa (statue) of the god Perun takes center stage on the feast table, with both the badnjak I harvested yesterday at dawn plus the badnjak I received last night during Christmas Eve service. Our icons depicting the Blessed Mother giving birth to the Christ child in a cave in Bethlehem and icon of our family Saint-protector, John the Baptist, flank Perun and the badnjak and symbols of prosperity such as straw, walnuts, oranges, and dollar bills. A Russian-made Deda Mroz (Father Winter) handpainted wooden statue cheerfully stands in attendance on the table as well.

The “Little God” is the midwinter sun, and like all children, He needs encouragement to grow. It can be very distressing in these midwinter days when grey, sunless skies stretch on for weeks on end. That’s why I keep my holiday lights on my Yule trees and window-sills through Orthodox Christmas, and why fires in the fireplace or lit on altar top candles matter so much.

May the “Little God” enkindle fires of hope and creativity within us. Humanity needs it so badly.

Merry Christmas! Srečan Božić!