Tonight the fourth light is kindled. On this night we give thanks to the fathers. Fatherhood has always been a difficult subject for me, personally. My birth father left me when I was very young and, growing up, I had several father figures who came and went. The one constant was my grandfather, husband to my grandmother. While relationships with whom I would call father indeed feel thin and incomplete, I have no less of an appreciation for those who take up the mantle. Any man can be as steel, but it takes fatherhood to temper a sword.
So on this night, honor and blessings be to the fathers. My fathers, my fathers’ fathers, and the fathers I learn and laugh with every day. All bear a strength and wisdom uniquely their own.
The lantern is lit, the flame springs alight once more, eager to spread the magic of Yule along the altar. Four candles flame and grow, spurred by the seed of the altar fire.
On this fourth night of Yule when the darkness begins to ebb once more,
we pay honor to those who stood beside us at our new beginnings,
who aided us in strength and in mind as we pursued our endeavors.
Tonight we honor the fathers of old.
Fathers of our lines, Fathers of our hearts,
Fathers of my Father’s Fathers, we invite you to our fire this day.
Those who celebrated our victories, those who brought determination,
those who continued to motivate us through trials,
those who kept our homes full of bread,
those who worked to make a future for us.
Ancient Fathers, we honor you.
Take these gifts.
An offering of bread is made.
May you be filled with the fruit of our labors as you taught us to labor for what we sought to build.
Ancient Fathers, accept our offerings.