I am not an especially superstitious person, but I do have certain rituals that I observe which could arguably be said to lean in that direction. One that I have followed for virtually my entire adult life believing what you do on the first day of the new year dictates patterns for the year ahead. I know this isn’t terribly sophisticated, and many take this on through the adoption of new year’s resolutions: “I will go to the gym more (or at least once!)”; or: “I will cut back on caffeine.” My own formulation, however, has to do with the structure of the first day of the new year. I always make sure to be with family, eat well, pray, do some exercise, read a book chapter and write something creative. 

As we enter the second month of the new year, when many of our best of resolutions begin to suffer from the universal ritual of being forgotten about until next year, I did wonder how resolution-making even began. I was somewhat surprised to read that the ancient Babylonians may well have started the ball rolling over 4,000 years ago. For them, a 12-day Akitu festival saw them commit to repaying debts, returning borrowed goods and basically making amends for less than sterling behaviour in the previous year. (Reading this I had a vision of a Babylonian reluctantly returning an ancient lawnmower to a cranky neighbour, but I’m sure I am guilty of anachronistic thinking!) In some way, shape or form, these traditions went on to influence other cultural observances of similar rituals, most notably in Roman times and through chivalric vows in medieval times where knights pledged vows of loyalty, including via the intriguingly named Peacock vows.

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Admittedly, these Peacock vows were not necessarily related to the coming of the new year. Rather, at Christmas feasts, knights would take their turn resting their hands on a live or freshly cooked peacock and re-commit to serving their lord, to honouring the chivalric code and upholding values of virtue and good standing. As Charles Dickens explained it: “But it was on the day when a solemn vow was made that the Peacock … became the great object of admiration, and whether it appeared … roasted or in its natural state, it always wore its full plumage, and was brought in with great pomp by a bevy of ladies, in a large vessel of gold or silver, before all the assembled chivalry… each made his vow to the bird, after which it was set upon a table to be divided amongst all present, and the skill of the carver consisted in the apportionment of a slice to everyone.”

I don’t know about you, but this made my Christmas roast seem paltry indeed. My promise to cut back on coffee and to do a couple of push-ups a day seemed equally unspectacular. In some respects, however, all of this speaks to the human need to commit ourselves to values, and it is here, perhaps, that the Bible can be said to lend a hand. While the holy book does not deal specifically with new year’s celebrations, it’s fair to say the Old and New Testaments focus on self-improvement in a major way. They speak of the times to come, of our need to embrace a new beginning and to welcoming in a new day. All this is reflected in wonderful readings from Isaiah — “Behold, I am doing a new thing,” (43:18) — and 2 Corinthians, which reminds us that “the old has passed away; behold, the new has come” (5:17).

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These themes were reflected in Pope Leo’s first Mass to welcome in 20026. He began with the liturgy of the day, a reading from the Book of Numbers that celebrated the freedom of the Israelites from slavery and announced a “new day” — “an open road toward the future.” The liturgy, he noted, reminds us that “every day can be the beginning of a new life, thanks to God’s generous love, His mercy and the response of our freedom.” He went on to say: “It is beautiful to view the coming year in this way: as an open journey to be discovered.”

I’m not sure if this is the road less travelled, but it’s certainly a journey we have been called on to undertake.