A Blessing For One Who Walks Through Flames

In an On Being interview titled "The Soul in Depression," poet, psychologist, and professional translator Anita Barrows said, "In the fire there is only fire." That phrase called out at me at the time, asking to become a blessing. 

I do not know what form your fire takes. Maybe it is depression. Maybe anxiety. Maybe grief. Maybe illness. I simply know that if you are within the fire, this blessing is for you. 

A final note: I was still crafting this blessing when I learned of Anthony Bourdain's suicide, just days after Kate Spade. If you or someone you love is considering suicide, please reach out. You can call the national suicide prevention hotline at  1-800-273-8255 or visit them online here

A BLESSING FOR ONE WHO WALKS THROUGH FLAMES

In the fire there is only fire,

Flames dancing and burning and blinding.

There is no path forward or back,

Above or below.

There is only fire.

 

May no one say:

“It gets better.”

“It will make you stronger.”

“You don’t deserve this.”

“It is always darkest before the dawn.”

These words are accelerant,

And the flames leap higher.

 

No. Instead of empty words

May there be one who finds a way to

Enter and to be.

May the fire let them approach.

May you be joined within the flames.

May this one hold the hope for you,

Without rushing the healing.

May that presence be grounding.

 

May it create the tiniest

Downbeat of a pause

Between you

And the fire.

May it be enough distance

To see the flame as separate.

May it be enough space to survive this day.

Peregrinatio: To Be a Holy Wanderer

This is the last of our four-part series on Celtic spirituality. Thank you for exploring the rich heritage of the Celtic tradition with me!

There is a tradition in Celtic Christianity of the peregrinatio, a pilgrim who wanders without destination. This vein of holy traveler does not occur in other strands of spirituality. It contrasts with the pilgrim, who sets out with a particular destination. The peregrinatio hears an invitation within her own soul to set out, not knowing where God might lead her. It is intriguing that this comes out of Celtic spirituality, for these are a people deeply connected to both the land and to God. There wasn’t a sense that they needed to travel to find God elsewhere. Rather, the journey was a way to deepen in relationship with the Lord, to practice complete trust and surrender. The journey of the holy wanderer is a powerful metaphor of the interior journey, of the wilds within our own souls that God invites us to explore, and of the way a relationship with God is a journey into mystery.

 Print of The Mysterious Boat by Odilon Redon

Print of The Mysterious Boat by Odilon Redon

St. Brendan the Navigator is the most famous of the peregrinatios. St. Brendan set out in his currach without oars, trusting the Holy Spirit to fill the sails and lead him wherever he was meant to go. His story has captured my imagination. I have a painting of his boat that I use as an entry point to prayer. I imagine myself in the boat and I ask the Holy Spirit to fill my sails and lead me where She will, to points unknown. I feel my soul fill with hope and possibility as I practice trusting the Lord with my journey. In my interior life, I am a content peregrinatio.

That is rarely the case in my exterior life. When I find myself in situations where the outcome is unknown and I am wandering without a destination, I feel anxious and worried. I want to take control and rush things along to an outcome. Will I get the job I hoped for? Will we need to move? What will the test results show? When the direction of my life is unclear, I often forget how to trust and find my hope in letting the Lord be my guide. To be without destination is an attractive concept and a difficult reality.

I see in the tradition of the peregrination an invitation to be in these unknown situations in a different way. I am learning how to reframe these exterior unknowns as opportunity to journey with the Lord. They remind me that God is both leading the way, and is the destination, and is the path that I travel. When I feel the anxiety and fear creep in, I remember St. Brendan’s boat, and I ask the Holy Spirit to help me to trust that my sails will be filled.

There are different ways to play with this concept of peregrinatio. Like me, you could pray imaginatively with the imagery of a boat at sea. Can you picture yourself in that vessel, riding the waves? What are the uncertain waters that you are experiencing in your life? What is your sense of God within the scene you enter? Another way to practice would be to set out for a walk without a destination, to let yourself physically wander. Notice as you walk, where God might be present within the wandering. These are just two possibilities. I hope you find time to play with this concept of the holy wanderer, and to deepen in your own spiritual journey.

For reflection: Where in your life are you being invited to live in the not yet known? What journeys are you currently taking that do not have a known destination? What might God be saying to you within the mystery?

Celtic Spirituality: The Monastic Invitation

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In our explorations of Celtic spirituality, we have sat with the Celtic relationship with the land and the way they experienced God drawing near through thin places. We have encountered St. Brigid and experienced her invitation to meet an expansive God. Brigid’s story shows that there was an active spirituality that was met and incorporated into the Christianity of the Celtic world. That Christianity was in turn shaped by the monastic communities that dotted the land. Instead of learning the Christian way of life from the traditional church, lay people were folded into the life of the monastic community. As Esther DeWaal writes in her book The Celtic Way of Prayer: The Recovery of the Religious Imagination, “Early Celtic Christianity was above all monastic. People learned their religious beliefs and practices from the monastic communities with the monastic ideal of continual prayer.” Instead of spirituality being reserved for Sundays and formal church settings, Celts took their cues from the monasteries which invited prayer into every aspect of life. She goes on to describe this monastic way of prayer: “The Gaelic race see the hand of God in every place, in every time and in every thing. They have this sense of life being embraced on all sides by God.” In the litanies and rituals that she gathered in her book, DeWaal found that prayer was not formal or separate, but woven into the fabric of daily life. She found prayers that were spoken over the fire, the cooking, the laundry, the farming, the mending – the list goes on. They truly experienced God in all things.

What a beautiful invitation this is, to encounter God in every aspect of our lives! What might it be like to experience God’s presence in all that we do? These rituals of prayer invite us to open our eyes and experience the reality of God’s loving, encompassing presence. I wonder what it might mean for me to incorporate prayer into the mundane of the everyday. Could I write prayers for turning off the alarm, for making the bed, for dressing my children, for preparing breakfast? There are so many parts of my daily routine that I move through without thinking, and with only rare glimpses of God’s presence with me.

I am drawn to the ritual of these ancient Celtic prayers, to the idea that all of life could be opportunities. God desires to meet us in our daily life and cares about what we do. It’s not that we need these prayers to summon God or to make something mundane become holy. Rather, the prayer is an invitation to us, reminding us to be awake to what already is. Instead of creating reality they name the reality of God with us. They invite us to make interior space to receive God with us in our days. Again we turn to DeWaal, who says of Celtic spirituality, “At the heart of what I have been writing about … is a deep sense of the presence of God – God here and now, with me, close at hand, a God present in life and in work, immediate and accessible.” These ritualized prayers remind us of the sacramental nature of daily life, the way all our mundane work is an opportunity to experience the presence of the living God.

A small way to begin to practice that I’ve both used myself and shared with directees is to pray when I wash my hands. I will pray a short liturgy, “Lord, thank you for this water and for these hands. May they be prepared for your work. May my hands encounter you in all they do.” As I run my hands under the water, as I lather the soap over and between my fingers, as I watch the bubbles slide off of my skin and down the drain, I connect to the Lord who longs to connect with me.

I wonder, where in your daily routine could you experience God’s presence through prayer? Maybe you could write a prayer this week for a simple, everyday task, such as making breakfast or preparing for bed. In what small way could you practice letting God meet you and hold you in all you do?

St. Brigid, Weaver of Opposites

 A hand-carved Celtic knot, a gift from March's Celtic Spirituality Retreat

A hand-carved Celtic knot, a gift from March's Celtic Spirituality Retreat

I love the intricate twists and turns of the hand-carved Celtic knot that I keep on my desk. I follow the lines with my fingers as I cradle it in my hands, not knowing where the loops will take me or when I will return to the beginning. The Celtic knot is a symbol of mystery, and one of the best-known symbols of Celtic spirituality. John O’Donohue, in Anam Cara: Spiritual Wisdom from the Celtic World, describes the Celtic connection to the knotted spiral:

The Celtic mind was never drawn to the single line; it avoided ways of seeing and being which seek satisfaction in certainty. The Celtic mind had a wonderful respect for the mystery of the circle and the spiral. The circle never gives itself completely to the eye or to the mind, but offers a trusting hospitality to that which is complex and mysterious.

This circular intricacy, the comfort with the complex and the mysterious, reminds me of St. Brigid. The patron saint of weavers, she weaves within her very being many opposites. As John Philip Newell writes in his book The Rebirthing of God: Christianity’s Struggle for New Beginnings:

Brigid of Kildare was said to be the daughter of a pagan chieftain and a Christian woman slave. She was born at dawn on the first of February while her mother (who worked as a dairy maid) was standing in the threshold of the household dairy. So it is that Brigid was born neither slave nor free, neither indoors nor outdoors, neither pagan nor Christian, neither in the winter or the spring, neither at day or at night. Brigid, therefore, was a liminal figure -- a woman of the margins and the thresholds.

In my own life, I’ve come to think of this woman of margins and thresholds as the patron saint of the both/and. Just as the Celtic knot weaves a complex pattern that cannot be easily untangled, Brigid weaves into a beautiful pattern concepts that are usually considered opposites: Christian and pagan, day and night, winter and spring, woman and (possibly) bishop. When I am feeling stuck, unable to reconcile two seemingly conflicting options or ideas, she reminds me to step back and look for a way to hold and include all that is before me. When I find myself thinking, “Either I could….or I could….” Shifting my gaze from my dilemma to St. Brigid invites a breath of possibility, and invites me to look for the potential both/and, to weave together my own opposites.

In this Easter season, we are also reminded through Brigid of the mystery of Christ’s rising. She points towards Jesus, who is the ultimate both/and, fully human, fully divine. St. Brigid shows us how to weave these seeming opposites, humanity and divinity, and to contemplate them within the person of Jesus. St. Brigid is an entry point to the mystery of our faith.

She is a model for us of Celtic spirituality, which holds opposites in friendship. Of this friendship, John O’Donohue says in Anam Cara, “For our sore and tormented separation, the possibility of this imaginative and unifying friendship is the Celtic gift.” In these polarized times, St. Brigid and Celtic spirituality offer a breath of fresh air. St. Brigid reminds us of the expansiveness of God, of the way God is not easily defined or limited or placed in a box. I feel the deep gift and necessity of this in my own life, to release my belief that I have all the answers or always know what is right.

I wonder, what opposites are you carrying in your life? Where are you experiencing tensions and the pull of either/or? What might it be like to spend time with St. Brigid, and allow her to reveal to you the possibility of both/and?

On Thin Places

On St. Patrick’s Day 2018, I had the privilege of leading a retreat on Celtic Spirituality in my hometown of Springfield, OH. I’ll be sharing a series of reflections on Celtic spirituality that are inspired by that sacred time, beginning with thin places.

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I first visited Ireland at the end of high school. My parents planned for this trip for years, and there was a sense of excitement and pilgrimage to this much-anticipated visit. I fell in love with the land in those weeks, with the green hills, the grey mist, the ocean met by rough-faced cliffs. There seemed to be such mystery and magic to the land, as if it stored secrets that I longed to uncover.

I was experiencing what the Celts call a “thin place,” a place where the veil between the sacred and mortal worlds is worn thin. Thin places are suffused with the holy. This is an illuminating concept for Celtic spirituality, for in many ways it is a spirituality of thin veils, of transparent membranes, of both/and. It is a spirituality that embraces and holds in close contacts things that are often considered to be opposite, like heaven and earth.

Thin places are where God draws close, where heaven presses near. They are often experienced in nature,  where creation inherently radiates God’s love, and in places where prayer has been practiced for generations, so that sacred conversation now permeates the place. A thin place is anywhere you easily experience the presence of the divine. Ireland is one such place for me; my own backyard, where I watch my children clamber and run and laugh and play as the sun sinks lower in the sky, is another. Sometimes thin places are exotic locations of shared pilgrimage; sometimes they are mundane, encountered in the course of our daily life.

We can experience thin places in particular locations. We can also encounter thin places in relationship, in the people with whom we share life. We meet thin places within those people who seem to instantly draw us into deeper waters, the people who shine forth God’s love to us.

Thin places invite us into a physical, embodied experience of the divine. We know our thin places by the way our soul leaps in recognition, by the way our hearts beat a bit faster as the Holy Spirit dances within us, by the way the hairs on our arms stand up, by the way our God who often seems so distant suddenly feels as near as our next breath.

I wonder, where are your thin places? What places do you experience as holy? Are there relationships where the veil between the ordinary and holy seems particularly thin? I hope that you may find time and space this month to explore and savor these sacred places in your life.

A Blessing For Holy Week

I confess to you that I am arriving to this Holy Week distracted and frazzled. I had such high hopes for Lent, for what I would give up, for what I would do, for how I would spend time with the Lord. Some of these have worked out, but many of them haven’t.

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Although I am rushing and collapsing into the week, I know I come in time. There is still time, in these next days, to draw close to Christ. I can still quiet my heart and mind and let Jesus be the center. This week we are invited to journey with Jesus, to walk alongside him as he approaches the cross. We are invited to offer him the attention and love and companionship that he offers us every other day of the year.

One of the ways I join Jesus is through a sense of wonder. I wonder what that last week was like for him. He clearly knew what was coming and hoped against it and yet walked forward faithfully. What was it like to be in his body that week? To feel his feet stepping firmly on the earth and count his footsteps? To wash his hands and marvel at the calluses and creases, the marks of a life that was coming to an end? How do you be present to life when you are confronting death?

These are some of the questions I hold, as I join him on the road. I hope for you to find your own questions, your own sources of wonder, your own ways to come alongside him this week. And I so offer you this blessing, to seal your holy journey.

A Blessing for Holy Week

However you arrive here – 
Centered and prepared,
Distracted and rushing,
Robust or fragile - 
It does not matter. 
It simply matters that you are here, 
At this holiest of weeks. 

This week has been waiting for you.
Can you feel the weight of it?
There is a slowness, a solidity to it. 
These days ask you to slow down with them. 
They ask you to let the weight hold you in place, 
That you may be fully present, 
That you may center yourself in Christ. 

The same Jesus who companions you
Is waiting to be companioned. 
Can you join him…
As he enters Jerusalem?
As he washes the feet of his beloved friends?
As he breaks bread and pours the cup?
As he eats one last meal?
As he waits for the betrayal of his disciple?
As he prays in the garden, begging the Lord?
And that is just the beginning of his walk…

May you hear the invitation of this week. 
May you move slow with the weight of it. 
May you arrive at Easter
Centered in Christ. 

A Blessing For the Cold

In January, I attended the Mystic Soul conference, a gathering to explore people of color-centered spirituality and activism. The conference was in Chicago, a city known for its harsh winter weather. The first day a freezing rain fell from a grey sky, and I hurried in from the cold to a warm and gently lit room.

Our gathering was opened with the simple refrain, sung over and over:

Come on in from the cold,

Come on in from the outside.

I have been reflecting on that invitation as I journey through January and February, as the weather around me is freezing and as my soul also feels a bit cold, without the joy of Christmas anticipation to sustain me. There are no family gatherings or major celebrations to get me through this month. Instead I am needing smaller points of warmth, to notice where I am being invited in from the cold in my ordinary existence.

May you also hear those small invitations, to come in from the cold, to find warmth and connection. Whether your cold is literal or figurative, three feet of snow outside or a sense of loneliness within, this blessing is for you.

WHEN COLD, A BLESSING

When you are cold,

Your bones aching,

Your muscles tense.

When there is too little light

In your sky, as it moves from

Grey to black to grey again.

When you feel small, constricted,

Without hope.

May there be small sources of heat:

The light of the smile of a loved one.

The distant song of one bird,

Singing to you of spring.

The spark of recognition

In reading a sacred story.

A gift of laughter

Shared with a stranger.

May that warmth then radiate.

May it loosen your muscles,

Expand your lungs.

May your heart leap with unexpected joy.

And then –

May your warmth shine out,

May you be the source of heat for another.

That the cold around us may no longer penetrate so deeply.

That it may be met with freedom,

For we are ones who carry warmth.

Back to School Blessing

We are in the thick of the back to school season, a time of change and turmoil and, in my house at least, heightened emotions. This blessing is for parents, some balm for your soul as you walk with your children through this threshold time. 

A Back to School Blessing for Parents

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As you meet the teachers, 
Walk the halls, 
Buy the supplies and pack the bags.
As you talk over the change in your routines, and
See your children’s eyes fill with tears or
Excitement or boredom or fear.
As you watch your children closely, 
To see how they’re doing, really doing, 
With this transition, 
May you take the time to check in
With how you’re really doing, too. 
May you be gentle with your own soul. 

May the energy and excitement
Of new routines, new friends, 
New teachers, new subjects
Breathe a spirit of newness in you, as well. 
This threshold time is not just for those in school.
May the Holy Spirit speak to you of
Change and anticipation and invitation,
And as she whispers to you
May your heart open in response.

May you know your children’s belovedness as you send them forth.
May you know your own belovedness as you send them. 
May it all be love, in the going and in the returning.
May it all be love.

A Blessing For One Who Walks With

I wrote this blessing for my spiritual community, when we were in a season of many people experiencing hard things. We were walking with each other through the pain and the fear, collectively and individually, and I wanted to bless our path. This prayer is for you, as you journey with others. May your path be blessed.

A Blessing For One Who Walks With

As you journey beside a hurting a heart,

And feel your own heart breaking with and for,

May you know love.

May you feel God’s love for you,

Wrapping around and within,

And then may you feel it flowing out,

And towards, and over.

 

May you be both a vessel and a river,

Holding love and pouring out love,

Holding mercy and pouring out mercy.

 

And may you rest when it is time to rest.

May you remember that all the work is not yours to do.

 

May you know Christ in the companioning,

Christ in the resting,

Christ in the tears,

Christ in the joy.

The Discover Brothers

My sons love The Wild Kratts. The PBS kids’ show features the real-life brothers, Chris and Martin Kratts, who start each episode introducing the kids at home to wild animals in different parts of the world. As they describe the amazing features of these animals – their ability to leap high, run fast, or fly far – they begin to imagine what it would be like to have these “creature powers” for themselves. They become more and more excited, and finally turn to each other, shout, “What if?” and become cartoons.

Declan and Ronan are so inspired by The Wild Kratts that they’ve developed their own imaginary show, The Discover Brothers. The Discover Brothers explore the outdoors, and when they get excited, they turn to each other and shout, “I wonder!” And then they, too, become cartoons. As Declan will tell you, “It’s animazing! Get it? Animated and amazing?”

Their playful sense of imagination is animazing. My Discover Brothers are silly, and funny, and wise. They have discovered the wisdom of curiosity, the way it creates life and frees us and opens us up to new possibilities. I’ve been contemplating the wisdom of an “animating phrase” this week, the power of words that can animate us, that can shake up our expectations, help us to relax our grip, and open us up to surprise. “What if” and “I wonder” are good phrases to invite into areas of resistance and pain. When you notice negative emotions rising, when you are frustrated or annoyed or bored, try inviting curiosity in as well, exploring what is beneath the emotions, and what the invitation within them might be.

My own animating phrase is, “What are you up to, God?” This playfully worded question reminds me that I don’t have everything figured it out. When I am feeling angry or just annoyed, remembering to wonder about God’s presence and God’s invitation is freeing, and helps me to harbor curiosity and an openness to surprise. These animating phrases aren’t magical, and they don’t make the hard things disappear. They simply loosen our grip, and create a little space for wonder.

I invite you to play with this idea of animating phrases this week. What words might breathe life and openness into your days?

The Gentleness of Candlelight

In his blessing "For Light," John O'Donohue writes:

When we look into the heart,
May our eyes have the kindness
And reverence of candlelight.

As a writer and as a spiritual director, my life's work is to gaze into the heart, to seek out the quiet, hidden places where God speaks. As John O'Donohue so beautifully wrote, candlelight is just the right amount of light with which to explore these interior spaces. When there is too much light, we become overwhelmed and blinded, unable to comprehend what is right in front of us. Too much light is painful. And too much darkness? Is just that - dark, lonely, and often frightening. And so I travel by candlelight, creating small, gently lit spaces in which to sit and to wonder. The gentleness of candlelight is the perfect light with which to explore our own sacred stories, our individual tales of how we experience God in our lives, the invitations we are hearing, and the ways we are responding. 

I feel self-conscious even writing those words on this second day of February 2017. The gentleness of candlelight? When our world is blazing with the intense light of the public realm?In our charged political climate, it feels like the important stories are the BIG stories: the ones unfolding on a national and global scale. Those are the stories that demand our attention and our energy, and rightly so. This feels like such a strange time to be starting a blog that focuses on our individual sacred stories. But maybe that is exactly why this is the right time to start this blog. The bright light of the world around us makes it challenging to see what is within. The big stories can drown out our own stories. We need spaces of quiet, of rest, of wonder. We need some silence if we are to hear God speak.  

I hope this blog will be that kind of space for you. I'll be posting once a week or so, sometimes with original blessings and prayers, sometimes with stories from life with my three kids who are also my best teachers, and sometimes about the way God is speaking to me through what I'm reading. May my words create room for you to explore your own sacred story. May we each find enough silence to hear the small, still voice of God. I'm looking forward to this journey with you, and I'm holding a candle to light the way.

May You Know Courage

I wrote this blessing for myself, during a particularly challenging week. It is not just for me, though. It is for you, too. I hope it will be a gift for you, for the days you need some courage. 

A Blessing for Courage

May you know that courage is not always stoic and even-keeled or brash and risky.

May you know that courage can wear different faces:

It can sneak around your shoulders as you are overwhelmed by tears.

It can steal into your heart when you think all that lives there is fear.

It can pour down your shoulders and out through your fingers, mingling with a righteous anger.

It can live in your breath as you sit with the hard things and just breathe, in…

And out…

 

I was going to write you a blessing to summon courage,

A prayer that would gird you with it like armor, but look:

Courage is already here.

 

So instead, I pray:

May your eyes be open to its presence.

May your heart be clear and spacious enough for courage to spread out, move around,

and stretch its way into showing you what it might mean to live your courage.

And when you know where your courage is leading you,

May your steps be strong and firm.

Courage is already here.