Blackberrying

Between the trunks of the holly and hawthorn in the lane is a tangle of brambles, full of ripening blackberries. This sign from nature reminds me that the season is changing. There is something in the way the light falls, something in the temperature of the air, that speaks of the end of summer, and of the dawning of autumn.

I always feel a sense of excitement at that first realisation that one season is giving way to another. I become aware of a sense of awe at the rhythm of the earth which is beating whilst we are occupied with the concerns of day-to-day living. There is something at work which is greater, older and more patient than ourselves. The blackberries are a small miracle which tells of the deep energy of our Mother earth, of her generosity and of her continuity.

The month of September is a gateway from one way of living to another. With the arrival of September, it feels like the carefree months of the summer are over, and that any plans we had for that season must now be put aside until next year. Although the trees still have their leaves, the days are shortening, the sun's power is waning and our thoughts turn from adventure and travel to the securities of hearth and home. Our spirits are warmed less by the sun and more by the ripening and gathering of fruits and seeds.

In this season of letting go and turning inwards there is an opportunity for us to embrace new elements in our lives. What must we let go of in order to further ripen our relationship with the Divine or with the Earth? What seeds do we need to plant into our spirits during these quieter months, so that new life may spring up with the new shoots of spring time?

Spring balance

A reflection I shared at this morning's service in the chapel...

A few days ago was the Spring Equinox, when day and night are of equal length; darkness and light balance each other out. At this time, the natural world is beginning to come to a point of balance: the earth becomes warmer, flowers push through and leaves and buds begin to show. The starkness and harshness of winter is gone, revealing a landscape that seems more in harmony with itself, a world which is more in balance.

To be out of balance is to be unstable, leaning too far to one extreme or another and, therefore, prone to collapse or to acting out of desperation rather than out of wisdom and reflection. The season of Lent, in which the Equinox comes, may be a time to seek a point of balance, and ways of becoming more in harmony with ourselves and with God.

For inspiration we may look to nature, observing its rhythms and its pattern of coming back into balance so that growth may take place. The combination of warming earth and plentiful rain enables the burst of life which is needed to bring fruitfulness back to the earth. Likewise, for you and me, a balance of work and rest, learning and prayer, company and solitude, can bring about new life within each of us.

Calling the Spring

As part of a Junior School assembly I led yesterday, I wrote a song to play to the school. We were thinking about Candlemas, and the presenting of the infant Christ in the Temple.

The song echoes the theme of Candlemas and the image of the Christ as Light to the World. But I also tried to include something of the role of Brigid and the idea of calling back the Spring to the Earth, one of the themes of the Celtic festival of Imbolc.

The lyrics of the song are below. The images in the song are deliberately ambiguous and, of course, it sounds better sung than read!

Calling Spring

In the darkness of the night
memories of warmth are far from sight.
Where have they run to?
Where do they roam?
Where is the place that they call home?

Where the mother, where the child?
Where the love that runs so free and wild?
Where have they run to?
Where do they roam?
Where is the place that they call home?

Calling, calling Spring back
to the earth again.
Calling, calling spring back
to the earth again.
Calling Spring to make her home
in every leaf and branch and stone.
Calling Spring back to the world...

In the darkness of the dawn
ancient eyes saw hope reborn.
Light to the nations,
hope for the world.Earth is the place that he calls home.

Calling, calling Spring back
to the earth again.
Calling, calling Spring back
to the earth again.
Calling Spring to make her home
in every leaf and branch and stone.
Calling Spring back to the world...

Candlemas Song

The beginning of February brings the celebration of the Celtic festival of Imbolc, Brigid's Day and the Christian festival of Candlemas. Imbolc marks the coming of Spring, the warming of the earth and the still-hidden possibility of new growth. Brigid is associated with everlasting fire, and with the abundance of the natural world at springtime. She is also said to be the mid-wife of Christ, just as the season of Imbolc is thought of as the 'mid-wifing' of the year.

Mary, the mother of Christ, is also celebrated at this point of the year. The feast of Candlemas tells the story of Mary and Joseph taking the child Jesus to the Temple in Jerusalem to dedicate him to God. They offer a sacrifice in thanksgiving for their child and Mary receives purification after the rigours of childbirth. As they enter the Temple, Mary and Joseph are approached by the wise and aged Simeon, who praises God for the child who will bring light to the whole world. Having seen the promised holy child, Simeon places himself into God’s hands knowing that the end of his life is near. But Simeon also speaks dark words to Mary: there will be opposition to her son, and suffering and sorrow will pierce Mary’s heart like a sword – the pain of motherhood.

This poem, which I wrote for Imbolc last year, reflects on Mary’s experience in the Temple, the significance of her child and the themes of light, warmth and new growth which the Imbolc season expresses.

    Candlemas Song

    I was not there.
    I did not dream my way
    up prayer-worn Temple steps
    as you did, Christ-Mother, that day.

    I was not there.
    I did not scan the gloom
    or clutch a hand for courage
    in the Temple waiting-room.

    I was not there.
    I did not hear the praise
    which ancient ones sang of your child
    at the midnight of their days.

    I was not there.
    I did not feel the sting
    which bitter-sweet horizons
    of your motherhood will bring.

    But I am here.
    And I would know a birth
    to bring Divine Light’s love
    into an aching, longing earth.

    Yes, I am here.
    And I would do my part.
    O let a rising blade of Spring
    strike fire into my heart.

The Cold Moon

Last night was the latest meeting of the Sacred Moon Moot, a small group of friends who meet to honour the full moon each month. We've been meeting since October 2013, on the night nearest to the full moon that we can all make.

We keep things fairly structured, using a ritual which lasts about 30-40 minutes. I have the honour of writing the ritual and also acting as ritual leader, and we share the calling of the quarters between us (there are five of us in all, so that works well!). Last night, once we had created our sacred space, and welcomed the four elements, we reflected on the meaning of the January full moon: 

This moon is a time for giving thought to those who are closest to us, our family and friends - those who help us to find our place in the world. It is a time to consider love, companionship, understanding and tenderness.

We then spent time reflecting on an aspect of our lives, using the light and energy of the moon as inspiration: 

At this point in her journey the Moon is full, whole and complete. She is at her most powerful. The full moon expresses the Mother nature of the Goddess, bringer of change, revelation, emotion and energy. May her energy inspire us to look within ourselves and to speak from our heart this night.   

Last night we considered this question:

To whom do I feel closely connected in this season? 

There was then space and time for reflection, before coming back to the circle to share something that we had learnt, if desired.

There is a lovely honesty in our gathering, and support - it feels good to have the space to be so open with one another, or to have the freedom to keep silence. It's fun, and we're getting to know each other more through our meeting together.

We ended with words which honour both the Divine Feminine and Christ, who is part of the path which each member of the group is walking. We're not all going at the same speed, nor discovering the same things, but Christ is dear to each one of us:

May the Divine Mother enfold us in her gaze as this cycle of moon-season turns, and may the peaceful Christ watch over us and walk with us until we gather again by light of moon.

So may it be!

The Seed: Symbol & Mystery - Thoughts for Lammas

A seed is a mystery. It is both beginning and end, life and death, nothing and everything. A seed sits easily in the palm of the hand, and yet grows into a living structure which can be twice the size of house. It is a single grain, yet it is the source of a thousand grains. It can be stored for many years, and then be stirred into life in days. A seed is the whole universe in a grain of sand.

And so a seed is a rich symbol of the process of living and dying. It is no surprise that the seed is often used in faith traditions to illustrate the spiritual journey, and the moving from one season to another. In the Christian tradition, Jesus often used the imagery of agriculture, the language of the land. He spoke about crops and weeds, good and bad soil, sowing and harvesting. Jesus wisely rooted his teaching in the things people could understand, and he used the symbol of the seed to illustrate a profound message about what it means to be human, and to live a life of the Spirit.

At the harvest, which is celebrated in the Christian festival of Lammas, the crop is gathered in and enjoyed, but the seed from which it came is nowhere to be seen. The seed does its work secretly, and through its death others are given a life-giving gift.

The Pagan season of Lughnasadh also centres around the mysterious and wonderful work of the seed. It is a time for the celebration of the grain harvest when thanks are given to the Harvest Mother - she who is the Seed, the Womb and the Soil. The harvested grain represents both food to sustain us through the coming winter months, and also the promise of hope contained in the seed to be sown in Spring.

To read the whole of this article, visit: Mystic Christ

Calling the Spring

On Sunday, we celebrated the Spring Equinox at Forest Church where the theme was 'Christ the Gardener'. It was a beautiful ritual, and throughout it was the idea that Christ comes to bring new life in his role as the gardener in John's gospel.

And particularly moving was the element where we were invited to call up the Spring from the depths of the Earth and to draw down energy and warmth from the Sun, making ourselves into the place of connection between Earth and Sun. The ritual leader said:

We begin by drawing the energy up from the earth... Feel your feet connecting with the cold earth and, like a tree, send your roots deep, deep down, to where the spring has started to uncoil...

...Breathe in deeply, and draw the energy of spring... up through your feet and into your whole body. With each out-breath hold that heat in the body...

Extend your sense upwards to the distant sun... Draw down the warmth of spring into the cold earth beneath you, through that connection you have established in your mind and in your body...

This was a very profound moment for me: that I could be a co-creator in the birthing of the new season of the year, and that I was a part of the coming of Spring. It was not just happening around me - it was happening through me.

There was also a link to yoga practice in the drawing-up of energy into the body through the feet, as we do when we stand in Mountain Pose or Tree Pose. In this part of the practice I am always reminded that I am part of the tapestry of creation, and that I may grow by learning from the ways of creation. The mountain and the tree are my teachers.

The Wisdom of Brigid

This Friday, 1 Feb, is the feast day of St Brigid. I have recently been delving into the legends of Brigid both as Christian Saint and as goddess, and find her fascinating and amazing! Her divine feminine wisdom and healing energy are very inspiring. At a time when the Christian Church (or, at least, my part of it - the Church of England) is failing to display true welcome and wisdom, Brigid's spirit is sorely needed.

So, this week, we will celebrate St Brigid at the chapel Eucharist. Here is a brief extract from my short reflection for that morning:

Whatever may or may not be the historical facts about the life of Brigid, one of her most valuable gifts is that of feminine wisdom. 

For too long, the Christian Church has silenced and ignored the voices of women whilst being happy for them to carry out a large share of the practical work which holds communities together - caring, praying, visiting, comforting, welcoming. 

Brigid reminds us of the richness of the wisdom and vision of women - a richness which the Church desperately needs in order to open itself to the needs and wonders of our world.

May you be blessed by Brigid.

Two days to go...

...until the Winter Solstice. Although, actually, I won't be celebrating it until Sat 22nd, with my Forest Church Group.

This time last year, I guess I'd barely heard of the Winter Solstice, let alone the other seasons of the Celtic Year. A lot has changed in 12 months. I'm beginning more and more to set my spiritual compass by the changing seasons and the observation of Celtic rituals.

So, I'm looking forward to Saturday, and to marking the point at which the darkness begins to give way to the light - Christ, the Sun, the Spring, the Fire. As a Winter Solstice ritual hymn says:

Long Is Our Winter, Dark is our night, O come, set us free, O Saving Light!

Hand-made wisdom

I've recently become aware of the writing of Glennie Kindred, whose website is here. In an article from her website, Glennie describes herself thus:

I write and illustrated books on Earth wisdom, Earth cycles, Celtic festivals, trees, herbs, hedgerow gathering and cookery, creating our own ceremonies and alchemy. I am interested in taking old knowledge and creatively applying it to our lives today. I believe that as we heal ourselves and our relationship to the Earth, we add to the healing of our world.

I recently bought her wonderful book The Earth's Cycle of Celebration and have just ordered Creating Ceremony from Glennie's website. The books are hand-lettered and -illustrated, and have a great beauty and love about them. 

Celtic Blessings

I received my Celtic Wheel greetings cards today - they're really beautiful. They're designed by artist and illustrator Samantha Symonds, whose site you can check out here. To see Samantha's cards, go here.

Along with the cards, I also received a lovely note from Samantha thanking me for my order. The card bears one of her own designs called Oak Moon. I've added the card to my prayer table to help me to celebrate this mystical season.

Blessings.

Samhain - Summer's End & The Sacredness of Place

The Samhain ritual is a celebration of circles - the circle of sacred space which is created for the ritual; the circle of life which is recalled as we honour the departed; the seeds of hope which are planted for the next cycle of the year.

It is also a time of letting go, of casting into the Samhain fire all that has nourished us in the past but now no longer brings growth or that which shackles us to the old year or binds and limits us.

Also, as I celebrated Samhain, I was keenly aware of the way in which the ritual forged a connection to the earth. As the sacred space was woven we honoured the energy of the Life around us, in the place where we all stood:

Here in this place we honour muntjac deer, robin and squirrel;
Magpie and owl, fox and badger, blue tit and chaffinch
...the mighty cedar in whose shade we meet...

Throughout the ritual I felt that what we were celebrating was rooted in that very place, in that garden, amongst those trees, with that group of people. As I reflect on the celebration I am aware of the intimacy of the ritual and of the way in which it drew on the experiences of those who were partipating in it.

And although I had met the majority of the group only half an hour earlier, I felt a belonging and that what we were doing together mattered. This resulted in a connection and a rootedness which I find so often sadly absent from our weekly celebrations and services in church. Is this because our Anglican rites fail to take account of who is present, of the holy place in which we are meeting, of the connections we have to one another?

After the celebration was complete, we took refuge from the cold and gathered indoors for the gorsedd. Again, the power of this came in the meeting and sharing of those who were present. Poems were shared in celebration of the Earth, sacred songs were sung and drums were played. As the first fire of the season leapt in the hearth, a sacred rhythm drew us together and, again, a connection was made - the sacredness of the place.

Before departing, we shared thoughts about the next step for this gathering: should it be made public, an open invitation? Or is the gap between this group and traditional Church too wide for many to easily move from one to the other? I am still pondering this and I have no answers. However, I feel clearly drawn to this path of celebration and wonder if, for some at least, it may be a new route (?root) on the journey of life and faith.

October - Summer's end & the gateway to winter

The world changes as October unfolds its mysteries. Seven o' clock in the morning and seven o'clock in the evening are both equally dark. We rise from sleep and wonder if it is still the night before. And under the shelter of woodland trees it seems never to grow light at any point in the day. We take a step back in time at the end of the month as we put back the clocks by one hour - lighter in the mornings for a while, but darker in the afternoons.

But at the same time the trees are bursting into flames of copper-red and apple-yellow, showing us a miracle which, even though we have seen it before, still turns our head as we wonder where these hues have come from. There is a sense in October of a world which we don't quite recognise.

Before the coming of electricity, this was a time to close down for the winter. For the ancient Celtic peoples, the end of October was the end of the old year, the new year beginning with the festival of Samhain on the 1st of November. As the new year dawned there was a sense of two worlds drawing together: that which had been and that which was yet to come meeting for a short time in the present. It was this time of year that the Christian Church made 1st November All Saints' Day and the following day All Souls' Day, when it was believed that our world and the next were brought together.

But we are always leaving behind the old and entering the new. The writer of Ecclesiastes reminds us that there is a right time for each event in life - the season for one thing passes and a new moment comes along. The change of the seasons beckons us to a new stage of life.

The deepening of autumn into winter is an invitation to contemplation and silence. In this season, there is the opportunity for God, the Other, to call to us and to break into our awareness. It may be the a spider's web syrupy with dew that does this, or the russet blaze of the beech tree, or the chill blanket of the fog muffling all sound into silence.

October's autumn offers a doorway into a world which is far greater than the one which is visible, and the chance to hear a voice saying to us: All is sacred.