A breath, a prayer

I was looking for a prayer to use for Evensong on Sunday which tied in with the theme of the Gospel reading. I remembered a wonderful site called World Prayers and searched there for prayers which included the word 'seed'.

One of the results was this wonderful prayer, which gives a wonderful approach to praying for peace and which I'm going to dwell with for a few days:

Wage peace with your breath.

Breathe in firemen and rubble,
breathe out whole buildings and flocks of red wing blackbirds.

Breathe in terrorists
and breathe out sleeping children and freshly mown fields.

Breathe in confusion and breathe out maple trees.

Breathe in the fallen and breathe out lifelong friendships intact.

Wage peace with your listening: hearing sirens, pray loud.

Remember your tools: flower seeds, clothes pins, clean rivers.

Make soup.

Play music, memorize the words for thank you in three languages.

Learn to knit, and make a hat.

Think of chaos as dancing raspberries,
imagine grief
as the outbreath of beauty
or the gesture of fish.

Swim for the other side.

Wage peace.

Never has the world seemed so fresh and precious:

Have a cup of tea and rejoice.

Act as if armistice has already arrived.
Celebrate today.

A different season

There is something about this time of year that feels different. It's not just the onset of Christmas, nor even (for those that observe it) the preceding weeks of Advent, though it is connected to both of those seasons. I think that it's partly shaped by the change in the light (darker mornings and evenings, longer nights) and the weather (colder, wetter, greyer) - two things which I feel increasingly sensitive to. As these things change around us, I've noticed that I feel differently about certain everyday things. For example:

Music: at this time of year (it's currently mid-December) I find that I need to listen to quieter, older music. I veer towards voice-led pieces in minor keys - things that I imagine to have been originally sung in the hall of the Manor house at the edge of a deep wood, or sung around the Winter Solstice fire. Or I seek out solo voices singing lullabies which were written by moonlight on a lute. My usual playlist of 70s classic rock and progressive metal (it exists - look it up!) will not work at this time of year (except, perhaps, for a few tracks on the ever-wonderful Songs from the Wood): it's either too brash or too complex; too obvious or too new; too epic or too demanding.

Shops: a mixed blessing - at this time of year they need us, and we need them. But I sometimes find it hard to like anything they sell, or I begin to tell myself that I could make such-and-such an item myself for a fraction of the cost ('All I would need is six metres of red ribbon, four of purple, a dozen silver bells, a square metre of green felt, pine cones, holly leaves, driftwood, needles, strong thread, and an apprentice with three years' experience of theatre set design and I'd be done!'). More realistically, I find myself being drawn to things friends of mine have made with their own hands and are selling as gifts (God bless them, every one).

Work: for an Anglican priest this time of year is going to be busy: there are countless Advent and Christmas events and services, plus the preparation each once requires, to swiftly fill the diary. But there are still emails and meetings, rotas and reports, and it is these that feel the most draining, and which keep us out of step with the season. It feels that we would benefit more from being with people than from communicating at a distance; gain more from sitting together at tables than being occupied at desks. Whatever our work, could there be more giving of practical help and fewer online chores?

There seems to be something about this time of year that draws us to quieter and simpler things. Perhaps it's something to do with being in a season which throws us back onto our own resources a bit more. Or perhaps the stripped-back state of the natural world helps us to appreciate the richness of a hand-made item or the quietness of an ancient song? Or are we more inclined to invest ourselves in making and creating because it brings us back to the limits and opportunities of what and who we are as humans?

 

Of altars and shrines

Something I've been doing for quite a while now, albeit on a small scale, is building altars. OK, yes, I'm a Christian priest, working in churches at the 'higher' end of things, so altars are, quite literally, part of my everyday life. But I'm thinking about something a little different here...

I have recently found myself drawn to collecting together significant items, pictures and 'found objects' and assembling them to create an altar or 'shrine'. Some of these are kept more or less in the same state, and in one place, whilst others are built a little more spontaneously, and rearranged or re-located after a while.

For example, here is the permanent altar which is in my study:

I use this altar as a focus for my prayers, or as a place to begin and end my yoga practice. Sometimes I will find and place a feather or flower here, as a little offering to the Divine or as a symbol of thankfulness. Sometimes I will sit quietly here, or spent time tidying and rearranging the items on the altar as a small act of devotion. Writers from many different spiritual traditions suggest that a house needs a 'main' or 'central' altar, alongside other, smaller ones. If so, then this is the main one. Perhaps it is the anchor point for each of the others?

This little collection of objects sits on our hearth.
 

It changes regularly, and we place there something from the garden or the wood which is part of that season: a leaf, seeds, a few stalks of harvested corn (as in the picture!). I guess this is really a little shrine to the changing seasons - there is also often a goddess picture here, too (Demeter is the goddess pictured here).

The final shrine is one I've begun to put together in the last few days, after reading this very interesting short article.

There is a picture of Brighid, and a little statue of Mother Mary. It's still a work in progress, but I'm getting the feeling that this is a little shrine to caring, nurture and parenthood. It is on a little window-sill halfway up the stairs so we see it, just briefly, several times a day. It acts as a small reminder to cherish the ones we love, and to remember that we, too, are loved.

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

Welcoming and blessing

When I was thinking about this year's Easter Day Eucharist, I felt that the words that the Church of England had provided for the welcoming of the Easter candle and for the blessing of the Easter garden were, well, very 'dry'. There was plenty of lofty language, but very little sense of the beauty of light, or of the freshness of the garden.

And so, I decided to write my own words. I tried to create a sense of joy, wonder and promise - three things which I find in the mystery of the Easter story. I hope I have achieved this. See for yourself:

Welcoming the Easter Candle

Praise to you, O Christ, Light of the Earth,
breaking into the darkness of our night in the rays of Spring's dawn,
bringing vision and joy, warmth and peace.

Bless us who welcome this Easter candle.
May it be to us a sign of our enlightening,
and of our re-awakening to new life on this Easter morn.
As we receive its holy flame
may we also receive Christ, the Flame of Love and Life,
into our hearts and into our lives.

The Blessing of the Easter Garden

Blessed be you, Jesus, O Holy Gardener, risen with the Sun,
as you come softly into the garden
to surprise us with the good news
that the winter of death is over
and the Spring of new life is come.

And bless, we pray, this Easter Garden,
a living picture of our thankfulness to you
and a symbol of our hopes for new growth within our lives.
As Mary came to seek you in the garden
in the promise of early morning,
may we seek your coming in the dawning of this new season.
As Mary turned to ask where her Lord had been laid,
may we eagerly seek your presence in our lives.
As Mary thrilled to hear you speak her name,
may we respond with joy when we hear your voice whispering to our spirit.

Bless us as we take a new path this day,
and lift our eyes to see you as our companion on the way.

Amen.

I will find out tomorrow morning what effect these words have. In the meantime, I wish you a blessed Easter. 

Praying the beginning

In preparing a service of worship for Sunday morning with the theme 'New Beginnings', I wanted to be able to offer a prayer for all those who are making a new start in some area of their life.

I'm currently exploring the work of Tess Ward, and her prayers for life's beginnings and endings, so looked in her excellent book 'Alternative Pastoral Prayers' for some help.

I was able to use parts of Tess's prayers for Coming of Age, Moving to a New Area and Retirement(!) in order to put together the following blessing:

N, as you set out on your journey
into this new beginning,
may God make clear the roads before you,
and greet you with kindness when you arrive.

May the adventure of this new beginning
call you to what needs to be left behind,
and the wild Warmth of the Spirit cherish within you all that should stay.

May this new beginning excite your heart and challenge you towards new frontiers.
May this adventure fit the rhythms of your soul,
drawing from you new ideas and a vision that will inspire.
May this new beginning be worthy of the energy of your heart and the light of your thought.
May your those you meet on your journey find in you Christ's love and understanding.

Go bravely, and greet each new horizon with trust and gratitude
and may God bless you on your journey,
and may the grace of the Spirit be upon you.

Tess, if you read this, I hope you don't mind my borrowing shoots and leaves from the lovely, life-giving plants you have grown! It is said that there are no new ideas...