A lot of my inspiration for blogging comes from reading other people's blogs. One of my very favourite bloggers is Nimue Brown whose excellent blog, Druid Life, can be found here.
In a recent post Nimue considered what Paganism actually is, and the temptations and dangers which come with attempting to say who is and who isn't a true Pagan. Of course, there are similar opportunities for such games within any spiritual path, tradition or religion: the Christian faith, within which I earn my living and become increasingly aware of my shortcomings, is no stranger to this.
(Rather than comment on my own experience of this, it is, perhaps, better to say very little and to consider the words of the Teacher from Nazareth in the forty-second verse of the sixth chapter of St Luke's gospel. That alone would be a lifetime's work for me!)
But Nimue's article is not negative. Rather, she encourages all who would seek to embrace the name 'Pagan' to remember that all paths are valid, and to use that as an inspiration and encouragement for their own path. Furthermore, Nimue suggests that Paganism does not have to be tied to particular affiliations, badges, memberships, rituals or teachings: it is our very humanity that causes us to respond to the sacredness of life. She says:
Paganism is a human response to the experience of being alive that finds sacredness in being alive. It’s a response to the seasons, life changes, the moon and tides, the agricultural year, the land, the weather. It’s a response to living and dying and to the constant cycles of life and death in this world. Anything that comes from a human response to life, is inherently Pagan.
And it is in the natural cycle of the seasons and the turning year that each one of us could own the name 'Pagan':
So the urge to make light and festivity at the darkest time of the year – that’s a Pagan urge. The urge to dance and party in the summer evenings, that’s a Pagan urge too. Celebrating the harvest, singing about the dear departed, honouring relationships, respecting the land we live on – no one needs telling how to do this. Every last one of us could come up with a way of being Pagan in response to life with no reference to anyone else.
I have now begun to ask the question, are all those who love the land, the seasons and the ebb and flow of relationships and emotions partly Pagan? Perhaps we are, and - if we can avoid the temptation to judge and differentiate - that is something to celebrate.
Showing posts with label sacred. Show all posts
Showing posts with label sacred. Show all posts
Thursday, 7 January 2016
Friday, 23 October 2015
Soaring
One of the joys of my day off is being able to take a longer yoga practice. Sometimes I revisit the poses and sequences from the yoga class I attend each week; other times I fall back on a routine of tried-and-tested poses which form the foundation of my practice. But today, I followed a video sequence from one of my favourite YouTube channels, Yoga with Adrienne.
As I follow some earth-centred paths these days, I sometimes try to link my yoga practice with things that are going on in nature: shorter, darker days in Autumn and Winter might call for a more gentle practice; the energy of Spring and Summer may invite us to open up to the energy of the Sun.
Today, however, I felt inspired by where the Moon is in her cycle, and to focus on Half Moon Pose.
Although I'm no expert at it, this is one of my favourite poses; I am always amazed and delighted when I get anywhere near achieving it. The yoga teacher Judith Lasater says of this pose:
Combining balance and stretch, Half-Moon Pose (Ardha Chandrasana) partakes of the cool radiance of the moon in the midst of the heat of active standing poses... Remember the soaring feeling of Half-Moon Pose when you are stuck in the doldrums of life.
I'm glad to say that, today, I wasn't in the doldrums, but I was reminded that when we practice yoga we are there in that moment, connecting mind, body and (hopefully!) spirit. We are moving beyond the usual experience of life, reaching for something both within and beyond ourselves. We are soaring.
As I follow some earth-centred paths these days, I sometimes try to link my yoga practice with things that are going on in nature: shorter, darker days in Autumn and Winter might call for a more gentle practice; the energy of Spring and Summer may invite us to open up to the energy of the Sun.
Today, however, I felt inspired by where the Moon is in her cycle, and to focus on Half Moon Pose.
 |
| Half-Moon Pose (This not me, by the way!) |
Although I'm no expert at it, this is one of my favourite poses; I am always amazed and delighted when I get anywhere near achieving it. The yoga teacher Judith Lasater says of this pose:
Combining balance and stretch, Half-Moon Pose (Ardha Chandrasana) partakes of the cool radiance of the moon in the midst of the heat of active standing poses... Remember the soaring feeling of Half-Moon Pose when you are stuck in the doldrums of life.
I'm glad to say that, today, I wasn't in the doldrums, but I was reminded that when we practice yoga we are there in that moment, connecting mind, body and (hopefully!) spirit. We are moving beyond the usual experience of life, reaching for something both within and beyond ourselves. We are soaring.
Monday, 21 September 2015
The Old Straight Track
Over the last few months, I have been obsessed with roads. And not just roads, but also tracks, lanes, byways, and paths - in fact the smaller the road, the more interesting it seems to become.
It really all began with two things: a holiday in Devon and Robert Macfarlane's wonderful book, The Old Ways.
In his book, Macfarlane tells the stories of journeys he has made along some of this land's oldest paths, such as the Icknield Way and the Ridgeway. As he walks he discovers the events, people and tales which have shaped (and been shaped by) the landscape through which the paths run.
It's a beautiful book: a mixture of poetry, documentary, history, cartography, nature-writing and autobiography. I read it with a sense of yearning for the road, and for the mystery into which the ancient paths lead us. And now that I've finished the book, I find myself poring over maps to discern where these old roads run, like pencil lines half-erased from tracing paper.
Mid-way through Macfarlane's book, I spent a week in Devon, where single-track lanes are the everyday highways for local residents and tourists alike. On turning right out of our cottage door, we quickly became the lone walkers on a track through an Oak wood. In response to the silence and the coolness of the mossy path, I took off my shoes and walked the track barefoot, as one would a medieval labyrinth.
At the sound of the Wren, I stopped, and immediately became aware of my role as the visitor, and her place as the resident. I made an offering to the wood and its creatures from my flask of water, the only gift I had with me, and felt at once both at home and a stranger there. The path led on, but I had come far enough for now, and turned back for home. As the Summer fades and the seasons turn, I feel that must go back again, to walk that path into the past and into the future.
Wednesday, 13 May 2015
Walking back to happiness
In the last few weeks, something in Nature has changed. Or, rather, practically everything in Nature has changed. Alternate days of very warm and wet weather over recent weeks has notched the setting of the garden up to 'lush'. There is now so much more of it! Every branch is feathered with leaves, and blossom hangs heavy, tempting sleepy bees and promising fruit.
Something changes in me, too. Outside is now where I want to be. This desk, which was a welcome observation point in the winter and early spring, is now a burden. The Earth is trading its energy with the Sun, and I feel that I want in on the deal.
So I take the quickest and easiest route I can think of: I head out into the garden, barefoot. I've been doing this for several weeks, of course, but only as far as the clothes-line, with the washing basket in my arms. The feel of the damp grass has been pleasing, but the trip has merely been a means to an end. This time, the journey is the beginning, middle and end.
In a sense, that is the most important part: I am walking for the sake of walking, and for the sake of knowing that I am walking. I am not going anywhere, I am just going. And I want to feel the journey, however short it may be, and to feel myself present on the earth.
As I walk, I feel the transaction between my feet and the earth. I feel that there is an energy, a presence, a life beneath my feet. I am aware of temperature, texture and traction. There is a give and take, an adjusting of pressure in each footstep, an awareness of the difference between stone and leaf.
There is a sense also that I am empowered: I have chosen to walk barefoot, and to attempt to become more conscious of the natural environment. The busy world laughs at those who go barefoot, or is embarrassed by them, but those who choose to do so discern something of the richness that is gained only when we remove our shoes and dare to stand barefoot on sacred ground.
Walking barefoot reminds us that we are part of this world, connected to this earth. It makes the link that is missing when we wear shoes - that there is a slower, more mindful way of going through life, one that takes notice, one that feels, one that concentrates on things one step at a time.
Something changes in me, too. Outside is now where I want to be. This desk, which was a welcome observation point in the winter and early spring, is now a burden. The Earth is trading its energy with the Sun, and I feel that I want in on the deal.
So I take the quickest and easiest route I can think of: I head out into the garden, barefoot. I've been doing this for several weeks, of course, but only as far as the clothes-line, with the washing basket in my arms. The feel of the damp grass has been pleasing, but the trip has merely been a means to an end. This time, the journey is the beginning, middle and end.
 | |
| Onto the grass - in the presence of Dandelions |
In a sense, that is the most important part: I am walking for the sake of walking, and for the sake of knowing that I am walking. I am not going anywhere, I am just going. And I want to feel the journey, however short it may be, and to feel myself present on the earth.
As I walk, I feel the transaction between my feet and the earth. I feel that there is an energy, a presence, a life beneath my feet. I am aware of temperature, texture and traction. There is a give and take, an adjusting of pressure in each footstep, an awareness of the difference between stone and leaf.
 |
| In the wood, with holly leaves, humus and stones |
There is a sense also that I am empowered: I have chosen to walk barefoot, and to attempt to become more conscious of the natural environment. The busy world laughs at those who go barefoot, or is embarrassed by them, but those who choose to do so discern something of the richness that is gained only when we remove our shoes and dare to stand barefoot on sacred ground.
 |
| The earth leaves its imprint on us, too |
Walking barefoot reminds us that we are part of this world, connected to this earth. It makes the link that is missing when we wear shoes - that there is a slower, more mindful way of going through life, one that takes notice, one that feels, one that concentrates on things one step at a time.
Tuesday, 2 September 2014
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.
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.
Thursday, 26 June 2014
Coming back to earth
Yesterday, I got myself very wound up over a work-related issue. It was one of those that begins in a meeting - things were said, things were not said - and then I carried the issue around with me for the rest of the day. Not only that, but I used the issue as a spring-board to imagine and develop other scenarios which might potentially cause trouble a little further down the line.
As the day drew to a close, I still had this issue whirling around my head. I couldn't shake it, and when I finally went to bed, I lay there running though it in my mind. Not good.
When I woke this morning I had the echoes and memory of yesterday's worry and stress. But today was my day off, and I dreaded the idea of carrying the issue around with me on what should be a work-free day. As the day looked like it would be sunny and warm, I decided that it was a good time to water the veggie garden before the sun got up.
First, I had a quick check of my Facebook feed, and came across this article posted by a good friend. Although I didn't read it all the way through at the time, I got the gist of it and decided to try it out: I watered the garden barefoot.
During the fifteen minutes of walking back and forth to fill the watering can, I found myself coming back to myself. I allowed my body to remind me of the things that are important to me: the garden, nature, creativity. The space and quiet of the early-morning garden, and the feel of the earth beneath my feet seemed to be healing the damage that yesterday's stress had caused. I remembered that I belong to the earth, and to myself, and that my work (even though it is important to me) does not define who I am.
So today has been about coming back to earth, returning to myself, reconnecting my mind and body. And next time I am in that meeting (and it will happen!) I will come home, take off my shoes, and pick up the watering can.
As the day drew to a close, I still had this issue whirling around my head. I couldn't shake it, and when I finally went to bed, I lay there running though it in my mind. Not good.
When I woke this morning I had the echoes and memory of yesterday's worry and stress. But today was my day off, and I dreaded the idea of carrying the issue around with me on what should be a work-free day. As the day looked like it would be sunny and warm, I decided that it was a good time to water the veggie garden before the sun got up.
First, I had a quick check of my Facebook feed, and came across this article posted by a good friend. Although I didn't read it all the way through at the time, I got the gist of it and decided to try it out: I watered the garden barefoot.
During the fifteen minutes of walking back and forth to fill the watering can, I found myself coming back to myself. I allowed my body to remind me of the things that are important to me: the garden, nature, creativity. The space and quiet of the early-morning garden, and the feel of the earth beneath my feet seemed to be healing the damage that yesterday's stress had caused. I remembered that I belong to the earth, and to myself, and that my work (even though it is important to me) does not define who I am.
So today has been about coming back to earth, returning to myself, reconnecting my mind and body. And next time I am in that meeting (and it will happen!) I will come home, take off my shoes, and pick up the watering can.
Friday, 21 February 2014
A Doorway
This post from The Girl God arrived in my email inbox this morning:
The doors to the world of the wild Self are few but precious. If you have a deep scar, that is a door, if you have an old, old story, that is a door. If you love the sky and the water so much you almost cannot bear it, that is a door. If you yearn for a deeper life, a full life, a sane life, that is a door.
Dr. Clarissa Pinkola Estes
 |
| Painting by Elizabeth Slettnes, from: thegirlgod.blogspot.co.uk/ |
There are many times at the moment that I long to live a 'wilder' life: one which is more spontaneous, more truthful, closer to the earth, more free from the expectations of those with whom I work (or, at least, the expectations I think they have of me...). What is my door into this fuller life?
I also, rather foolishly, and in my day-dreams, sometimes long for a door into other worlds: Narnia, Middle Earth, Avalon, Hogwarts. Perhaps this is a childish (or child-like?) activity, and something which, in the words of St Paul, I should have put away with other childish things (1 Corinthians 13.11)? But then, why should I not long to meet the characters who live in those other-worlds, who also seem to be longing to live deeper, fuller, saner lives?
For me it is often story which is the door. I find that I carry stories around with me, and use them as sources of encouragement or strength. The journey of Frodo and Sam, the struggle of Harry and his friends, the terrifying kindness of Aslan - each of these can become for me a doorway into a fuller life, a more adventurous life, a more magical life.
For others, the doorway might be something else. But I suspect that each of us has one. The key, I think, lies in discovering it and then having the courage to open it, however foolish or unlikely it may seem.
Sunday, 16 February 2014
Healing... and Love
From my sermon for 16 Feb 2014. The gospel reading is Mark 1.40-45
This
encounter between Jesus the nameless man is full of emotion: Mark
tells us right from the start that the man came to Jesus begging him,
and knelt down before Jesus to put his request. The man then puts a
searching request to Jesus, in which he clearly shows the faith he
has in Jesus:
If you choose to,
says the man, you
can make me clean.
Face-to-face
with this show of faith and feeling, Jesus makes his response. I
do choose,
says Jesus, be
clean!
And going against all the accepted custom and common sense of the
time, Jesus does something deeply wonderful: he touches the man.
Jesus reaches out both literally and emotionally, moved, as Mark
tells us, with pity, with compassion. And the man is healed.
Jesus
offers us here a pattern for the healing work of God's Church and all
who follow Jesus: the touching of those considered untouchable; the
loving of those thought unlovable; the welcoming of those thought
beyond invitation. This is the work of grace and beauty that Jesus
set himself to, the song that he sang in his life on earth. You and
I, if we hear the call of Jesus to journey with him, are called to
this work, too.
In
his poem 'Love', the priest and poet George Herbert portrays the
invitation, the love, the welcome that Christ offers to you, to me
and all who look to him for divine healing and acceptance. I would
like to end with that poem, and to invite us to consider what it
might mean for us to both receive and then offer that unconditional
love.
Love
(III) by George
Herbert
Love bade me welcome: yet my soul drew back,
Guilty of dust and sin.
But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning
If I lacked anything.
"A guest," I answered, "worthy to be here":
Love said, "You shall be he."
"I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, my dear,
I cannot look on thee."
Love took my hand, and smiling did reply,
"Who made the eyes but I?"
"Truth, Lord; but I have marred them; let my shame
Go where it doth deserve."
"And know you not," says Love, "who bore the blame?"
"My dear, then I will serve."
"You must sit down," says Love, "and taste my meat."
So I did sit and eat.
Saturday, 18 January 2014
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:
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!
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!
Monday, 25 March 2013
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.
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.
Saturday, 2 March 2013
Figs, apples, trees
This Sunday I'm all into trees in my sermon. And, as we have the reading of the fig-tree in the vineyard (which has become the apple tree in the translation below!) I wanted to use that theme with my folks at church this Sunday.
Matthew's gospel, chapter 13 verses 6-9:
Then Jesus told them a story: “A man had an apple tree planted in his front yard. He came to it expecting to find apples, but there weren’t any. He said to his gardener, ‘What’s going on here? For three years now I’ve come to this tree expecting apples and not one apple have I found. Chop it down! Why waste good ground with it any longer?’
“The gardener said, ‘Let’s give it another year. I’ll dig around it and fertilize, and maybe it will produce next year; if it doesn’t, then chop it down.’”
Here is the final part of my sermon:
...Who is the gardener? Is this Jesus, coming to give us one more chance, to pick us up after we have fallen, to speak words of encouragement when we have failed to hit the mark and to set us on our way again? It seems likely that it is Jesus, for the gospel story is full of occasions when someone is given a second chance by Jesus. The key, it seems, is what we do with the second chance we are given - and the third, and the fourth and the fiftieth. Will we bear fruit? Will we strive to live up to our calling? Will we make the most of the opportunity to be who God calls us to be, acknowledging and valuing our differences and our individuality, and celebrating that in others?
Matthew's gospel, chapter 13 verses 6-9:
Then Jesus told them a story: “A man had an apple tree planted in his front yard. He came to it expecting to find apples, but there weren’t any. He said to his gardener, ‘What’s going on here? For three years now I’ve come to this tree expecting apples and not one apple have I found. Chop it down! Why waste good ground with it any longer?’
“The gardener said, ‘Let’s give it another year. I’ll dig around it and fertilize, and maybe it will produce next year; if it doesn’t, then chop it down.’”
Here is the final part of my sermon:
...Who is the gardener? Is this Jesus, coming to give us one more chance, to pick us up after we have fallen, to speak words of encouragement when we have failed to hit the mark and to set us on our way again? It seems likely that it is Jesus, for the gospel story is full of occasions when someone is given a second chance by Jesus. The key, it seems, is what we do with the second chance we are given - and the third, and the fourth and the fiftieth. Will we bear fruit? Will we strive to live up to our calling? Will we make the most of the opportunity to be who God calls us to be, acknowledging and valuing our differences and our individuality, and celebrating that in others?
Friday, 18 January 2013
My thoughts in a song
A couple of days ago I came across the wonderful Dar Williams, singer-songwriter (songwriter-singer?), and her song Christians and Pagans, taken from her album Mortal City.
The song sketches out what happens when an American family gets together for the Christmas holidays. Some members of the family are Christians, others are pagans. Dar doesn't try to make one group better than another; she simply tries to show that the season (Christmas/Yule) can be celebrated by those of many beliefs.
The choruses of the song vary slightly. Here's the first:
So the Christians and the pagans sat together at the table,
Finding faith and common ground the best that they were able,
And just before the meal was served, hands were held and prayers were said,
Sending hope for peace on earth to all their gods and goddesses.
I've listened to the song several times in the last few days. One line sticks in my mind - it's from Jane, the mother of the pagan family, as she speaks to her (Christian) nephew at the dinner table:
...it's true, your cousin's not a Christian,
but we love trees, we love the snow, the friends we have, the world we share,
And you find magic from your God, and we find magic everywhere.'
Something about this line makes me want more, makes me want to find the magic everywhere. It says something which Christians seem to find it hard to do, or at least to express.
The song makes me wonder where I would sit at that table. On just one side, or on both?
The song sketches out what happens when an American family gets together for the Christmas holidays. Some members of the family are Christians, others are pagans. Dar doesn't try to make one group better than another; she simply tries to show that the season (Christmas/Yule) can be celebrated by those of many beliefs.
The choruses of the song vary slightly. Here's the first:
So the Christians and the pagans sat together at the table,
Finding faith and common ground the best that they were able,
And just before the meal was served, hands were held and prayers were said,
Sending hope for peace on earth to all their gods and goddesses.
I've listened to the song several times in the last few days. One line sticks in my mind - it's from Jane, the mother of the pagan family, as she speaks to her (Christian) nephew at the dinner table:
...it's true, your cousin's not a Christian,
but we love trees, we love the snow, the friends we have, the world we share,
And you find magic from your God, and we find magic everywhere.'
Something about this line makes me want more, makes me want to find the magic everywhere. It says something which Christians seem to find it hard to do, or at least to express.
The song makes me wonder where I would sit at that table. On just one side, or on both?
Wednesday, 5 December 2012
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.
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.
Monday, 19 November 2012
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.
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.
Sunday, 11 November 2012
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.
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.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)