November 30th St. Andrew's Day
So...obviously St. Andrew is not a Celtic saint; he is one of the 12 apostles and brother to St. Peter.
Yet somehow he ended up as Patron saint of one of the 7 Celtic nations: Scotland. (Of the other 6 "nations", only Galicia has another apostolic saint, the apostle St. James, buried at the terminus of the pilgrim route of Santiago de Compostela.) I thought perhaps I could muse a little on how Andrew ended up in that position and about the issues of Saints in general, which are an important part of Celtic Christianity.
After the crucifixtion, legend has it that Andrew preached to the Scythians in the area north of the Black Sea, then in Constantinople where he installed a bishop, and finally in the Pelopponese in Greece where he was martyred at the city of Patras. Like his brother, Peter, he refused routine crucifixtion, but was bound to an "X" shaped cross, now referred to as a Saltire.
What happens after this point is a little sketchy. His remains, i.e. relics, would have been buried at Patras. A Greek monastic named St. Regulus (St. Rule), apparently had a vision that he should move a portion of the relics, and he took them north, eventually ending up near Fife in Scotland...now the site of the town and University of St. Andrews. I have seen dates as early as 315 AD and as late as around 800 AD listed for when this occurred. The latter time coincides the legend of King Oengus of Scotland trying to defeat the Anglo-Saxon king Athelstan in battle. Oengus sees a cloud formation in the form a Saltire cross, and swears that if he wins the battle he will make St. Andrew patron of Scotland. Obviously he won the battle.
Another theory was that Andrew was chosen to "trump" the English, who had only St. George. (So what if George could slay dragons--he wasn't an apostle after all!) This aspect of "using" saints as almost a football team mascot bothers me, yet I suspect it was quite real. Growing up I used to be a big fan of the movies of Errol Flynn. In one of these, "The Black Prince," there is a scene where English troops are trying to route the French during the Hundred War. The camera focuses on the English charging and yelling "England and St. George," then pans over to the defending French who are screaming out "France and St. Dennis." George wins that round in the Celebrity Saint match-up.
I also get concerned about the whole "relics" concept. In one of my vacations, my daughter and I made a trip to the monastery of St. Catherine in the Sinai peninsula. I recall long lines of Orthodox worshipers coming by an encased set of relics, weeping and kissing the surrounding glass--I don't recall which saint it was. I use saints in my prayers, particularly if there is an aspect of their lives that is similar to a problem I am dealing with. I believe in the "communion of saints." I worry, however, that saints are elevated to a position of semi-divinity, an intermediary to Jesus...who needs no intermediary.
As I read the background to the Celtic love of saints, I realize that Andrew is in many ways an anomaly compared to the other Celtic saints. Esther de Waal has a marvelous chapter devoted to the background of Celtic saints in her book The Celtic Way of Prayer. She describes them as earthy, local, part of the kin-structure of the Celtic society. Many of them were created saints by local acclamation rather than formal canonization. They are present now, not remote. De Waal has a marvelous quote from a contemporary Irishwoman that, because of the beer-related nature of the town I currently live in, I cannot resist copying:
I would like to have the men of Heaven
In my own house:
With vats of good cheer
Laid out for them...
I would like a great lake of beer
For the King of Kings,
I would like to be watching Heaven's family
Drinking it through all eternity. (De Waal attributes this to Peig. The Autobiography of Peig Sayers of the Great Basket Island)
So...next time I am at Odell's brewery with a pilot sampler tray, I am going to have to mentally imagine a Celtic Saint sitting across from me. Not to get inebriated, but just to socialize in a friendly, gaelic fashion.
Lord, thank you for the Celtic Saints in general. Their struggles and joys are an inspiration to me. Keep me from putting them in Your place, yet allow me to "converse" with them, so that I may learn to be closer to You through their example and advice. Amen.
Saturday, November 30, 2013
Friday, November 29, 2013
St. Brendan of Birr November 29th
Today I would like to muse about St. Brendan of Birr, also known as St. Brendan the Elder, which will lead into a discussion of an imporant aspect of Celtic Christianity, the Soul-Friend or Anamchara.
Before I launch into that however I want to quickly thank Leslie Keeney who is the blogger of the Ruthless Monk that I mentioned a few days ago. She made some great suggestions about improving my blogging! Her blog can be found at theruthlessmonk.com
Her section on "Exploring the Trinity" is something I can see I am going to enjoy going through.
Back to St. Brendan of Birr. He was born in Ireland in the early 500's and joined the monastery school of Clonard under the direction of St. Finian. This was a time period of an explosive interest in Christianity in Ireland. Clonard had a high enrollment, but 12 of the students of the time seemed to stand out and became known at the Apostles of Ireland...Brendan was one of the those twelve. His sanctity and intuitive judge of character caused him to be call the "Prophet of Ireland." I found one quote attributed to Brendan: "If you become Christ's, you will stumble upon wonder upon wonder, and every one of the true!"
He became close friends with two other significant Saints of this time: Brendan of Clonfert and Columcille (Columba). The other Brendan became known as St. Brendan the Voyager as he and group of his followers went out into the western sea in coracles to search for the Blessed Isles. He is credited by some scholars as the discover of America, pre-dating both Columbus and Leif Erickson.
Columba became best known as the founder of the Monastery at Iona, off the western coast of Scotland. In order to get a better idea of Brendan the Elder's friendship with him, I need to digress and discuss a little about St. Columba's "troubles." While at Clonard, Columba found a manuscript that he felt drawn to. He made a copy of it, without going through the usual channels of getting permission from the Abbot, and eventually took the copy out of the Monastery. Finian found out and was livid and this resulted in a violent war, culmnating in the Battle of Cul Dreimhne in 561, where several monks on both sides were killed. (See my post from yesterday about this darker side of Celtic Christianity.) Columba was brought to trial at the Synod of Meltown where Brendan's defense of Columba resulted in exile rather the death.
They must have kept in contact over the years as Columba is quoted as saying that he knew the time of Brendan's death from a vision of Brendan's soul, in the form of a dove, being carried by angels up to heaven.
Brendan of Birr was a wonderful example, particularly with Columba, of what it means to be a soul-friend. This is a concept that is akin to spiritual direction but with more of mutuality and less hierarchy. Brendan O'Malley in his book Lord of Creation decribes it as follows:
"Essentially it is about being present to a friend who is seeking God, is actually serious about it and needs to sound out and share their thoughts and aspirations with an empathic mentor. It can be seen at its most simple level as a conversation between two people on the ways of prayer and the journey of faith." St. Brigid of Kildare is quoted as saying the a Christian person without a soul-friend is like a head without a body.
Having soul-friends is considered one of the key elements of the Order of St Aidan and Hilda to which I belong. And, if I am honest with myself, which seems to be what I am trying to do this Advent, it is one of my growth edges. I have soul-friends and recently was able to get together with two of them, but I know that I have a tendency to try to be too self-reliant. I try to work out my spiritual issues through solitary prayer and journaling. Often when I do get together with one or more of my soul-friends I fall too much into the ease of just plain conversational banter (how are the grandkids?). While it is an important aspect of soul-friendship to know something of that person's non-spiritual life, I think that is secondary to the original concept. Instead I should be finding out what is going on with their walk with Christ, both the joys and the obstacles, and, since this is mutual, sharing the same for me. The latter involves admitting faults and vulnerabilities, again a growth edge for me, but one which I know I have to address if I am truly going to emulate thos early Celtic Christians.
Lord, thank you for leading me to the life of St. Brendan of Birr. His dedication to his friends in Christ reminds me of at least one direction that I know You want me to go: to be more committed in spiritual-friendship. Help me Lord, to put aside my busy-ness, and my tendency to rely on my self alone. In thy name...Amen.
Today I would like to muse about St. Brendan of Birr, also known as St. Brendan the Elder, which will lead into a discussion of an imporant aspect of Celtic Christianity, the Soul-Friend or Anamchara.
Before I launch into that however I want to quickly thank Leslie Keeney who is the blogger of the Ruthless Monk that I mentioned a few days ago. She made some great suggestions about improving my blogging! Her blog can be found at theruthlessmonk.com
Her section on "Exploring the Trinity" is something I can see I am going to enjoy going through.
Back to St. Brendan of Birr. He was born in Ireland in the early 500's and joined the monastery school of Clonard under the direction of St. Finian. This was a time period of an explosive interest in Christianity in Ireland. Clonard had a high enrollment, but 12 of the students of the time seemed to stand out and became known at the Apostles of Ireland...Brendan was one of the those twelve. His sanctity and intuitive judge of character caused him to be call the "Prophet of Ireland." I found one quote attributed to Brendan: "If you become Christ's, you will stumble upon wonder upon wonder, and every one of the true!"
He became close friends with two other significant Saints of this time: Brendan of Clonfert and Columcille (Columba). The other Brendan became known as St. Brendan the Voyager as he and group of his followers went out into the western sea in coracles to search for the Blessed Isles. He is credited by some scholars as the discover of America, pre-dating both Columbus and Leif Erickson.
Columba became best known as the founder of the Monastery at Iona, off the western coast of Scotland. In order to get a better idea of Brendan the Elder's friendship with him, I need to digress and discuss a little about St. Columba's "troubles." While at Clonard, Columba found a manuscript that he felt drawn to. He made a copy of it, without going through the usual channels of getting permission from the Abbot, and eventually took the copy out of the Monastery. Finian found out and was livid and this resulted in a violent war, culmnating in the Battle of Cul Dreimhne in 561, where several monks on both sides were killed. (See my post from yesterday about this darker side of Celtic Christianity.) Columba was brought to trial at the Synod of Meltown where Brendan's defense of Columba resulted in exile rather the death.
They must have kept in contact over the years as Columba is quoted as saying that he knew the time of Brendan's death from a vision of Brendan's soul, in the form of a dove, being carried by angels up to heaven.
Brendan of Birr was a wonderful example, particularly with Columba, of what it means to be a soul-friend. This is a concept that is akin to spiritual direction but with more of mutuality and less hierarchy. Brendan O'Malley in his book Lord of Creation decribes it as follows:
"Essentially it is about being present to a friend who is seeking God, is actually serious about it and needs to sound out and share their thoughts and aspirations with an empathic mentor. It can be seen at its most simple level as a conversation between two people on the ways of prayer and the journey of faith." St. Brigid of Kildare is quoted as saying the a Christian person without a soul-friend is like a head without a body.
Having soul-friends is considered one of the key elements of the Order of St Aidan and Hilda to which I belong. And, if I am honest with myself, which seems to be what I am trying to do this Advent, it is one of my growth edges. I have soul-friends and recently was able to get together with two of them, but I know that I have a tendency to try to be too self-reliant. I try to work out my spiritual issues through solitary prayer and journaling. Often when I do get together with one or more of my soul-friends I fall too much into the ease of just plain conversational banter (how are the grandkids?). While it is an important aspect of soul-friendship to know something of that person's non-spiritual life, I think that is secondary to the original concept. Instead I should be finding out what is going on with their walk with Christ, both the joys and the obstacles, and, since this is mutual, sharing the same for me. The latter involves admitting faults and vulnerabilities, again a growth edge for me, but one which I know I have to address if I am truly going to emulate thos early Celtic Christians.
Lord, thank you for leading me to the life of St. Brendan of Birr. His dedication to his friends in Christ reminds me of at least one direction that I know You want me to go: to be more committed in spiritual-friendship. Help me Lord, to put aside my busy-ness, and my tendency to rely on my self alone. In thy name...Amen.
Wednesday, November 27, 2013
Celtic Advent St. Fionnchu
November 28th St. Fionnchu of Bangor
I struggled with how to approach this saint. He was really the only Celtic Saint with this day, and I found I didn't really like him very much. So how could I derive something helpful from narrating about his life? Let's see where this goes.
Fionnchu lived in the middle part of the 6th Century in Ireland. The probable facts about him are that he succeeded Comgall as abbot of the Bangor monastery, which had a reputation of having a fairly strict ascetic rule for its monks. His later medieval biography created a romantic view of a warrior-monk, mixed with stories of a severe ascetic, and his story became very popular during that time period. Here are some elements from those stories. Fionnchu decided to build another monastery after leaving Bangor and hired seven smiths to not only set up the building but to create a room with seven iron sickles, on which Fionnchu would hang himself, to increase his holiness through asceticisim. He developed a reputation as a valiant, but violent, warrior and would be hired by kings and other monasteries to help them with local battles. Some of these would be against invaders, others would be against other Irishmen who had somehow angered the people who hired Fionnchu. He would go into battle brandishing his crozier (bishop's staff) as a weapon and breathing fire from his mouth, inevitably defeating whomever was placed before him. He was described as being fierce as a "hound" which would go along with his name, as "chu" in Gaelic meant "hound." This vision and description of Fionnchu would have greatly appealed to the lay Celtic public of the time, as it connected directly with the myths of pre-Christian period, particularly of the hero CuChulainn (another "hound" name) famous for his exploits in the Cattle Raid of Cooley from the Ulster cycle of tales.
Some of this violent aspect of Fionnchu is almost certainly based on fact. Those of us who love reading about early Celtic Christianity sometimes gloss over the dark side of the period. It has been said that the Gaelic personality seems constantly prone to argument and warfare. The Irish monastics of the period would periodically go to war with each other, one monastery carrying battle to another monastery over some issue that inflamed them--like stealing the relics from another monastery for your own--the ultimate church fight. The Celts, it would seem, were always looking for an excuse for a good battle.
This got me to wondering about our human tendency to enjoy seeing someone who initially appears to be peaceful become more "war-like." I can think of several aspects in modern media. A classic, also set in Ireland, would be the John Wayne film, "The Quiet Man." Wayne's character has given up the sport of boxing after he has killed an opponent--he now seeks a quiet peaceful life in rural Ireland. He is eventually put in a position to have to fight again--and as the audience we know this is coming and eat it up. (It is still actually one of my favorite movies). Another example would be an older Gary Cooper movie about a Quaker family during the Civil War: "Friendly Persuasion"--despite Cooper's Quaker beliefs, the audience it again set up to "root" for him to take up a gun and fight. It is almost as if we as humans cannot accept someone living a truly peaceful lifestyle. We want the valiant warrior who will save us from external forces, not the man of peace. From a biblical standpoint, we get back again to the popular expectations of what kind of "savior" Jesus would be. I suspect that many of the Jews were hoping He would come down from the cross at the last minute and start kicking Roman butt. Wouldn't that after all, play better in the updated Hollywood version? The romantic version of Fionnchu's history takes advantage what seems to be a human egotistical need to have a war-like leader who will protect us. Combine this with that basic Celtic tendency for intra-tribal bickering, and the Fionnchu mythology really takes off.
So...where does this leave me in my blogging about Celtic Saints during Advent. It means I have to watch out for some Saints, rather than embracing some aspect of their lifestyle I have to realize that popular culture may have mutated the Saint's life into that's culture's expectations, or that maybe they weren't so saint-like to begin with. I also have to remember that, as someone with a Celtic background, that not everything about the Celts was daily spiritual oneness and love, but would descend into an all too human tendency to competition and strife. If I truly want to emulate Christ's life, then I have guard my heart against those latter tendencies.
Lord, help me to learn from saints like Fionnchu, about what in popular cultural expectations that I need to avoid if I truly want to be saint-like. Help me to see what is good in the Celtic Christian tradition, but to be realistic about their human tendencies; teach me to be aware how I too often can become competitive in an unhealthy way as they were, and forgive me. In Thy name, Amen
I struggled with how to approach this saint. He was really the only Celtic Saint with this day, and I found I didn't really like him very much. So how could I derive something helpful from narrating about his life? Let's see where this goes.
Fionnchu lived in the middle part of the 6th Century in Ireland. The probable facts about him are that he succeeded Comgall as abbot of the Bangor monastery, which had a reputation of having a fairly strict ascetic rule for its monks. His later medieval biography created a romantic view of a warrior-monk, mixed with stories of a severe ascetic, and his story became very popular during that time period. Here are some elements from those stories. Fionnchu decided to build another monastery after leaving Bangor and hired seven smiths to not only set up the building but to create a room with seven iron sickles, on which Fionnchu would hang himself, to increase his holiness through asceticisim. He developed a reputation as a valiant, but violent, warrior and would be hired by kings and other monasteries to help them with local battles. Some of these would be against invaders, others would be against other Irishmen who had somehow angered the people who hired Fionnchu. He would go into battle brandishing his crozier (bishop's staff) as a weapon and breathing fire from his mouth, inevitably defeating whomever was placed before him. He was described as being fierce as a "hound" which would go along with his name, as "chu" in Gaelic meant "hound." This vision and description of Fionnchu would have greatly appealed to the lay Celtic public of the time, as it connected directly with the myths of pre-Christian period, particularly of the hero CuChulainn (another "hound" name) famous for his exploits in the Cattle Raid of Cooley from the Ulster cycle of tales.
Some of this violent aspect of Fionnchu is almost certainly based on fact. Those of us who love reading about early Celtic Christianity sometimes gloss over the dark side of the period. It has been said that the Gaelic personality seems constantly prone to argument and warfare. The Irish monastics of the period would periodically go to war with each other, one monastery carrying battle to another monastery over some issue that inflamed them--like stealing the relics from another monastery for your own--the ultimate church fight. The Celts, it would seem, were always looking for an excuse for a good battle.
This got me to wondering about our human tendency to enjoy seeing someone who initially appears to be peaceful become more "war-like." I can think of several aspects in modern media. A classic, also set in Ireland, would be the John Wayne film, "The Quiet Man." Wayne's character has given up the sport of boxing after he has killed an opponent--he now seeks a quiet peaceful life in rural Ireland. He is eventually put in a position to have to fight again--and as the audience we know this is coming and eat it up. (It is still actually one of my favorite movies). Another example would be an older Gary Cooper movie about a Quaker family during the Civil War: "Friendly Persuasion"--despite Cooper's Quaker beliefs, the audience it again set up to "root" for him to take up a gun and fight. It is almost as if we as humans cannot accept someone living a truly peaceful lifestyle. We want the valiant warrior who will save us from external forces, not the man of peace. From a biblical standpoint, we get back again to the popular expectations of what kind of "savior" Jesus would be. I suspect that many of the Jews were hoping He would come down from the cross at the last minute and start kicking Roman butt. Wouldn't that after all, play better in the updated Hollywood version? The romantic version of Fionnchu's history takes advantage what seems to be a human egotistical need to have a war-like leader who will protect us. Combine this with that basic Celtic tendency for intra-tribal bickering, and the Fionnchu mythology really takes off.
So...where does this leave me in my blogging about Celtic Saints during Advent. It means I have to watch out for some Saints, rather than embracing some aspect of their lifestyle I have to realize that popular culture may have mutated the Saint's life into that's culture's expectations, or that maybe they weren't so saint-like to begin with. I also have to remember that, as someone with a Celtic background, that not everything about the Celts was daily spiritual oneness and love, but would descend into an all too human tendency to competition and strife. If I truly want to emulate Christ's life, then I have guard my heart against those latter tendencies.
Lord, help me to learn from saints like Fionnchu, about what in popular cultural expectations that I need to avoid if I truly want to be saint-like. Help me to see what is good in the Celtic Christian tradition, but to be realistic about their human tendencies; teach me to be aware how I too often can become competitive in an unhealthy way as they were, and forgive me. In Thy name, Amen
Celtic Advent St. Congar November 27th
St. Congar of Wales, November 27th.
St. Congar lived in the mid 6th century in Wales, but most of his biographical material, as with prior saints, is from the 12th century. He is reputed to have founded a church in the area around Somerset by helping to drain the marshland, then plunging his walking staff into the earth, were it immediately sprouted into a yew tree (see my notes from earlier on St. Digain and the importance of the yew trees!) Although he was associated with monastic groups in the area, the narration of his life stress his desire to be a "solitary." He would go through prolonged fasts and vigils, and set off to be alone and pray for long periods of time. This type of lifestyle was fairly typical of monastics during the 6th to 9th century in the Celtic lands, particularly Ireland, Wales and Isle of Man. There are numerous archeological sites of Beehive structures, used by solitary monks as a private abode for prayer. These would sometimes be clustered together in a monastery, but even then were often in a remote place. One of the most famous of these is Skellig Michael, 12 kilometers off the Irish west coast, which is now a UNESCO world heritage site.
I had mentioned in the post about St. Columbanus about the different "colors" of matyrdom. These were first mentioned in a 7th century Irish document called the Cambrai Homily. Red martyrdom was a violent death in service of Christ and Green was, as with Columbanus, the leaving of your home country to wander and preach. The third kind of martyrdom was White: this was a deliberate act to move apart into a solitary ascetic lifestyle, which involved prayer, fasting, and often acts that we as moderns find strange, like immersion in cold streams. The idea was both one of isolation but also to "share" in the suffering of Christ. Congar obviously was a White martyr, again remembering the original root of the word martyr was to be a "witness."
Some of what these early medieval Celts did was based on the lifestyle of the 4th and 5th Century Desert Fathers, the monastics in the deserts of Syria, Palestine and Egypt who went to great lengths to be ascetic. This makes a bizarre kind of sense when one realizes that this kind of lifestyle came as a reaction to the legalization of Christianity in 315 AD. Prior to this time, to be a Christian meant being in constant danger of your life, one had to be truly committed to profess Christianity, as your life expectancy could be pretty short, whether through crucifixion or the Roman game spectacles. All of sudden in 315, not only was Christianity legal, but it was now the official religion of the Empire. Everyone flocked to church and became Christian. Many Christians felt this watered down the commitment of the religion and so went off to the deserts for an isolated, ascetic lifestyle as a reaction, to somehow say "I am not one of those 'easy' Christians, I am committed." The Celts picked this up and ran with it, long after the area of the Desert Fathers was overrun during the spread of Islam.
What is interesting to me is the situation we are now in in the post-modern world. During the 18th, 19th and first 2/3 of the 20th Century in America, Christianity was "in," and frankly for the most part was an easy committment. As opposed the ascetic movement we had people who wanted to "assert" their Christianity go off to missions in dangerous places (as in the movie "End of the Spear.") or do some kind of hermit-like isolation but on a short term basis, such as Thomas Merton's hermit period at the Abbey of Gethsemane in Kentucky. Now in the early 21st Century we are seeing the rise of the neomonastic movement, with urban service-oriented fellowships as exemplified by Shane Clairborne.
There was a marvelous blog from The Ruthless Monk in 2012 that addresses "Why We need a New White Martyrdom." I am going to paste a brief portion of it as it spoke to me and my personal need for something beyond just showing up for a church service:
"But I’m not sure if white martyrdom in 2012 is quite as clear cut? If the point is to give up one’s life for Christ , then isn’t a defiant, active stance against consumerism, materialism, the cult of celebrity, the primacy of advertising, and the branding of Jesus as powerful a sacrifice as renouncing the comfort of a soft mattress? Isn’t it, in a way, much harder?
In his series, The Church as Counterculture, Mason Slater writes that he imagines church as 'the place where an alternative narrative to the narrative of empire and market is proclaimed, where an alternative reality is acted out in community and sacrament.' He then goes on to say that…
…In a time when the culture calls us to consume without question, the church calls us to be content and generous. In a time when the state is ever marching to war after war, the church calls us to be peacemakers and live in the reality that Jesus abolished war. In a time when we are surrounded by the endless noise of TV, social media, advertising, and smart phones, the church calls us to simplicity, deep sustained thought, and the messiness of face-to-face community."
I think that the early medieval Celts would have approved of the above sentiment.
Lord, sometimes when I read about saints like Congar and their lifestyle I get confused. How could they do that to themselves? Help me to understand their root motivations: the desire to be more sincere as Christian, to emulate Christ and to have integrity in their day to day existence. Help me to find ways to take that root motivation and bring it into my own life. Help me with this from You will and not my own.
Amen
St. Congar lived in the mid 6th century in Wales, but most of his biographical material, as with prior saints, is from the 12th century. He is reputed to have founded a church in the area around Somerset by helping to drain the marshland, then plunging his walking staff into the earth, were it immediately sprouted into a yew tree (see my notes from earlier on St. Digain and the importance of the yew trees!) Although he was associated with monastic groups in the area, the narration of his life stress his desire to be a "solitary." He would go through prolonged fasts and vigils, and set off to be alone and pray for long periods of time. This type of lifestyle was fairly typical of monastics during the 6th to 9th century in the Celtic lands, particularly Ireland, Wales and Isle of Man. There are numerous archeological sites of Beehive structures, used by solitary monks as a private abode for prayer. These would sometimes be clustered together in a monastery, but even then were often in a remote place. One of the most famous of these is Skellig Michael, 12 kilometers off the Irish west coast, which is now a UNESCO world heritage site.
I had mentioned in the post about St. Columbanus about the different "colors" of matyrdom. These were first mentioned in a 7th century Irish document called the Cambrai Homily. Red martyrdom was a violent death in service of Christ and Green was, as with Columbanus, the leaving of your home country to wander and preach. The third kind of martyrdom was White: this was a deliberate act to move apart into a solitary ascetic lifestyle, which involved prayer, fasting, and often acts that we as moderns find strange, like immersion in cold streams. The idea was both one of isolation but also to "share" in the suffering of Christ. Congar obviously was a White martyr, again remembering the original root of the word martyr was to be a "witness."
Some of what these early medieval Celts did was based on the lifestyle of the 4th and 5th Century Desert Fathers, the monastics in the deserts of Syria, Palestine and Egypt who went to great lengths to be ascetic. This makes a bizarre kind of sense when one realizes that this kind of lifestyle came as a reaction to the legalization of Christianity in 315 AD. Prior to this time, to be a Christian meant being in constant danger of your life, one had to be truly committed to profess Christianity, as your life expectancy could be pretty short, whether through crucifixion or the Roman game spectacles. All of sudden in 315, not only was Christianity legal, but it was now the official religion of the Empire. Everyone flocked to church and became Christian. Many Christians felt this watered down the commitment of the religion and so went off to the deserts for an isolated, ascetic lifestyle as a reaction, to somehow say "I am not one of those 'easy' Christians, I am committed." The Celts picked this up and ran with it, long after the area of the Desert Fathers was overrun during the spread of Islam.
What is interesting to me is the situation we are now in in the post-modern world. During the 18th, 19th and first 2/3 of the 20th Century in America, Christianity was "in," and frankly for the most part was an easy committment. As opposed the ascetic movement we had people who wanted to "assert" their Christianity go off to missions in dangerous places (as in the movie "End of the Spear.") or do some kind of hermit-like isolation but on a short term basis, such as Thomas Merton's hermit period at the Abbey of Gethsemane in Kentucky. Now in the early 21st Century we are seeing the rise of the neomonastic movement, with urban service-oriented fellowships as exemplified by Shane Clairborne.
There was a marvelous blog from The Ruthless Monk in 2012 that addresses "Why We need a New White Martyrdom." I am going to paste a brief portion of it as it spoke to me and my personal need for something beyond just showing up for a church service:
"But I’m not sure if white martyrdom in 2012 is quite as clear cut? If the point is to give up one’s life for Christ , then isn’t a defiant, active stance against consumerism, materialism, the cult of celebrity, the primacy of advertising, and the branding of Jesus as powerful a sacrifice as renouncing the comfort of a soft mattress? Isn’t it, in a way, much harder?
In his series, The Church as Counterculture, Mason Slater writes that he imagines church as 'the place where an alternative narrative to the narrative of empire and market is proclaimed, where an alternative reality is acted out in community and sacrament.' He then goes on to say that…
…In a time when the culture calls us to consume without question, the church calls us to be content and generous. In a time when the state is ever marching to war after war, the church calls us to be peacemakers and live in the reality that Jesus abolished war. In a time when we are surrounded by the endless noise of TV, social media, advertising, and smart phones, the church calls us to simplicity, deep sustained thought, and the messiness of face-to-face community."
I think that the early medieval Celts would have approved of the above sentiment.
Lord, sometimes when I read about saints like Congar and their lifestyle I get confused. How could they do that to themselves? Help me to understand their root motivations: the desire to be more sincere as Christian, to emulate Christ and to have integrity in their day to day existence. Help me to find ways to take that root motivation and bring it into my own life. Help me with this from You will and not my own.
Amen
Tuesday, November 26, 2013
Celtic Advent Day 12 St. Tannoch
November 26th 28 days before Christmas
St. Tannoch Patron Saint of Survivors of Violent Crimes
I went yesterday to look at several of my usual resources for a Celtic Saint for today, and came up dry...there was one medieval Anglo-Saxon saint, but without a Celtic tie-in that seemed to defeat the purpose. I am an inveterate bibliophile and have several compilations about Celtic Saints. I had noticed in the past that a few of the saints in my books didn't seem to have a specific day assigned to them. One of those is St. Tannoch, who is also known as St Enoch...she may indeed have a feast day listed somewhere but it must be pretty obscure, so I decided I would "translocate" her to November 26th. I suspect she wouldn't mind terribly.
So here is what I know about St. Tannoch, which is somewhat gritty, but frankly timely. She lived in the late 6th and early 7th century in Scotland, and was the Christian daughter of a pagan chieftan named Loch. He was trying to marry her of to a Prince Ewan, but she declined, and her father threw out of the house. She took up with some friends, but Ewan tracked her down and raped her. She became pregnant, which her father took as a further disgrace, so he had her apprehended and thrown down a cliff side. She survived this through the intervention of Mary, but the father, further enraged, tied her into a coracle (a small rudderless oval shaped Celtic canoe, basically) and had her set adrift. She ended up on the coast of Culross, where, befriended by local Christians, she gave birth to a son, whom she named Kentigern. She and Kentigern moved to the area of Glasgow where she was known for her piety and service to the poor. (Kentigern was also later canonized as a Saint).
St. Tannoch's story touched me in a number of ways. I find sexual violence against women pretty horrifying and forget sometimes how, as a male, how insulated I can be from the kind of dangers that women face. When I read about the current issues with sexual slavery or about abuctions of women who are kept as slaves of years, as happened recently in Ohio, I stop to wonder if we as a culture have really made much progress since the times of Tannoch. Her father's reaction compounds the issue--he obviously saw his daughter more as property than as family. As the father of daughter (light of my life!) I cannot begin to comprehend this. I am also reminded of an Irish movie from 2002, the Magdalene Sisters. Based in fact from the early to mid 20th century, it is the story of the convent that young Irish women were sent to, if they were felt to be "degraded." In the movie one of the characters is sent there by her father after she tries to confide in him after being raped by a cousin at a family gathering. He wants no dishonor on the family, so sends her away. Although this was 50 plus years ago, I still wonder how that kind of mind set could have occured in the last century, but obviously it did.
I have often wondered, as a male, how I can try to be responsible to decrease violence against women. I certainly tried to raise my two sons in such a way as to not only be respectful of women but to see them as fellow human beings first and foremost. Part of my vows as a life member of the Order of St. Aidan and Hilda is to keep my mind "chaste." As part of fulfilling this I decided to avoid TV or cinema that I thought was aimed at being sexually explicit when that wasn't necesary for the plot...when it was exploiting women for the sake of ratings or to sell the movie or show better. Perhaps I could be accused of prudery by some, but I take for instance the difference between the book version and HBO version of George R. R. Martin's Game of Thrones. In the book, sex if of course mentioned, but it fits into the plot structure...on HBO it is flaunted at the viewer, 90% of the time with female nudity, not male. So I avoid the series and stick to the books. Does this make a difference? I doubt from an industry standpoint if it does, but I hope it allows me to feel like have taken a stand for my daughter and grand-daughter, and for the St. Tannochs of the world.
Lord, you created us a male and female. Help me to continue grow in avoiding media that could be seen as promoting women as objects, as opposed to being our equal partners in furthering Your purpose for creation. Remind me not to take for granted the safety I have been afforded by our society due to the accident of being male, and create in me an increased sensitivity to the issues for women in our increasingly violent times. In the name of Your Son, who befriended women who were outcasts. Amen.
St. Tannoch Patron Saint of Survivors of Violent Crimes
I went yesterday to look at several of my usual resources for a Celtic Saint for today, and came up dry...there was one medieval Anglo-Saxon saint, but without a Celtic tie-in that seemed to defeat the purpose. I am an inveterate bibliophile and have several compilations about Celtic Saints. I had noticed in the past that a few of the saints in my books didn't seem to have a specific day assigned to them. One of those is St. Tannoch, who is also known as St Enoch...she may indeed have a feast day listed somewhere but it must be pretty obscure, so I decided I would "translocate" her to November 26th. I suspect she wouldn't mind terribly.
So here is what I know about St. Tannoch, which is somewhat gritty, but frankly timely. She lived in the late 6th and early 7th century in Scotland, and was the Christian daughter of a pagan chieftan named Loch. He was trying to marry her of to a Prince Ewan, but she declined, and her father threw out of the house. She took up with some friends, but Ewan tracked her down and raped her. She became pregnant, which her father took as a further disgrace, so he had her apprehended and thrown down a cliff side. She survived this through the intervention of Mary, but the father, further enraged, tied her into a coracle (a small rudderless oval shaped Celtic canoe, basically) and had her set adrift. She ended up on the coast of Culross, where, befriended by local Christians, she gave birth to a son, whom she named Kentigern. She and Kentigern moved to the area of Glasgow where she was known for her piety and service to the poor. (Kentigern was also later canonized as a Saint).
St. Tannoch's story touched me in a number of ways. I find sexual violence against women pretty horrifying and forget sometimes how, as a male, how insulated I can be from the kind of dangers that women face. When I read about the current issues with sexual slavery or about abuctions of women who are kept as slaves of years, as happened recently in Ohio, I stop to wonder if we as a culture have really made much progress since the times of Tannoch. Her father's reaction compounds the issue--he obviously saw his daughter more as property than as family. As the father of daughter (light of my life!) I cannot begin to comprehend this. I am also reminded of an Irish movie from 2002, the Magdalene Sisters. Based in fact from the early to mid 20th century, it is the story of the convent that young Irish women were sent to, if they were felt to be "degraded." In the movie one of the characters is sent there by her father after she tries to confide in him after being raped by a cousin at a family gathering. He wants no dishonor on the family, so sends her away. Although this was 50 plus years ago, I still wonder how that kind of mind set could have occured in the last century, but obviously it did.
I have often wondered, as a male, how I can try to be responsible to decrease violence against women. I certainly tried to raise my two sons in such a way as to not only be respectful of women but to see them as fellow human beings first and foremost. Part of my vows as a life member of the Order of St. Aidan and Hilda is to keep my mind "chaste." As part of fulfilling this I decided to avoid TV or cinema that I thought was aimed at being sexually explicit when that wasn't necesary for the plot...when it was exploiting women for the sake of ratings or to sell the movie or show better. Perhaps I could be accused of prudery by some, but I take for instance the difference between the book version and HBO version of George R. R. Martin's Game of Thrones. In the book, sex if of course mentioned, but it fits into the plot structure...on HBO it is flaunted at the viewer, 90% of the time with female nudity, not male. So I avoid the series and stick to the books. Does this make a difference? I doubt from an industry standpoint if it does, but I hope it allows me to feel like have taken a stand for my daughter and grand-daughter, and for the St. Tannochs of the world.
Lord, you created us a male and female. Help me to continue grow in avoiding media that could be seen as promoting women as objects, as opposed to being our equal partners in furthering Your purpose for creation. Remind me not to take for granted the safety I have been afforded by our society due to the accident of being male, and create in me an increased sensitivity to the issues for women in our increasingly violent times. In the name of Your Son, who befriended women who were outcasts. Amen.
Monday, November 25, 2013
Celtic Advent Day 11 St. Teilo
November 25th 29 days until Christmas St. Teilo
St. Teilo of Llandaff was born in the early 6th century in Wales where he became famous as one of the companions of St. David, the patron saint of Wales. There are multiple parishes named after Teilo and a several entertaining legends, most of which were written centuries after Teilo lived. Among them are a story of being sent out, with another monk, to get firewood for the monastery. They had more wood than they could carry--but two stags showed up, allowed themselves to be yoked together and carried the firewood for Teilo and his fellow monk.
When Teilo was in Brittany (more on why later) he was requested by one of the local kings to rid the area of dragon, which Teilo tamed and led out to rock off the coast of Britanny where he chained the dragon. Even in death Teilo has legends arise. Shortly after his death 3 different church in Wales claim to have his body. The solution was of course to claim the his body had miraculously divided and translocated itself after his death.
It's hard for me to find something personally spiritual of the above stories. They are fun to read but that's about it. What I do get something out of is Teilo's decision to take his congregation en masse to Brittany. In the year 540 a major epidemic hit Wales. Called the "Yellow Pestilence" it caused jaundice, fevers, prostration and eventually death. Large segments of the Welsh population died including Maelgwyn the King of North Wales. Teilo, as the local spiritual leader, had to make a decision--and it was to leave Wales, not just himself, but with his whole following or congregation. After more than 10 years in Brittany, he then has to make the decision to return. I have no doubt, reading the accounts about his piety, that both these moves were for Teilo a process of discernment and prayer. It is one thing to go through a discernment process related to your own personal growth. It is quite another to do this when a group of people are depending upon you to make the correct decision. I think of all the backlash that Moses has to put up with in Exodus (why did you make us leave Egypt where we could get our fill of meat?).
I have not been in a position to make spiritual decisions for large groups, but have certainly been in a position to make work decisions that could potentially have effected my family life--and I definitely had a fair amount of angst about those decisions. I have a great admiration for someone like Teilo who is guiding a large group of followers. If anyone wants to read more about Teilo there is a marvelous website by Mary Jones related to Celtic issues. Her section on Teilo is a reprint of one the late medieval histories of the saint. It can be found at www.maryjones.us/ctext/teilo.html
Lord, thank you for leader like St Teilo, who have the courage to step and guide others in times of peril. Help me in the upcoming years to turn to You when I am called upon to make decision that will effect others, whether my family, friends or co-workers. Amen.
St. Teilo of Llandaff was born in the early 6th century in Wales where he became famous as one of the companions of St. David, the patron saint of Wales. There are multiple parishes named after Teilo and a several entertaining legends, most of which were written centuries after Teilo lived. Among them are a story of being sent out, with another monk, to get firewood for the monastery. They had more wood than they could carry--but two stags showed up, allowed themselves to be yoked together and carried the firewood for Teilo and his fellow monk.
When Teilo was in Brittany (more on why later) he was requested by one of the local kings to rid the area of dragon, which Teilo tamed and led out to rock off the coast of Britanny where he chained the dragon. Even in death Teilo has legends arise. Shortly after his death 3 different church in Wales claim to have his body. The solution was of course to claim the his body had miraculously divided and translocated itself after his death.
It's hard for me to find something personally spiritual of the above stories. They are fun to read but that's about it. What I do get something out of is Teilo's decision to take his congregation en masse to Brittany. In the year 540 a major epidemic hit Wales. Called the "Yellow Pestilence" it caused jaundice, fevers, prostration and eventually death. Large segments of the Welsh population died including Maelgwyn the King of North Wales. Teilo, as the local spiritual leader, had to make a decision--and it was to leave Wales, not just himself, but with his whole following or congregation. After more than 10 years in Brittany, he then has to make the decision to return. I have no doubt, reading the accounts about his piety, that both these moves were for Teilo a process of discernment and prayer. It is one thing to go through a discernment process related to your own personal growth. It is quite another to do this when a group of people are depending upon you to make the correct decision. I think of all the backlash that Moses has to put up with in Exodus (why did you make us leave Egypt where we could get our fill of meat?).
I have not been in a position to make spiritual decisions for large groups, but have certainly been in a position to make work decisions that could potentially have effected my family life--and I definitely had a fair amount of angst about those decisions. I have a great admiration for someone like Teilo who is guiding a large group of followers. If anyone wants to read more about Teilo there is a marvelous website by Mary Jones related to Celtic issues. Her section on Teilo is a reprint of one the late medieval histories of the saint. It can be found at www.maryjones.us/ctext/teilo.html
Lord, thank you for leader like St Teilo, who have the courage to step and guide others in times of peril. Help me in the upcoming years to turn to You when I am called upon to make decision that will effect others, whether my family, friends or co-workers. Amen.
Sunday, November 24, 2013
Celtic Advent Day 10 St. Bieuzy
November 24 30 days before Christmas
Saint Bieuzy
I could have written today about St. Colman of Cloyne, who shares November 24th with several other saints, but I have noticed that the Irish saints get most of the press, followed by the Welsh, and Scots. The Cornish and Breton saints get less notice, and their is very little about the Manx or Galician Saints on-line. So...I decided to pick St Bieuzy of Brittany, also known at St Bihui.
He was from the 6th century, originally British, but like many of the 6th Century Britons, he emigrated to Brittany after the Anglo-Saxons pushed the Britons out of central Britain. He came over to Brittany as a disciple of St. Gildas the Wise, the latter being the first historian of the British. I always have enjoyed finding tie-ins with Gildas with these various early Celtic Saints. Gildas starts out his scathing history of corrupt British rulers by announcing that he was born the same year at the last major British victory, the battle of Mt. Badon, which halted the Anglo-Saxon advance into Britain for several decades. Later historians would various list the military leader of the Britons at that time as Artos, Artorius or much later, Arthur.
Little is known about St Bieuzy. He apparently was thought to be quite pious, and developed a special gift for healing, which he applied both to people and to animals. He died violently, when the Lord of Melrand struck him on the head with a sword, purportedly for refusinig to heal his hunting dogs of rabies.
The whole aspect of Bieuzy's death forced my brain into gear. Why did Bieuzy refuse to heal the rabid dogs? Perhaps he saw that they were too far gone and that any attempt to cure them would just result in prolonging the inevitable? Perhaps, knowing they were hunting animals, he was feeling compassion for the small game animals that the dogs would go back to flushing out? Regardless...he didn't meet the expectations of a prospective client, stood his ground, and because of that, lost his life.
There is, in the larger group practice that I work out of, a gentleman who glares at me every time we happen to pass each other in the halls. He is convinced that I didn't do enough to keep his octagenarian mother alive, despite her burden of multiple chronic diseases. I suspect that in other "helping" professions, people encounter this same sense of fallen expectations, which sometimes leads to outright anger or disdain. But then, isn't that what happened with Christ?
He was "supposed" to be, by popular imagination, a leader who would drive the occupying Romans out of the promised land, presumably with violence. He would be a new David or Judas Maccabeus. Instead, He preaches that we should love our enemies, render unto Caesar that which is his, and threatens a big aspect of the local economy by overturning the tables of the temple money-changers. Big time disappointment for the superficially involved locals, right?
Yet, and this is the lesson for me today, Christ still asked for forgiveness for the people doing this to him. It is so easy, for me at least, when I don't meet someone elses' expectations, to mentally escalate the situation. "What a jerk," I might think, or start going through a litany in my mind, "Don't they realize that...." It's that false ego that I often need to feed, to feel justified, yet if I am reading my spiritual texts correctly, that whole ego is pretty much of an illusion. It is a hard part of my persona to give up, but that I think is what those of us who are disciples of Jesus are called to do. I still don't know after this rambling what St Bieuzy's motivations were at the end, but I sure do empathize with him.
Lord, help me to realize, through this Advent season and beyond, that there is actually only one set of expectations and hopes that I need to be true to: Yours. If I fall short in other's eyes, help me to see if, at that same time, I am falling short in Yours, correct myself, and ask for forgiveness. Help me to see through to the source of other's expectations (fear, loneliness?) and forgive them if their emotions towards me turn bitter. Help me to realize, it is only through You that I can accomplish this. Amen
Saint Bieuzy
I could have written today about St. Colman of Cloyne, who shares November 24th with several other saints, but I have noticed that the Irish saints get most of the press, followed by the Welsh, and Scots. The Cornish and Breton saints get less notice, and their is very little about the Manx or Galician Saints on-line. So...I decided to pick St Bieuzy of Brittany, also known at St Bihui.
He was from the 6th century, originally British, but like many of the 6th Century Britons, he emigrated to Brittany after the Anglo-Saxons pushed the Britons out of central Britain. He came over to Brittany as a disciple of St. Gildas the Wise, the latter being the first historian of the British. I always have enjoyed finding tie-ins with Gildas with these various early Celtic Saints. Gildas starts out his scathing history of corrupt British rulers by announcing that he was born the same year at the last major British victory, the battle of Mt. Badon, which halted the Anglo-Saxon advance into Britain for several decades. Later historians would various list the military leader of the Britons at that time as Artos, Artorius or much later, Arthur.
Little is known about St Bieuzy. He apparently was thought to be quite pious, and developed a special gift for healing, which he applied both to people and to animals. He died violently, when the Lord of Melrand struck him on the head with a sword, purportedly for refusinig to heal his hunting dogs of rabies.
The whole aspect of Bieuzy's death forced my brain into gear. Why did Bieuzy refuse to heal the rabid dogs? Perhaps he saw that they were too far gone and that any attempt to cure them would just result in prolonging the inevitable? Perhaps, knowing they were hunting animals, he was feeling compassion for the small game animals that the dogs would go back to flushing out? Regardless...he didn't meet the expectations of a prospective client, stood his ground, and because of that, lost his life.
There is, in the larger group practice that I work out of, a gentleman who glares at me every time we happen to pass each other in the halls. He is convinced that I didn't do enough to keep his octagenarian mother alive, despite her burden of multiple chronic diseases. I suspect that in other "helping" professions, people encounter this same sense of fallen expectations, which sometimes leads to outright anger or disdain. But then, isn't that what happened with Christ?
He was "supposed" to be, by popular imagination, a leader who would drive the occupying Romans out of the promised land, presumably with violence. He would be a new David or Judas Maccabeus. Instead, He preaches that we should love our enemies, render unto Caesar that which is his, and threatens a big aspect of the local economy by overturning the tables of the temple money-changers. Big time disappointment for the superficially involved locals, right?
Yet, and this is the lesson for me today, Christ still asked for forgiveness for the people doing this to him. It is so easy, for me at least, when I don't meet someone elses' expectations, to mentally escalate the situation. "What a jerk," I might think, or start going through a litany in my mind, "Don't they realize that...." It's that false ego that I often need to feed, to feel justified, yet if I am reading my spiritual texts correctly, that whole ego is pretty much of an illusion. It is a hard part of my persona to give up, but that I think is what those of us who are disciples of Jesus are called to do. I still don't know after this rambling what St Bieuzy's motivations were at the end, but I sure do empathize with him.
Lord, help me to realize, through this Advent season and beyond, that there is actually only one set of expectations and hopes that I need to be true to: Yours. If I fall short in other's eyes, help me to see if, at that same time, I am falling short in Yours, correct myself, and ask for forgiveness. Help me to see through to the source of other's expectations (fear, loneliness?) and forgive them if their emotions towards me turn bitter. Help me to realize, it is only through You that I can accomplish this. Amen
Saturday, November 23, 2013
Celtic Advent-Day 9
Celtic Advent November 23
31 days until Christmas
St. Columbanus was an Irish saint of the late 6th and early 7th century. He is not to be confused with Saint Columba. The root for both saints' names is gaelic word for "dove."
Some texts will list his saint day as November 21st, but most on line references list his death on November 23rd, 615, so we are going to go with him today! There is a lot one could write about Columbanus (also listed at Columban at times), yet outside of Celtic Christian circles few Americans know about him today. At one time he was considered the Patron Saint of Europe. He was part of monastic settlement in Bangor, when, at age 40, he felt a calling to re-evangelize continental Europe. Although nominally Christian, many parts of Europe had fallen into a superficial observance of Christianity, the culture was described as "degenerate." (Hmm, this sounds oddly familiar). He begged his abbot to allow him to become a "green martyr." This seems like a strange term to the modern ear, but in pre-Viking Celtic lands, there wasn't a lot of opportunity to be a "red martyr." The word "martyr," far from our modern usage, means in Greek to be a "witness." A red martyr then, would witness to his or her faith through violent death. A green martyr, on the other hand, would be someone who would give up all ties to their homeland, and begin to wander in other lands, again to be a witness to Christ--sort of combining mission work with the Australian Aboriginal call to "go walk-about."
Columban and his 12 companions (one always set out with this number of followers) went through France, settling for a time at Luxieuil and founding a church and monatery there. The local rulers got upset with him after a time for casting dispersion on their profligate lifestyles and forced them on a boat to head back to Ireland. Due to a storm, they were unable to make the trip and instead headed off by land to Lake Constance, in the territory of the Allemani, founding another church. From their, Columbanus makes his final trip to Italy where he sets up a monastery in Bobbio, and dies there as mentioned above in 615. Some scholar speculate that the celtic influence from the monks presence in this area may have been partially responsible for the Christian-Celtic like lifestyle of St. Francis of Assisi, who, more than four centuries later, spent time in the monastery that Columbanus founded.
The whole concept of green martyrdom fascinates me. Again these early Celts seem to have gone back to a more biblical lifestyle, becoming like the disciples who were commanded to go from town to town, led by the Spirit, with minimal possesions, to preach the good news.
At one point I tried to do a pseudo-emulation of Colubanus. I live near the foothills of the Colorado mountains. So, when I had a rare open Saturday, I packed up a day pack with some spiritual readings, water and snacks, and headed off into the foothills, not picking a particular route (although I stayed on trails), but letting the Spirit move me when I came to a fork. I stopped about every hour for a time of reading or prayer. It was like a prolonged prayer walk and was working great until the voice in my head said "Roger, you know what Colorado mountains get like around 3pm this time of year, do you really want to become one with the lightning?" At which point I headed home...to my "obligations" and my "stuff."
That last draw, my stuff, is one of my barriers as I seek to become more like Columbanus and most of these other early Celtic monastics. They had minimal or no personal possessions, and were content with that. Beyond the continual need to de-clutter, I hope that the Spirit can guide me to be willing to look critically at what I have around me, so that if I ever do feel the call to "go walk-about" it can be done with a light and clear heart.
Lord, let the spirit of St. Colubanus inspire me this advent. At a time of catalogues, day long sales and on-line deals, let me be more aware of letting go; guide me to a more simple lifestyle, so that when You call on me, whether to head out on the road, or just to come finally to You, I will be ready, and not look behind. Amen
31 days until Christmas
St. Columbanus was an Irish saint of the late 6th and early 7th century. He is not to be confused with Saint Columba. The root for both saints' names is gaelic word for "dove."
Some texts will list his saint day as November 21st, but most on line references list his death on November 23rd, 615, so we are going to go with him today! There is a lot one could write about Columbanus (also listed at Columban at times), yet outside of Celtic Christian circles few Americans know about him today. At one time he was considered the Patron Saint of Europe. He was part of monastic settlement in Bangor, when, at age 40, he felt a calling to re-evangelize continental Europe. Although nominally Christian, many parts of Europe had fallen into a superficial observance of Christianity, the culture was described as "degenerate." (Hmm, this sounds oddly familiar). He begged his abbot to allow him to become a "green martyr." This seems like a strange term to the modern ear, but in pre-Viking Celtic lands, there wasn't a lot of opportunity to be a "red martyr." The word "martyr," far from our modern usage, means in Greek to be a "witness." A red martyr then, would witness to his or her faith through violent death. A green martyr, on the other hand, would be someone who would give up all ties to their homeland, and begin to wander in other lands, again to be a witness to Christ--sort of combining mission work with the Australian Aboriginal call to "go walk-about."
Columban and his 12 companions (one always set out with this number of followers) went through France, settling for a time at Luxieuil and founding a church and monatery there. The local rulers got upset with him after a time for casting dispersion on their profligate lifestyles and forced them on a boat to head back to Ireland. Due to a storm, they were unable to make the trip and instead headed off by land to Lake Constance, in the territory of the Allemani, founding another church. From their, Columbanus makes his final trip to Italy where he sets up a monastery in Bobbio, and dies there as mentioned above in 615. Some scholar speculate that the celtic influence from the monks presence in this area may have been partially responsible for the Christian-Celtic like lifestyle of St. Francis of Assisi, who, more than four centuries later, spent time in the monastery that Columbanus founded.
The whole concept of green martyrdom fascinates me. Again these early Celts seem to have gone back to a more biblical lifestyle, becoming like the disciples who were commanded to go from town to town, led by the Spirit, with minimal possesions, to preach the good news.
At one point I tried to do a pseudo-emulation of Colubanus. I live near the foothills of the Colorado mountains. So, when I had a rare open Saturday, I packed up a day pack with some spiritual readings, water and snacks, and headed off into the foothills, not picking a particular route (although I stayed on trails), but letting the Spirit move me when I came to a fork. I stopped about every hour for a time of reading or prayer. It was like a prolonged prayer walk and was working great until the voice in my head said "Roger, you know what Colorado mountains get like around 3pm this time of year, do you really want to become one with the lightning?" At which point I headed home...to my "obligations" and my "stuff."
That last draw, my stuff, is one of my barriers as I seek to become more like Columbanus and most of these other early Celtic monastics. They had minimal or no personal possessions, and were content with that. Beyond the continual need to de-clutter, I hope that the Spirit can guide me to be willing to look critically at what I have around me, so that if I ever do feel the call to "go walk-about" it can be done with a light and clear heart.
Lord, let the spirit of St. Colubanus inspire me this advent. At a time of catalogues, day long sales and on-line deals, let me be more aware of letting go; guide me to a more simple lifestyle, so that when You call on me, whether to head out on the road, or just to come finally to You, I will be ready, and not look behind. Amen
Friday, November 22, 2013
Celtic Advent November 22nd, 2013
33 days until Christmas
I have been writing about Celtic Saints and how something about their lives or location seem to affect me. I am going to stretch the idea of formal saint a little for today as eventually I will want to talk about a significant spiritual leader (a modern day saint) who was born in Northern Ireland.
But first I need to talk about the 22nd of November. I am sitting in Mr Spencer's Homeroom class at Huntington Junior High. I can visualize the speaker system in the corner of the room up near the ceililng. Mr. White, the principal, has a distinct voice and I hear him come, unexpectedly on the speaker to announce that President Kennedy has been shot.
I grew up in an ultra conservative town, but the idea that our nation's President could be gunned down was daunting and fear-provoking. Jack Kennedy was from an Irish background and his religion was an obvious part of his persona as the nation's first Catholic president. He was, however, far from being a spiritual leader.
In a strange twist of fate, another "Jack" had died that same day, but the papers had little room to eulogize him. His full name was Clive Staples Lewis, known to the world as C.S. Lewis, and to his friends as Jack. He was born in Belfast, Northern Ireland, which technically makes him a Celt, so I am going to spend a little while talking about how I have been affected by him. I have not read all his works, nor have I been enthralled with all of his works that I have read. I loved the first several books of the Narnia series and Mere Christianity. His "sci-fi" novels about Mars, which starts with Out of the Silent Planet, were for me kind of a dud. But one of the things that Lewis impressed upon me, in several, if not most, of his works, was the reality of evil in the world. That may seem like an odd thing to bring up, but as a 20 and 30 something I had struggled a lot with what evil was. I had gone through a fairly heavy duty Plato phase, where evil was only the absence of good, kind of like a temperature drop being an absence of warmth. That worked OK in some scenarios, but certainly not when thinking about things like the holocaust or the genocide in Cambodia under Pol Pot. I didn't feel comfortable. with the idea of a red suited evil genius with horns--which, given my home church's vacuum in talking about evil--was what I got from the media. Even in the tongue in cheek portrayal of the Screwtape Letters, Lewis gave me a strong sense a pervading, often subtle, force that was looking to trip us up. As I became more biblically literate, something also lacking in my early church upbringing, I found Lewis' vision to be more true to the portrayals in the bible, such as Job, Paul's references to the forces of evil in Ephesions 6 ("Put on the whole armor of God..."), or the "prowling lion seeking whom he may devour" in 1 Peter 5. It was also, much more Celtic. It is wonderful to focus on the early Celtic Christians as lovers of nature, a being more egalitarian with gender issues, of being less hierarchical. Yet they were also very aware of the sense of evil in the world, hence the prayers often referred to as Breastplates, of which St. Patrick's Lorica is just one: "I rise today through God's strength to pilot me...God's host to save me from snares of devils..." A significant number of the prayers in the Carmina Gadelica are related to the protection of St. Michael the archangel. One of Michael's main roles is to help fight the forces of evil that may be arrayed against us.
I try to do some form, even if briefly, of contemplative prayer each day (key word here is "try"). I vary a little with what kind of prayer I use to lead me into contemplation. One of the forms I have found a lot of comfort with involves invoking protection against evil. Although not specifically Celtic, I think the early Celts would have approved of it. I use Paul's list for the "armor of God" that I mentioned above from Ephesions 6, re-reading that text as a form of lectio divina. I change the order slightly so that I can combine that with a chakra breathing exercise left over from my Buddhist phase (also when I was 20-30 something). I realize that that kind of synthesis is abhorrent to some conservative Christians, yet again, given how the early Celts took many of the druidic practices into their prayer armentarium, I don't think they would have minded. I do this pretty slowly, but here it is:
Lord help me to put on your whole armor, that I may be able to withstand evil.
Help me to:
Put on my feet that which will allow me to spread the gospel of peace
(Visualizing the breath going in and out from my feet up through the base of my spine)
Gird myself with the belt of truth
(Breathing through the point just below my navel)
Put on the breastplate of righteousness
(Breathing through my heart)
Taking on the shield of faith to quench all the fiery darts of the wicked one
(I imagine holding a shield and with the breath I take I connect it mentally to a point near my throat)
Take the helmut of salvation
(Breathing through a point at my forehead)
And take the sword of the Spirit, which is the Word of God
(I imagine holding a sword in a defensive position above my head, and breath through that point)
Let me rest for a time, Lord, surround by both your love and your protection....
(time for silent contemplation)
Amen
33 days until Christmas
I have been writing about Celtic Saints and how something about their lives or location seem to affect me. I am going to stretch the idea of formal saint a little for today as eventually I will want to talk about a significant spiritual leader (a modern day saint) who was born in Northern Ireland.
But first I need to talk about the 22nd of November. I am sitting in Mr Spencer's Homeroom class at Huntington Junior High. I can visualize the speaker system in the corner of the room up near the ceililng. Mr. White, the principal, has a distinct voice and I hear him come, unexpectedly on the speaker to announce that President Kennedy has been shot.
I grew up in an ultra conservative town, but the idea that our nation's President could be gunned down was daunting and fear-provoking. Jack Kennedy was from an Irish background and his religion was an obvious part of his persona as the nation's first Catholic president. He was, however, far from being a spiritual leader.
In a strange twist of fate, another "Jack" had died that same day, but the papers had little room to eulogize him. His full name was Clive Staples Lewis, known to the world as C.S. Lewis, and to his friends as Jack. He was born in Belfast, Northern Ireland, which technically makes him a Celt, so I am going to spend a little while talking about how I have been affected by him. I have not read all his works, nor have I been enthralled with all of his works that I have read. I loved the first several books of the Narnia series and Mere Christianity. His "sci-fi" novels about Mars, which starts with Out of the Silent Planet, were for me kind of a dud. But one of the things that Lewis impressed upon me, in several, if not most, of his works, was the reality of evil in the world. That may seem like an odd thing to bring up, but as a 20 and 30 something I had struggled a lot with what evil was. I had gone through a fairly heavy duty Plato phase, where evil was only the absence of good, kind of like a temperature drop being an absence of warmth. That worked OK in some scenarios, but certainly not when thinking about things like the holocaust or the genocide in Cambodia under Pol Pot. I didn't feel comfortable. with the idea of a red suited evil genius with horns--which, given my home church's vacuum in talking about evil--was what I got from the media. Even in the tongue in cheek portrayal of the Screwtape Letters, Lewis gave me a strong sense a pervading, often subtle, force that was looking to trip us up. As I became more biblically literate, something also lacking in my early church upbringing, I found Lewis' vision to be more true to the portrayals in the bible, such as Job, Paul's references to the forces of evil in Ephesions 6 ("Put on the whole armor of God..."), or the "prowling lion seeking whom he may devour" in 1 Peter 5. It was also, much more Celtic. It is wonderful to focus on the early Celtic Christians as lovers of nature, a being more egalitarian with gender issues, of being less hierarchical. Yet they were also very aware of the sense of evil in the world, hence the prayers often referred to as Breastplates, of which St. Patrick's Lorica is just one: "I rise today through God's strength to pilot me...God's host to save me from snares of devils..." A significant number of the prayers in the Carmina Gadelica are related to the protection of St. Michael the archangel. One of Michael's main roles is to help fight the forces of evil that may be arrayed against us.
I try to do some form, even if briefly, of contemplative prayer each day (key word here is "try"). I vary a little with what kind of prayer I use to lead me into contemplation. One of the forms I have found a lot of comfort with involves invoking protection against evil. Although not specifically Celtic, I think the early Celts would have approved of it. I use Paul's list for the "armor of God" that I mentioned above from Ephesions 6, re-reading that text as a form of lectio divina. I change the order slightly so that I can combine that with a chakra breathing exercise left over from my Buddhist phase (also when I was 20-30 something). I realize that that kind of synthesis is abhorrent to some conservative Christians, yet again, given how the early Celts took many of the druidic practices into their prayer armentarium, I don't think they would have minded. I do this pretty slowly, but here it is:
Lord help me to put on your whole armor, that I may be able to withstand evil.
Help me to:
Put on my feet that which will allow me to spread the gospel of peace
(Visualizing the breath going in and out from my feet up through the base of my spine)
Gird myself with the belt of truth
(Breathing through the point just below my navel)
Put on the breastplate of righteousness
(Breathing through my heart)
Taking on the shield of faith to quench all the fiery darts of the wicked one
(I imagine holding a shield and with the breath I take I connect it mentally to a point near my throat)
Take the helmut of salvation
(Breathing through a point at my forehead)
And take the sword of the Spirit, which is the Word of God
(I imagine holding a sword in a defensive position above my head, and breath through that point)
Let me rest for a time, Lord, surround by both your love and your protection....
(time for silent contemplation)
Amen
Thursday, November 21, 2013
Celtic Advent November 21st
St. Digain. Today's saint is from the 5th Century, born approximately 429 AD. He was a Prince of Dumnonia, today's modern Cornwall but spent most of his time in Wales where he founded several churches, including the one that bears his name in Llangernyw. He is honored as a "confessor," someone who confesses the faith through the written or spoken word. What struck me about Digain, was not so much these historical aspects of his life but where he planted his church in the above named town. It is next to a rather large, old yew tree--it is thought to be 4000-5000 years old and the claim is made (disputed by other tree locations) of being the oldest living thing in England proper. The Celtic Christians had a strong integration of love of nature into their faith, something they probably brought from their druidic forebears. It was a common thought that God should be sought in 2 books--the Bible and "the book of nature." Nature would often be linked in the Celt's mind to some aspect of holiness or directly to biblical references.
Which brings us back to the yew tree at Llangernyw. The tree would have been there, and already 2500 years old, when St. Digain was looking for a place to found his church. Many early medieval churches were indeed founded near yew trees. There is a tradition...I cannot find if it dates back to the time of St. Digain...that it was the wood of yew tree that was used for the cross, and a possibly separate tradition that it was a yew that was the Tree of Life in the Garden of Eden. T.S. Eliot is one of my favorite poets, particularly his work after his mid-life conversion to Christianity. "Ash Wednesday," in particular, picks up on the theme of the yew tree. In the last section of the poem he writes:
This is the time of tension between dying and birth
The place of solitude where three dreams cross
Between blue rocks
But when the voices shaken from the yew-tree drift away
Let the other yew be shaken and reply. ("Ash Wednesday" in T. S. Eliot, Selected Poems, 1936
One of the marvels of our current age is YouTube...and someone has a short video, without significant verbal commentary, of the yew at St. Digain's. For me, watching it, and thinking about Eliot's verse, was in itself a contemplative experience. The link is:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=oAqq2Ww1veM
Lord, sometimes in my prayers, my reaching out to you, I rely to much on verbage. Help me, Lord, to see You in all Your works, and in particular to often do that without intruding thoughts or mental commentary, to just "be" with You in the presence of Your creation. Amen.
St. Digain. Today's saint is from the 5th Century, born approximately 429 AD. He was a Prince of Dumnonia, today's modern Cornwall but spent most of his time in Wales where he founded several churches, including the one that bears his name in Llangernyw. He is honored as a "confessor," someone who confesses the faith through the written or spoken word. What struck me about Digain, was not so much these historical aspects of his life but where he planted his church in the above named town. It is next to a rather large, old yew tree--it is thought to be 4000-5000 years old and the claim is made (disputed by other tree locations) of being the oldest living thing in England proper. The Celtic Christians had a strong integration of love of nature into their faith, something they probably brought from their druidic forebears. It was a common thought that God should be sought in 2 books--the Bible and "the book of nature." Nature would often be linked in the Celt's mind to some aspect of holiness or directly to biblical references.
Which brings us back to the yew tree at Llangernyw. The tree would have been there, and already 2500 years old, when St. Digain was looking for a place to found his church. Many early medieval churches were indeed founded near yew trees. There is a tradition...I cannot find if it dates back to the time of St. Digain...that it was the wood of yew tree that was used for the cross, and a possibly separate tradition that it was a yew that was the Tree of Life in the Garden of Eden. T.S. Eliot is one of my favorite poets, particularly his work after his mid-life conversion to Christianity. "Ash Wednesday," in particular, picks up on the theme of the yew tree. In the last section of the poem he writes:
This is the time of tension between dying and birth
The place of solitude where three dreams cross
Between blue rocks
But when the voices shaken from the yew-tree drift away
Let the other yew be shaken and reply. ("Ash Wednesday" in T. S. Eliot, Selected Poems, 1936
One of the marvels of our current age is YouTube...and someone has a short video, without significant verbal commentary, of the yew at St. Digain's. For me, watching it, and thinking about Eliot's verse, was in itself a contemplative experience. The link is:
www.youtube.com/watch?v=oAqq2Ww1veM
Lord, sometimes in my prayers, my reaching out to you, I rely to much on verbage. Help me, Lord, to see You in all Your works, and in particular to often do that without intruding thoughts or mental commentary, to just "be" with You in the presence of Your creation. Amen.
Wednesday, November 20, 2013
Celtic Advent November 20th, 35 days until Christmas
St. Eval. St. Eval, or Uvel or Uvelas was a saint from Cornwall, who has only one church named after him. If I thought that the material about St. Afar was scant, the information about St Eval is even less. With one exception--one of the sources I looked mentioned there was a well named after him presumably not too far from the church.
That bring us to the subject of wells, something we perhaps take for granted with our ability to turn on a tap, or stop by a store to pick up bottled water. In Colorado, we are at least reminded periodically of the importance of wells during times of drought, when it is often only the home owners with wells who can keep their landscape alive.
Wells can also be, for me, a little scary. Our family moved from the East Coast to San Marino, California in the early 50's. My mother, perhaps out of her own fears, made a point of telling me the story of a 3 year old girl, named Kathy Fiscus, who was the focus of national attention in 1949 when she fell down an open well in San Marino. A rescue effort was made, one of the first televised events of this type, but it was too late--the young girl was no longer alive when found. I discovered later that the well was located on an athletic practice field at the local high school and I probably had run past the site inumberable times when I was on the track team. This story scared the daylights out of me when I was younger.
Wells obviously are part of at least 2 important bible episodes: that of Joseph and his near murder by his brothers, and the story of Jesus and the Samaritan woman at Jacob's well.
Wells are also a significant part of the Celtic mindset, often named after Saints and sometimes the focus of a pilgrimage. Margaret Silf is a British author whose 2001 book, Sacred Spaces, Stations on a Celtic Way has a chapter devoted to the spiritual aspect of wells. They are life-giving but we often have to descend into the depths to find the water that will bring us new life. Given my youthful fear of wells, her outlook really struck a chord with me. We do, indeed sometimes have to be guided by God into the depths before we can be brought up again into a space of newness. We have to confront things in the depths that we have perhaps hidden or glossed over, before we can move ahead. 12 step programs, I believe, are based on this fundamental truth. I also think it is an aspect of growth we need to continue to address, not a one time effort. And Advent is probably a good time to do that:
Lord, you do indeed know my personal depths, you know even better than I do the spaces I have hidden deep, whether from grief or shame or other fears. Be with me when I confront these parts of me, help me to see them as part of Your larger plan for me, with the knowledge that Your love is always with me, in the depths as well as the mountaintops. As always, thank you for that love...Amen.
St. Eval. St. Eval, or Uvel or Uvelas was a saint from Cornwall, who has only one church named after him. If I thought that the material about St. Afar was scant, the information about St Eval is even less. With one exception--one of the sources I looked mentioned there was a well named after him presumably not too far from the church.
That bring us to the subject of wells, something we perhaps take for granted with our ability to turn on a tap, or stop by a store to pick up bottled water. In Colorado, we are at least reminded periodically of the importance of wells during times of drought, when it is often only the home owners with wells who can keep their landscape alive.
Wells can also be, for me, a little scary. Our family moved from the East Coast to San Marino, California in the early 50's. My mother, perhaps out of her own fears, made a point of telling me the story of a 3 year old girl, named Kathy Fiscus, who was the focus of national attention in 1949 when she fell down an open well in San Marino. A rescue effort was made, one of the first televised events of this type, but it was too late--the young girl was no longer alive when found. I discovered later that the well was located on an athletic practice field at the local high school and I probably had run past the site inumberable times when I was on the track team. This story scared the daylights out of me when I was younger.
Wells obviously are part of at least 2 important bible episodes: that of Joseph and his near murder by his brothers, and the story of Jesus and the Samaritan woman at Jacob's well.
Wells are also a significant part of the Celtic mindset, often named after Saints and sometimes the focus of a pilgrimage. Margaret Silf is a British author whose 2001 book, Sacred Spaces, Stations on a Celtic Way has a chapter devoted to the spiritual aspect of wells. They are life-giving but we often have to descend into the depths to find the water that will bring us new life. Given my youthful fear of wells, her outlook really struck a chord with me. We do, indeed sometimes have to be guided by God into the depths before we can be brought up again into a space of newness. We have to confront things in the depths that we have perhaps hidden or glossed over, before we can move ahead. 12 step programs, I believe, are based on this fundamental truth. I also think it is an aspect of growth we need to continue to address, not a one time effort. And Advent is probably a good time to do that:
Lord, you do indeed know my personal depths, you know even better than I do the spaces I have hidden deep, whether from grief or shame or other fears. Be with me when I confront these parts of me, help me to see them as part of Your larger plan for me, with the knowledge that Your love is always with me, in the depths as well as the mountaintops. As always, thank you for that love...Amen.
Monday, November 18, 2013
Celtic Advent November 19th 36 days until Christmas
St. Medana of Galloway. This is one of those Saint stories that you start to read about and say "you've got to be kidding me," followed by a small measure of revulsion. Now that I have given you my up front warning, I am going to tell you that I think this whole story of St. Medana needs to be taken metaphorically, and that if it is, you can get something from it.
So...here's the story. Medana is an Irish princess, unmarried, therefore a virgin, but with large beautiful eyes. Some Irish prince decides that he has the hots for her, but she is really not into that, and instead wants to devote herself to Christ. She decides to head over to Scotland to get away from his unwanted attention. But he is obessessed with her and heads over to Scotland to track her down. She is able, through some divine intervention to escape him, but he confronts her when they are on opposite sides of an unfordable river. "Why won't you leave me alone," she says, "I just want to devote myself to God!" "Sorry," says the prince, "but I am obsessed with your beautiful eyes and can't get you out of my head." (I am paraphrasing of course, they were probably much more eloquent than this). Whereupon, Medana decides that if her eyes are causing the problem, then she should get rid of them...she gouges out her eyes and tosses them over the river to the prince...Hmmm. Later, after bathing her head in holy water, her eyes miraculously grow back. Fortunately by this time, the eye-obsessed prince has taken a powder back to Ireland and Medana can live out her life of devotion and prayer.
There are obvious bibilical parallels here: "if thine eye offend thee, pluck it out," but, as I mentioned at the beginning, I get much more out of this story if I approach it metaphorically.
What, in my life, is something, whether in my personality, my language, my lifestyle or personal appearance, that seems to give people an incorrect impression about me? Medana's eyes gave her Irish stalker some impression about her as a person. Am I, consciously or unconsciously giving people a wrong impression? How many people truly have an understanding of some of my bottom line motivations and beliefs? I think in one sense that is why I decided to "blog" this celtic advent material rather than just write it in a private devotional. It forces me to be public with both my beliefs and my struggles. It is so easy in our society to hide or gloss over what you believe in and just go with the flow around you, particularly when so much of our work environment is secular. The opposite extreme is there also. Many of by ultra right wing Christian friends assume that, since I am Christian, that I share all of their beliefs. It's awful easy to just keep silent, to do or say nothing. I don't know if the historical personage of Medana truly removed her own eyes, but I do know that the motivation behand her actions deserves scrutiny on my part, and a resolve to move toward a higher level of integrity. And so...
Lord, you know when I am being sincere, when I am speaking the truth about what I believe, and when I am being inappropriate silent. Inspire me to be more aware of times when I am not being honest about who I am and what I believe. Help me to cast off false visions of myself and to correct the misperceptions that I may have allowed others to form about me. I think, Lord, I will need this beyond just these forty days...this sounds like a struggle that may take me while...so be patient with me. Help me through the unfathomable depth of your love, Amen.
St. Medana of Galloway. This is one of those Saint stories that you start to read about and say "you've got to be kidding me," followed by a small measure of revulsion. Now that I have given you my up front warning, I am going to tell you that I think this whole story of St. Medana needs to be taken metaphorically, and that if it is, you can get something from it.
So...here's the story. Medana is an Irish princess, unmarried, therefore a virgin, but with large beautiful eyes. Some Irish prince decides that he has the hots for her, but she is really not into that, and instead wants to devote herself to Christ. She decides to head over to Scotland to get away from his unwanted attention. But he is obessessed with her and heads over to Scotland to track her down. She is able, through some divine intervention to escape him, but he confronts her when they are on opposite sides of an unfordable river. "Why won't you leave me alone," she says, "I just want to devote myself to God!" "Sorry," says the prince, "but I am obsessed with your beautiful eyes and can't get you out of my head." (I am paraphrasing of course, they were probably much more eloquent than this). Whereupon, Medana decides that if her eyes are causing the problem, then she should get rid of them...she gouges out her eyes and tosses them over the river to the prince...Hmmm. Later, after bathing her head in holy water, her eyes miraculously grow back. Fortunately by this time, the eye-obsessed prince has taken a powder back to Ireland and Medana can live out her life of devotion and prayer.
There are obvious bibilical parallels here: "if thine eye offend thee, pluck it out," but, as I mentioned at the beginning, I get much more out of this story if I approach it metaphorically.
What, in my life, is something, whether in my personality, my language, my lifestyle or personal appearance, that seems to give people an incorrect impression about me? Medana's eyes gave her Irish stalker some impression about her as a person. Am I, consciously or unconsciously giving people a wrong impression? How many people truly have an understanding of some of my bottom line motivations and beliefs? I think in one sense that is why I decided to "blog" this celtic advent material rather than just write it in a private devotional. It forces me to be public with both my beliefs and my struggles. It is so easy in our society to hide or gloss over what you believe in and just go with the flow around you, particularly when so much of our work environment is secular. The opposite extreme is there also. Many of by ultra right wing Christian friends assume that, since I am Christian, that I share all of their beliefs. It's awful easy to just keep silent, to do or say nothing. I don't know if the historical personage of Medana truly removed her own eyes, but I do know that the motivation behand her actions deserves scrutiny on my part, and a resolve to move toward a higher level of integrity. And so...
Lord, you know when I am being sincere, when I am speaking the truth about what I believe, and when I am being inappropriate silent. Inspire me to be more aware of times when I am not being honest about who I am and what I believe. Help me to cast off false visions of myself and to correct the misperceptions that I may have allowed others to form about me. I think, Lord, I will need this beyond just these forty days...this sounds like a struggle that may take me while...so be patient with me. Help me through the unfathomable depth of your love, Amen.
Sunday, November 17, 2013
Celtic Advent November 18th 37 days until Christmas
One of my friends in Long Term Care isn't sure I can keep this up for 37 more days straight--cataloguing my reaction to Celtic Saints, that is. I guess we will find out...
November 18th and St. Mawes. Interesting character from the 6th century again. Supposedly his mother started out in Brittany and while pregnant, for whatever reason, ended up taking a sea trip in a barrel, where her child, Mawes, was born, just prior to them washing up on Irish shores. As an adult he set up "shop" so to speak near Falmouth in Cornwall, then went to Brittany where he founded a monastary on the Island of St. Maudez (his name in Breton). He had to rid the island of vermin prior to inhabitiing it and somehow has become the patron saint of pesticide. At some point, probably because of founding multiple monastaries and proselytizing in the area, he began to develop a reputation as an educator, and is often portrayed that way in icons.
Given all that, I think I would like to focus with the association of Mawes as an educator. A significiant part of my life is involved with that role. I train residents in Family Medicine, specifically with a focus on the geriatric part of their education. I feel like it is my mission to get the currrent group of young physicians to fall in love with seniors. I also try to do my part at my church, particularly with regards to the aspects of spirituality that I feel passionate about--contemplative prayer and Celtic Christianity for example. To be a good educator involves a certain amount of self discipline. You have to know your subject. You also have to be "honest," The temptation sometimes, if you have good speaking skills, is to just focus on the form and not worry about the depth of the content. I have certainly attending conferences like that. Entertaining but with a shallow substance. In addition, ven though what I primarily teach is not religious, that doesn't mean I can't approach it with a religious frame of mind. If I can see each learner as a fellow child of God, as someone whose skills will help others in the future, then I think it helps my teaching to be more sincere. Beyond this, if we have been given a body of knowledge, whether it is medicine, nursing, or religion, don't we have a responsbility to pass it on to a next generation through education? As always, I will need help to continue in my educator role:
Lord, you guided St. Mawes to be not only an evangelist for the faith but to be an educator as well. Guide those of us who try to impart our knowledge to others. Help us to be sincere in our efforts and exacting in our self-dsicipline as teachers. In thy name. Amen
One of my friends in Long Term Care isn't sure I can keep this up for 37 more days straight--cataloguing my reaction to Celtic Saints, that is. I guess we will find out...
November 18th and St. Mawes. Interesting character from the 6th century again. Supposedly his mother started out in Brittany and while pregnant, for whatever reason, ended up taking a sea trip in a barrel, where her child, Mawes, was born, just prior to them washing up on Irish shores. As an adult he set up "shop" so to speak near Falmouth in Cornwall, then went to Brittany where he founded a monastary on the Island of St. Maudez (his name in Breton). He had to rid the island of vermin prior to inhabitiing it and somehow has become the patron saint of pesticide. At some point, probably because of founding multiple monastaries and proselytizing in the area, he began to develop a reputation as an educator, and is often portrayed that way in icons.
Given all that, I think I would like to focus with the association of Mawes as an educator. A significiant part of my life is involved with that role. I train residents in Family Medicine, specifically with a focus on the geriatric part of their education. I feel like it is my mission to get the currrent group of young physicians to fall in love with seniors. I also try to do my part at my church, particularly with regards to the aspects of spirituality that I feel passionate about--contemplative prayer and Celtic Christianity for example. To be a good educator involves a certain amount of self discipline. You have to know your subject. You also have to be "honest," The temptation sometimes, if you have good speaking skills, is to just focus on the form and not worry about the depth of the content. I have certainly attending conferences like that. Entertaining but with a shallow substance. In addition, ven though what I primarily teach is not religious, that doesn't mean I can't approach it with a religious frame of mind. If I can see each learner as a fellow child of God, as someone whose skills will help others in the future, then I think it helps my teaching to be more sincere. Beyond this, if we have been given a body of knowledge, whether it is medicine, nursing, or religion, don't we have a responsbility to pass it on to a next generation through education? As always, I will need help to continue in my educator role:
Lord, you guided St. Mawes to be not only an evangelist for the faith but to be an educator as well. Guide those of us who try to impart our knowledge to others. Help us to be sincere in our efforts and exacting in our self-dsicipline as teachers. In thy name. Amen
Saturday, November 16, 2013
Celtic Advent Day 3
Celtic Advent for November 17th 38 days until Christmas
So, hopefully, it is clear I am trying to do these devotional ramblings the "night" before the actual calendar date--sort of following Hebrew tradition on that one. November 17th is the feast day of St. Hilda of Whitby. I find that I have to restrain myself and pick one aspect of Hilda's life to dwell on, as there is so much about her that is incredible. Several years ago I became a member of the Order of St. Aidan and Hilda, a non-residential neomonastic group that focuses on Celtic Christianity. With Hilda as one of the namesakes, I obviously feel like I need to make sure she doesn't get short shrift. (www.aidanandhilda.us/ if someone reading this is interested).
Hilda is not exactly a Celtic name--and indeed, Hilda was actually Anglo-Saxon, specifically Northumbrian. She lived in the 7th Century and became a disciple of the great St. Aidan at Lindisfarne, and a follower of the Celtic style of Christianity. Much like her Irish counterpart, Brigid of Kildare, she founded a dual monastery (both men and women)--her's was at Whitby. It was at this site that she was asked to host the great Synod--a meeting of the representative of the Celtic church and of the Roman church, to work out the differences between them. The Celts lost out and over the ensuing years the Church in England adopted not only the Roman dating of Easter but the whole hierarchical structure of the Roman Church (compared to the monastic focus of the Celtic Church). She is described often as an inspired, compassionate leader who often prompted others in their growth as Christians.
I was tempted to focus on how Hilda worked toward reconciliation and harmony after the Synod of Whitby. But I find that I am being drawn to talk about Hilda and gender issues, both in the church and in my own growth. The Celts were way ahead of their time in this arena. In Ireland in particular, women were considered the equal of men and held positions of authority. There is a story, apocryphal perhaps, but based on prevailing sentiment, that Brigid was ordained as bishop by St. Mel, who stated that he couldn't help himself, that the Holy Spirit made him do it.
A wonderful fictional account of this whole aspect of Celtic Christianity is the Sister Fidelma mystery series by Ellis Peters (the pen name of Peter Berresford Ellis, a University Celtic scholar). Hilda was an exemplar of this same kind of empowerment of women. She would have to be in order head up the Synod, as well as the dual monastery. For the time that she lived in I find this to be amazing, and often humbling when I consider my own journey.
I was raised by a single mom at a time when that was a rarity. I used to think, back in high school and through my mid thirties, that this somehow made me more egalitarian in attitude and approach to women. But I sometimes was accused by my co-workers, particularly some of the female resident physicians that I was training, of being gender biased. About this time by mother moved from California to live out here with us in Colorado, and I realized that she herself was fairly sexist in her views of other women. Being a product of my upbringing I was certainly, if unconsciouly, modeling her behavior and attitudes. I began to make a concerted effort to watch my language and interactions--yet it is often still that I find myself having said or done something that could be interpreted as gender biased. One's upringing is hard to shed!!
I truly believe that just as in Christ there "is no East or West," that in the Community of Saints there is no gender focus, that one is accepted for who one is as a person and a disciple. There cannot be a different standard based on gender. So...at this point in my life...I love reading about a Hilda, and hoping that God will continue to help me grow in this arena.
Lord, you accepted all humans as your disciples, regardless of gender, as exemplified by the Magdelene and your treatment of both the Syro-Phoenecian woman and the woman at the well. Help me, Lord, in my continued growth in this arena. Help me during this advent time to look at each person I encounter as a fellow human being first, and to accept them as one of your children. Help me to continue to critically examine my own biases and prejudices and give them up through your love. Let Your love surround my thoughts and actions as You guide me in this area of my growth. So be it. Amen.
So, hopefully, it is clear I am trying to do these devotional ramblings the "night" before the actual calendar date--sort of following Hebrew tradition on that one. November 17th is the feast day of St. Hilda of Whitby. I find that I have to restrain myself and pick one aspect of Hilda's life to dwell on, as there is so much about her that is incredible. Several years ago I became a member of the Order of St. Aidan and Hilda, a non-residential neomonastic group that focuses on Celtic Christianity. With Hilda as one of the namesakes, I obviously feel like I need to make sure she doesn't get short shrift. (www.aidanandhilda.us/ if someone reading this is interested).
Hilda is not exactly a Celtic name--and indeed, Hilda was actually Anglo-Saxon, specifically Northumbrian. She lived in the 7th Century and became a disciple of the great St. Aidan at Lindisfarne, and a follower of the Celtic style of Christianity. Much like her Irish counterpart, Brigid of Kildare, she founded a dual monastery (both men and women)--her's was at Whitby. It was at this site that she was asked to host the great Synod--a meeting of the representative of the Celtic church and of the Roman church, to work out the differences between them. The Celts lost out and over the ensuing years the Church in England adopted not only the Roman dating of Easter but the whole hierarchical structure of the Roman Church (compared to the monastic focus of the Celtic Church). She is described often as an inspired, compassionate leader who often prompted others in their growth as Christians.
I was tempted to focus on how Hilda worked toward reconciliation and harmony after the Synod of Whitby. But I find that I am being drawn to talk about Hilda and gender issues, both in the church and in my own growth. The Celts were way ahead of their time in this arena. In Ireland in particular, women were considered the equal of men and held positions of authority. There is a story, apocryphal perhaps, but based on prevailing sentiment, that Brigid was ordained as bishop by St. Mel, who stated that he couldn't help himself, that the Holy Spirit made him do it.
A wonderful fictional account of this whole aspect of Celtic Christianity is the Sister Fidelma mystery series by Ellis Peters (the pen name of Peter Berresford Ellis, a University Celtic scholar). Hilda was an exemplar of this same kind of empowerment of women. She would have to be in order head up the Synod, as well as the dual monastery. For the time that she lived in I find this to be amazing, and often humbling when I consider my own journey.
I was raised by a single mom at a time when that was a rarity. I used to think, back in high school and through my mid thirties, that this somehow made me more egalitarian in attitude and approach to women. But I sometimes was accused by my co-workers, particularly some of the female resident physicians that I was training, of being gender biased. About this time by mother moved from California to live out here with us in Colorado, and I realized that she herself was fairly sexist in her views of other women. Being a product of my upbringing I was certainly, if unconsciouly, modeling her behavior and attitudes. I began to make a concerted effort to watch my language and interactions--yet it is often still that I find myself having said or done something that could be interpreted as gender biased. One's upringing is hard to shed!!
I truly believe that just as in Christ there "is no East or West," that in the Community of Saints there is no gender focus, that one is accepted for who one is as a person and a disciple. There cannot be a different standard based on gender. So...at this point in my life...I love reading about a Hilda, and hoping that God will continue to help me grow in this arena.
Lord, you accepted all humans as your disciples, regardless of gender, as exemplified by the Magdelene and your treatment of both the Syro-Phoenecian woman and the woman at the well. Help me, Lord, in my continued growth in this arena. Help me during this advent time to look at each person I encounter as a fellow human being first, and to accept them as one of your children. Help me to continue to critically examine my own biases and prejudices and give them up through your love. Let Your love surround my thoughts and actions as You guide me in this area of my growth. So be it. Amen.
Friday, November 15, 2013
Celtic Advent Day 2
Celtic Advent Day 2, 39 days until Christmas
St. Afar of Wales. Frequently with the Celtic Saints, you get a name and not much else. This is the case of Afar whose feast day is today. There is a church and geographic area in Wales named after him: Llanafar, which my Welsh friend Denny or my uber linguist son Bryan would tell me is pronounced like it started with "Sh." At the church is a headstone that says he was a bishop and was buried there, but the stone is from the 13th century by dating, and he was supposedly from the 6th century. A Victorian hagiographer named Baring-Gould (who would have to be Victorian with that name, right?) states that he was related to St. David, the patron saint of Wales and was killed by Irish pirates. For some reason there is an orthodox hymn-like prayer praising him for his piety. And that is it.
As I look into these Saints more, Afar is not alone in his anonymity. In some ways it almost seems like many of the Celtic holy men and women would go out of their way to stay out of the limelight and be unknown. There is such a temptation if you start feeling like people are treating you as a spiritual leader to start believing that you are something special, to have the sin of pride creep into your life. I certainly see this in Medicine in my own life and have observed it over the years in both official and lay spiritual leaders. What better way to avoid this as to cultivate anonymity. As I think about Gospel parallels I wonder sometimes if this was the basis for what is referrred to as the Messianic secret--Christ's insistence after many of His healings to "tell no one." One could argue that He was immune from the sin of pride, but wasn't that one of his desert temptations?
So...based on this, I think I am going to try to add another advent discipline to my regimen: anonymity. Are there ways I can avoid a limelight, not out of false humility, but to just be awaire of the temptation to be seen at important, as Somebody? I wonder if we all don't go through that desire expressed so well by the song from the old TV show's opening theme: "Fame! I want to live forever!" Yet, if we are Christian, we know that nothing we can do, only Grace, that will allow one to 'live forever."
Lord, you exemplified humility in Your earthly life, help me to avoid the temptation of pride, of accepting the praise of others as something I earned by myself, rather than through Your grace. Help me to find ways to help others anonymously, that the credit may point instead to You, who always inspires us to extend compassion to others. Make me attentive to the Spirit Who grants such gifts. So be it. Amen.
St. Afar of Wales. Frequently with the Celtic Saints, you get a name and not much else. This is the case of Afar whose feast day is today. There is a church and geographic area in Wales named after him: Llanafar, which my Welsh friend Denny or my uber linguist son Bryan would tell me is pronounced like it started with "Sh." At the church is a headstone that says he was a bishop and was buried there, but the stone is from the 13th century by dating, and he was supposedly from the 6th century. A Victorian hagiographer named Baring-Gould (who would have to be Victorian with that name, right?) states that he was related to St. David, the patron saint of Wales and was killed by Irish pirates. For some reason there is an orthodox hymn-like prayer praising him for his piety. And that is it.
As I look into these Saints more, Afar is not alone in his anonymity. In some ways it almost seems like many of the Celtic holy men and women would go out of their way to stay out of the limelight and be unknown. There is such a temptation if you start feeling like people are treating you as a spiritual leader to start believing that you are something special, to have the sin of pride creep into your life. I certainly see this in Medicine in my own life and have observed it over the years in both official and lay spiritual leaders. What better way to avoid this as to cultivate anonymity. As I think about Gospel parallels I wonder sometimes if this was the basis for what is referrred to as the Messianic secret--Christ's insistence after many of His healings to "tell no one." One could argue that He was immune from the sin of pride, but wasn't that one of his desert temptations?
So...based on this, I think I am going to try to add another advent discipline to my regimen: anonymity. Are there ways I can avoid a limelight, not out of false humility, but to just be awaire of the temptation to be seen at important, as Somebody? I wonder if we all don't go through that desire expressed so well by the song from the old TV show's opening theme: "Fame! I want to live forever!" Yet, if we are Christian, we know that nothing we can do, only Grace, that will allow one to 'live forever."
Lord, you exemplified humility in Your earthly life, help me to avoid the temptation of pride, of accepting the praise of others as something I earned by myself, rather than through Your grace. Help me to find ways to help others anonymously, that the credit may point instead to You, who always inspires us to extend compassion to others. Make me attentive to the Spirit Who grants such gifts. So be it. Amen.
Thursday, November 14, 2013
Celtic Advent 1st day
I have read in the past that the Celtic church celebrated "3 Lents:" the usual 40 days before Easter, a 40 day period prior to Christmas--Celtic Advent, and a 40 day period after Trinity Sunday. I am intrigued about the 40 days prior to Christmas. This is the time in most of our lives of increasing stress, increased eating, not to mention the concerns about whether your team in the NFL will make the playoffs. The whole concept of Advent tends to be relegated to the liturgical churches (Orthodox, Roman Catholics, Lutherans, Episcopalians and their spin offs), who do their best to observe at least a 24 day Advent prior to Christmas. It is supposed to be a time of reflections and self-examination. Some "giving up" but not the extreme of the pre-Easter Lent. For me, if I wait to start Advent devotionals until December 1, then I feel like I am already too immersed in the cultural chaos that goes through the rest of the month. So...this year I am going to try something new. I am going to focus in on Celtic Saints for those 40 days, not so much for just cognitive reasons (like when did they live), but more for what they can teach me. What about each Saint will inform me about being true to my beliefs? I still think the Celts have a lot to teach us in this age and am hoping to further explore Celtic Christianity by doing this exercise. Here we go:
November 15th St. Malo. 40 days before Christmas. The Celtic and Old English Saints online gives me 3 choices for today, but, being from Northern Colorado, I have to go with St. Malo. The Roman Catholic Retreat Center south of Estes Park was St. Malo's, and their stonework chapel was, prior to our fires and floods, a beautiful landmark to stop by and admire. I read that the original St. Malo was from Wales but ended up as a bishop in Brittany in France, around 600 AD; and that he had a period of having to flee his diocese but was asked back and spent a long time in prayer and penitence. Like most Saints of this time period he has "Lives" written about him, several hundred years after his death. Many of these are not reliable at being historical, but I think that they may carry some essence of the Saint I can examine. One of the Lives about St. Malo describes him as wanting to emulate St. Paul, in that, when he was not preaching the gospel, he should keep busy with work and describes him as working in the vineyards with his fellow monastics.
That image, out of all I read about him, struck me. As a cradle Episcopalian, Bishops were to me a symbol of pomp and circumstance, dressed in purple, and usually preceded down an aisle by someone swinging an incense burner. They are Authority and representative of a persistant medieval hierarchy...of power at least, and in the mind of a pre-teen boy that included some measure of increased holiness. So here is this Breton Bishop, out it the fields helping to bring in the grape harvest...wait a minute? Shouldn't he have been out doing the 7th Century equivalent of 18 holes of golf or something? And that is what I love about most of the Celtic Saints, even those in positions of leadership. They didn't embrace their office as a hierarchical reward, allowing them a measure of comfort and privilege. They saw themselves as the ultimate servant, which is, after all, what Christ tells us we are supposed to be. I am reminded currently of the contrast between Pope Benedict and our current Pope Francis, the latter being much more Celtic in his approach. Outside of the liturgical churches, I think of the televangelists, like Jim and Tammy Fay Baker, who used other's trust in their spiritual skills to amass huge estates and fortunes.
What does that mean for me now with Advent. By virtue of my education, job and degree, I am afforded by many a position of authority (doesn't MD stand for Major Diety?). But do I deal with that like St. Malo. Am I too full of myself at times to get out and get dirty, to do a menial task, to help allay the work of others who are not in my position. That I think, will be one of my Advent disciplines: to continually keep from being to full of myself, and of course, to do that, I need help.
Lord, You washed the feet of your disciples and allowed John to baptise you. Help me to keep from getting above myself, to remember that the root word for humility is the same as for the earth beneath our feet, humus. Help me to stay at that level, earthy if you will. Help me to remember that all my gifts and benefits, my job and position, are gifts from you, and to be used as such. Help me to remember this over the next 40 days. Through the power of your Threeness, let it be so, Amen
I have read in the past that the Celtic church celebrated "3 Lents:" the usual 40 days before Easter, a 40 day period prior to Christmas--Celtic Advent, and a 40 day period after Trinity Sunday. I am intrigued about the 40 days prior to Christmas. This is the time in most of our lives of increasing stress, increased eating, not to mention the concerns about whether your team in the NFL will make the playoffs. The whole concept of Advent tends to be relegated to the liturgical churches (Orthodox, Roman Catholics, Lutherans, Episcopalians and their spin offs), who do their best to observe at least a 24 day Advent prior to Christmas. It is supposed to be a time of reflections and self-examination. Some "giving up" but not the extreme of the pre-Easter Lent. For me, if I wait to start Advent devotionals until December 1, then I feel like I am already too immersed in the cultural chaos that goes through the rest of the month. So...this year I am going to try something new. I am going to focus in on Celtic Saints for those 40 days, not so much for just cognitive reasons (like when did they live), but more for what they can teach me. What about each Saint will inform me about being true to my beliefs? I still think the Celts have a lot to teach us in this age and am hoping to further explore Celtic Christianity by doing this exercise. Here we go:
November 15th St. Malo. 40 days before Christmas. The Celtic and Old English Saints online gives me 3 choices for today, but, being from Northern Colorado, I have to go with St. Malo. The Roman Catholic Retreat Center south of Estes Park was St. Malo's, and their stonework chapel was, prior to our fires and floods, a beautiful landmark to stop by and admire. I read that the original St. Malo was from Wales but ended up as a bishop in Brittany in France, around 600 AD; and that he had a period of having to flee his diocese but was asked back and spent a long time in prayer and penitence. Like most Saints of this time period he has "Lives" written about him, several hundred years after his death. Many of these are not reliable at being historical, but I think that they may carry some essence of the Saint I can examine. One of the Lives about St. Malo describes him as wanting to emulate St. Paul, in that, when he was not preaching the gospel, he should keep busy with work and describes him as working in the vineyards with his fellow monastics.
That image, out of all I read about him, struck me. As a cradle Episcopalian, Bishops were to me a symbol of pomp and circumstance, dressed in purple, and usually preceded down an aisle by someone swinging an incense burner. They are Authority and representative of a persistant medieval hierarchy...of power at least, and in the mind of a pre-teen boy that included some measure of increased holiness. So here is this Breton Bishop, out it the fields helping to bring in the grape harvest...wait a minute? Shouldn't he have been out doing the 7th Century equivalent of 18 holes of golf or something? And that is what I love about most of the Celtic Saints, even those in positions of leadership. They didn't embrace their office as a hierarchical reward, allowing them a measure of comfort and privilege. They saw themselves as the ultimate servant, which is, after all, what Christ tells us we are supposed to be. I am reminded currently of the contrast between Pope Benedict and our current Pope Francis, the latter being much more Celtic in his approach. Outside of the liturgical churches, I think of the televangelists, like Jim and Tammy Fay Baker, who used other's trust in their spiritual skills to amass huge estates and fortunes.
What does that mean for me now with Advent. By virtue of my education, job and degree, I am afforded by many a position of authority (doesn't MD stand for Major Diety?). But do I deal with that like St. Malo. Am I too full of myself at times to get out and get dirty, to do a menial task, to help allay the work of others who are not in my position. That I think, will be one of my Advent disciplines: to continually keep from being to full of myself, and of course, to do that, I need help.
Lord, You washed the feet of your disciples and allowed John to baptise you. Help me to keep from getting above myself, to remember that the root word for humility is the same as for the earth beneath our feet, humus. Help me to stay at that level, earthy if you will. Help me to remember that all my gifts and benefits, my job and position, are gifts from you, and to be used as such. Help me to remember this over the next 40 days. Through the power of your Threeness, let it be so, Amen
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