Another sketch from the talented Kaaren Christopherson!
Sunday, May 26, 2013
Saturday, May 25, 2013
Thin Places
Last night, one of our discussion questions was "where are the thin places where you feel especially close to the holy?"
A few nights earlier, as we met with the Bishop of St. Asaph, he described such places as where the threshold to the divine is palpable, where the boundary between heaven and earth is amorphous.
So we pondered just where in our lives we have that sense of being close to the holy.
It seemed as if each small discussion group got to that question almost simultaneously and I closed my eyes for a moment and listened as the pilgrims in the room started describing places here or in other locations where they had experienced being in a thin place.
Some had never heard of the notion or phenomena of thin places before this pilgrimage; some had experienced it in many places.
What was evident though is that for most the veil had been lifted at some point this week as this band of pilgrims wound back and forth through the north of Wales like a celtic knot.
At Basingwerk Abbey some heard the divine in the footsteps of the monks on the stone floors or felt it in the stones that ancient hands had cut and placed in walls that still stand in a reminder of God's permanence.
At several holy wells, the threshold was felt in the drops of water springing from the depths of the earth to cleanse, heal and refresh us as it has been doing for pilgrims for hundreds of years. Whether being immersed in a deep pool of healing water or blessing one another with a droplet from a tiny well, there was surely a sacred presence in the water felt by many.
This morning I looked back at some of the photos I have taken. What I saw was a litany of the thin places. On the faces of my fellow pilgrims captured in tiny digital images I saw peace, serenity, joy, and prayer. They had found their place to experience the holy sitting on ancient rocks, touching the lake water where prayers had been lifted up for thousands of years, gazing at the works created by hands so long ago, defying the strength of the wind on a rocky cliff, or simply resting in the sun on the grass.
I know there are thin places that have been identified as such because they have been consistently thin for many people for many years, but I posit that each of us has a thin place or two that do not appear in any compendium of such sites.
So for those reading of our travels, "where are the thin places where YOU feel especially close to the holy?"
Me, you ask? I have a few thin places in my experience, but here I think it was walking out to an island at low tide and standing in the ruins of the tiny stone chapel and feeling a sense of oneness with those who had made that same trek centuries ago and felt the blessedness of that landscape and lifted their prayers on the sea breeze to heaven...
A few nights earlier, as we met with the Bishop of St. Asaph, he described such places as where the threshold to the divine is palpable, where the boundary between heaven and earth is amorphous.
So we pondered just where in our lives we have that sense of being close to the holy.
It seemed as if each small discussion group got to that question almost simultaneously and I closed my eyes for a moment and listened as the pilgrims in the room started describing places here or in other locations where they had experienced being in a thin place.
Some had never heard of the notion or phenomena of thin places before this pilgrimage; some had experienced it in many places.
What was evident though is that for most the veil had been lifted at some point this week as this band of pilgrims wound back and forth through the north of Wales like a celtic knot.
At Basingwerk Abbey some heard the divine in the footsteps of the monks on the stone floors or felt it in the stones that ancient hands had cut and placed in walls that still stand in a reminder of God's permanence.
At several holy wells, the threshold was felt in the drops of water springing from the depths of the earth to cleanse, heal and refresh us as it has been doing for pilgrims for hundreds of years. Whether being immersed in a deep pool of healing water or blessing one another with a droplet from a tiny well, there was surely a sacred presence in the water felt by many.
This morning I looked back at some of the photos I have taken. What I saw was a litany of the thin places. On the faces of my fellow pilgrims captured in tiny digital images I saw peace, serenity, joy, and prayer. They had found their place to experience the holy sitting on ancient rocks, touching the lake water where prayers had been lifted up for thousands of years, gazing at the works created by hands so long ago, defying the strength of the wind on a rocky cliff, or simply resting in the sun on the grass.
I know there are thin places that have been identified as such because they have been consistently thin for many people for many years, but I posit that each of us has a thin place or two that do not appear in any compendium of such sites.
So for those reading of our travels, "where are the thin places where YOU feel especially close to the holy?"
Me, you ask? I have a few thin places in my experience, but here I think it was walking out to an island at low tide and standing in the ruins of the tiny stone chapel and feeling a sense of oneness with those who had made that same trek centuries ago and felt the blessedness of that landscape and lifted their prayers on the sea breeze to heaven...
Friday, May 24, 2013
Saints whose names we remember . . .
During this morning's Eucharist here at Gladstone's Library, Peter, the warden, interspersed the service with poetry by R. S. Thomas. Today at at Llanbadrig, the church that St. Patrick supposedly founded in the early fifth century after being shipwrecked along the coast of Wales during a storm, we read this Thomas poem. The baptized seas, silent congregations of shadows, and the saint's name that time has not forgot . . . descriptions of many of the holy sites we have visited to recreate our spirits on this pilgrimage.
The Moon in Lleyn by R. S. Thomas
The last quarter of the moon
of Jesus gives way
to the dark; the serpent
digests the egg. Here
on my knees in this stone
church, that is full only
of the silent congregation
of shadows and the sea's
sound, it is easy to believe
Yeats was right. Just as though
choirs had not sung, shells
have swallowed them; the tide laps
at the Bible; the bell fetches
no people to the brittle miracle
of bread. The sand is waiting
for the running back of the grains
in the wall into its blond
glass. Religion is over, and
what will emerge from the body
of the new moon, no one
can say.
But a voice sounds
in my ear. Why so fast,
mortal? These very seas
are baptized. The parish
has a saint's name time cannot
unfrock. In cities that
have outgrown their promise people
are becoming pilgrims
again, if not to this place,
then to the recreation of it
in their own spirits. You must remain
kneeling. Even as this moon
making its way through the earth's
cumbersome shadow, prayer, too,
has its phases.
The Moon in Lleyn by R. S. Thomas
The last quarter of the moon
of Jesus gives way
to the dark; the serpent
digests the egg. Here
on my knees in this stone
church, that is full only
of the silent congregation
of shadows and the sea's
sound, it is easy to believe
Yeats was right. Just as though
choirs had not sung, shells
have swallowed them; the tide laps
at the Bible; the bell fetches
no people to the brittle miracle
of bread. The sand is waiting
for the running back of the grains
in the wall into its blond
glass. Religion is over, and
what will emerge from the body
of the new moon, no one
can say.
But a voice sounds
in my ear. Why so fast,
mortal? These very seas
are baptized. The parish
has a saint's name time cannot
unfrock. In cities that
have outgrown their promise people
are becoming pilgrims
again, if not to this place,
then to the recreation of it
in their own spirits. You must remain
kneeling. Even as this moon
making its way through the earth's
cumbersome shadow, prayer, too,
has its phases.
 |
Wednesday, May 22, 2013
A Pilgrimage Inspired Poem
O little yellow flower,
O grateful fern,
Beautiful in substance,
Beautiful in your tenacity.
Clinging to the wall,
Rooted in the wall.
Moving in the breeze,
but not moved by the breeze.
Embedded in these ruins,
yet--not ruins, but
Home to the prayers of monks and pilgrims through the years.
And even today as we have come to offer our prayers--
O little yellow flower,
O grateful fern,
May I be as faithful as you.
Barbara Merchant
May 20, 2013
Basingwerk Abbey
Tuesday, May 21, 2013
Living With Compassion - Tuesday, 21 May
The day began wet and dreary with admonitions that it was going to be cold and wet so be sure to dress warmly and plan for rain. We traveled across the northern part of Wales to explore Clynnog Fawr and Ynys Llanddwyn (Dwynwen's Island).
The bus ride was to be long but it actually sped along with wonderful views of the Welsh countryside. The mist and fog added a sense of mystery and wonder. We saw sheep and lovely green fields.
We arrived at Cynnog Fawr for our morning prayers and started the day with the lovely reminder...
In the busyness of this day
grant us a stillness of seeing, O God.
In the conflicting voices of our hearts
grant us a calmness of hearing.
Let our seeing and our hearing, our words and our actions
be rooted in a silent certainty of your presence.
Let our lives be rooted in the ground of your peace, O God,
let us be rooted in the depth of your peace.
This closing prayer was a reminder of how Celtic spirituality is part of everyday. It touched me and called me to remember this each of my 'busyness' days. It is easy when the day is dedicated to our journey and it is a good reminder that I can hold onto this each day.
The mists and warmth of the local church which is the site of church founded by St. Beuno as a 'clas'- combination monastic community and college unique to the Celtic church. It was a stop for pilgrims on the way to/from Bardsey Island and some pilgrims shared the space with us while we were there. It was fitting and wonderfully reflective space for our 2013 pilgrims.
After lunch in Caernarfon (passing by the castle where the Prince of Wales was crowned) we headed to Ynys Llanddwyn. The rain and clouds cleared and we could experience the island in all its glory! The waves beating on the beach, the sun shining on the ruins of Dwynwen's abby, the dogs running on the beach and great beach walking made for a spectacular afternoon. I took the opportunity to just sit overlooking the ocean and 'be'. It was a great reminder that I actually am a human being. The island has been the destination for pilgrims for centuries and I am grateful to have been one today.
The trip home was lovely and we were able to see gorgeous scenery at every turn in the road. In the clear sky, we saw slate mines, wind farms, the mountains, the sea, the quarry, many sheep including lambs and one lovely view right after another. The journey continues and I look forward to each day because I trust I am rooted in the ground of God's peace.
Monday, May 20, 2013
"Tending the Tradition"... Open the doors!
Today's Pilgrim theme is Tending the Tradition. Already it resounds in words from today's Eucharist at Gladstone's, adapted from a poem by Scottish poet Edwin Morgan, speaking at the opening of Parliament, 2004:
We have a building which is more than a building.
There is a connection between the inner and outer,
Between brightness and shadow,
Between the world and those who think and pray about the world.
What do people want of this place?
They want it to be filled with thinking persons... Open...and adventurous...
A nest of fearties is what they do not want...
A symposium of procrastinators is what they do not want...
And perhaps, above all, droopy spiritual mantras is what they do not want.
Open the doors!
Light of day, shine in; light of the mind, shine out!
So now begin. Open the doors and begin!
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