Blessings from a Small Island
Reverend Janet Parsons
Gloucester UU Church
August 7, 2022
It’s a tiny island, the Isle of Iona. To reach it, off the coast of Scotland, a pilgrim has to take a train, a bus, and two ferries. But pilgrimages are supposed to be challenging: think of some of the famous ones, such as the Camino de Santiago across northern Spain. A pilgrimage is meant to be intentional, to encourage the pilgrim to open her mind and heart, to practice mindfulness, to study, question, and relinquish and receive.
And so a trip to Iona truly is a pilgrimage: a time away, and a setting guaranteed to offer the pilgrim a chance to reflect, to encounter, and to grow.
Iona is the most religious setting that this pilgrim has ever encountered. Across the centuries Iona has been a destination for seekers, for those seeking perhaps a place of spaciousness and peace, or perhaps an encounter with mystery or the Holy.
It’s a tiny island, where St. Columba of Ireland first came ashore in 563 Common Era to establish an abbey. There has been religious activity there ever since: a monastery, a convent, the contemporary Iona Community. Ever since that time, yes, but no doubt there was religious activity present long before Columba arrived and brought Christianity to Scotland. Iona is a place of portals: shorelines, wells, what are known as ‘thin places’ where there is less of a barrier dividing the earthly life from the divine.
Iona reveals itself in layers: of history, and of religious traditions. It’s a land where people live close to the land and to the sea, with a deep awareness of the goodness of the earth, of the gift of the Creation.
Because Ireland and Scotland were never occupied by the Romans, the Imperial Christianity that they spread across the European continent never took hold on the islands. Instead, a different type of Christianity emerged, usually called Celtic Christianity, that emphasizes the love of God for God’s creation. God was not an accountant in the sky, keeping track of sins and demanding perfect adherence to church doctrine. Rather, God was everywhere, and felt very close by.
As John Philip Newell wrote, “Everything was seen as a manifestation of God, in which the energies of the divine flowed. Heaven and earth were interwoven, Christ was Son of Heaven and also Son of Earth, Son of the Moon, Son of the Seas, Son of the Storm. The elements were sacred and sun and moon were reverenced.” (Sacred Earth, Sacred Soul, p. 99-100.)
As God was so close, along with the angels, and the Trinity, and the blessings of the natural world, the peoples’ religious practice became one of prayers, poetry, and blessings, recited throughout the day, from waking to sleeping, from milking the cow to banking the fire at night.
Here is a prayer said upon rising:
Holly: Thanks to thee, O God, that I have risen today,
To the rising of this life itself;
May it be to Thine own glory, O God of every gift,
And to the glory of my soul likewise.
O great God, aid Thou my soul
With the aiding of Thine own mercy;
Even as I clothe my body with wool,
Cover Thou my soul with the shadow of Thy wing.
Help me to avoid every sin,
And the source of every sin to forsake;
And as the mist scatters on the crest of the hills,
May each ill haze clear from my soul, O God.
I wanted you to hear the language – of fairly traditional supplication to God, but also the earthly language – God as a bird, the mist on the hills. The weaving of Christian language with earth-centered religious language was confusing at first but came to feel beautiful and full of love.
Christianity came early to Ireland, and then to Scotland, and so the religious language offers a blending of pre-Christian and Christian traditions. This was perhaps first seen in the ancient prayer of protection attributed to St. Patrick. It begins:
Holly: I arise today
Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity.
Through belief in the Threeness,
Through confession of the oneness,
Of the Creator of Creation.
And then, this 5th century prayer, known as the Breastplate of St. Patrick, or the Deer’s Cry, goes on to invoke the protection of the natural world as well.
Holly: I arise today
Through strength of heaven
Light of sun,
Radiance of moon,
Splendor of fire,
Speed of lightning,
Swiftness of wind,
Depth of sea,
Stability of earth,
Firmness of rock.
We see the power of Celtic spirituality continuing down through the ages. Compare the language from the Breastplate to our Call to Worship a few minutes ago, one of the blessings written by the late Irish priest and poet John O’Donohue: “I arise today blessed by all things – wings of breath, delight of eyes, wonder of whisper, intimacy of touch, eternity of soul, urgency of thought, miracle of health, embrace of God.” (To Bless the Space Between Us, pp.7-8).
It’s a blessing that we know so much about the Scottish Gaelic prayers and blessings that have come down to us. This ancient oral tradition came close to being eradicated. In the 16th century the leaders of the Scottish Reformation sought to suppress these traditional prayer forms because they saw them as pagan. Life was no longer to be celebrated, or seen as joyful. Repressive practices were instituted, much as we know existed here during the time of the Puritans. According to John Philip Newell, roosters had to be locked away on Sundays to prevent anything ‘natural’ from taking place with the hens. (p. 109).
Following the reformation came the Highland Land Clearances of the late 1700’s and early 1800’s, when tenant farmers were evicted from the land so it could be cleared for large scale sheep and cattle raising. It’s possible that up to 150,000 people were displaced – about half the population of the Highlands and the islands. Roughly half of those were forced to emigrate, many to the Appalachia region of the United States.
The fabric of traditional society was torn apart, and the Gaelic language and all the folkways of the people would have soon been forgotten, which of course was part of the intention of the English authorities.
In the 1860’s a tax collector named Alexander Carmichael, who travelled extensively in the islands, decided to try to preserve the language of the prayers and blessings before it was too late. He visited islands and tiny villages and transcribed the reminiscences, the prayers, poems, and blessings of the remaining people of Western Scotland. Eventually he published his collection as a six-volume compilation that we draw from today. An entire culture could have been lost within a generation or two.
Now we can hear the prayers recited as people moved through their days. Here’s a prayer said upon kindling the fire:
Holly: I will kindle my fire this morning
In presence of the holy angels of heaven…
God, kindle Thou in my heart within,
A flame of love for my neighbor,
To my foe, to my friend, to my kindred all,
To the brave, to the knave, to the thrall,
O Son of the loveliest Mary,
From the lowliest thing that liveth,
To the Name that is highest of all…”
I am very fond of this milking song:
Holly: “Come, Mary, and milk my cow,
Come Bride (Brigid) and encompass her,
Come, Columba the benign
And twine thine arms around my cow…
Come, Mary Virgin, to my cow,
Come, great Bride, the beauteous,
Come, thou milkmaid of Jesus Christ,
And place thine arms beneath my cow.”
Blessings and protection were sought for all of human endeavor, for safe herding and fishing, for the safe arrival of newborns and the peaceful passing of the dying. And woven throughout all the prayers was an unshakable sense of the intimacy of the divine, whether the protection was being sought from the Trinity, or Mary, or Brigid, or the angels. The divine presence was assumed:
Holly: “God before me, God behind me,
God above me, God below me,
I on the path of God,
God upon my track.
Who is there on land?
Who is there on wave?
Who is there on billow?
Who is there by door-post?
Who is along with us?
God and Lord…”
We see the interconnectedness of life; the mundane and earthly concerns interspersed with the bright belief in the presence of the holy. People moved with ease between the worlds, and between pre-Christian and Christian belief as well. The persons of the Trinity are real to them, as are fairies, and angels. Together this creates a view of the world as one full of holiness, of blessing.
I have preached about this before: the stark contrast of the concept of Original Sin, developed by the Christianity of empire that sprung up around the Mediterranean, and the radically different worldview of the Celts, of what theologian Matthew Fox calls Original Blessing. The earth was given to us as a gift, not to be exploited, not to be seen as less than heaven, but to be savored, and appreciated.
The gifts were everywhere during my week on Iona: the slow pace of a week on foot, with no TV and scarce Internet, the scenery, the encounter with puffins, the visible and tangible layers of religion, from a well on the top of a hill named for Brigid to the Iona high crosses with their intricate carvings of scenes from the life of Jesus, interspersed with twining vines, and knots, and snakes.
By the end of the week we were writing blessings, and offering them to one another. Here is the blessing I received, which I share with you:
“As the pilgrim road stretches before you,
May the sky and the water bear witness to your journey,
The sun and the moon restore you in turn,
And good companions accompany you as far as you need.
I offer you this as my wish for you as well, wherever you may travel, whatever pilgrimages you may find yourselves on.
Blessed be,
Amen.
