I have been reading a lot of Celtic poetry lately. Most of this poetry is ancient, coming out of the deep medieval centuries when Christianity was weaving itself into local ways of living. The Celtic people were known as travelers, movers, in seasonal migration, moving on from dangerous geopolitical shifts, simpler moves as well, out from the household with sheep and cattle into now-blooming pastures of the highlands, off perhaps to negotiate with far-flung neighbors. Wonderfully for us, now centuries later, living in a far less sacramental world, the Celts provide a vivid glimpse of how to travel well.
What is striking is that most of these poems speak of a people acutely aware of God’s presence in their land, their families, in the daily practices of lighting the fire in the chill of the morning before the family rises, making cream for sustenance and enjoyment, doing the daily chores in order to survive and live with order. The call on their lips is almost always for God to show himself in every aspect of their lives. It is beautiful, inspiring. From another world, we have much to draw from this deep well.
What if we set out for travel with words like these:
Life be in my speech,
Sense in what I say,
The bloom of cherries on my lips,
Till I come back again.
I hope that’s the way I travel this summer and always. Say something good along the way. Make sure there is life in my speech, not cynicism, ignorance, not attack, nor diminishment of land or people. May I carry myself with poise and calm and not too much clamor of my own uncomfortableness with unfamiliar settings or people. Yes, may cherries bloom on my lips. This is the way I want to travel “till I come back again.”
And then there is this blessing, a gift offered for all who are leaving:
The joy of God in thy face,
Joy to all who see thee,
The circle of God around thy neck,
Angels of God shielding thee,
Angels of God shielding thee.
Joy of night and day be thine,
Joy of sun and moon be thine,
Joy of men and women be thine,
Each land and sea thou goest,
Each land and sea thou goest.
Isn’t this lovely? This is traveling, and living, with a deep sense that God surrounds us, God goes with us, God shares the gift of joy each step of the way. Is this the way I travel, this is traveling with joy, the joy of night and day, sun and moon, men and women I might meet? I want to learn how to travel this way. This is a prayer that permeates each step of the way. It is a blessing we offer as a gift for friends and family as we send them off.
The Celts lived life as sacrament. We’ve lost most of this, no doubt about it, tragically lost it. Maybe as we travel this summer, maybe it would be worthwhile to slow down and say a Celtic prayer, maybe even memorize some of these beautiful words. We could hope that the joy of God would be seen in our faces. We could hope to discover the joy of night and day, sun and moon, the joy of men and women we meet, in whatever land and sea we travel. Wouldn’t that be cool? Wouldn’t that revive us once again? Wouldn’t that make the world that much better?
Thanks so much, Phil. It sure helps me appreciate the gifts Our Lord has given me. Please keep me on your “BLOG” list!
Just finishing your book “Sing Us a Song of Joy”. It encourages & helps me be a better disciple in our secular world!
I love those times when I come across a moment that reflects the essence of our travel. It was looking out our hotel room in Edinburgh, when suddenly in the midst of a thick fog, I heard someone playing a bagpipe. It was having dinner in an old mill in Buck’s County, Pennsylvania with a harpist playing across a creek surrounded by fireflies. It was staying in a former dormitory in Shuya, Russia on an educational exchange, with all the plumbing having been stolen and no hot water, but university faculty members placing a television from their homes in each of our rooms. It was being in Tallin, Estonia on the very day when thousands of young people dressed in their native costumes gathered in the city to sing the countries national anthem in a large outdoor arena. I savor these moments.
Beautiful words, Bro. And so good to reflect on as we mourn the loss of a great writer and thinker, Charles Krauthaummer. Keep honing this gift God has given you. You bless and teach us, as did he.
Helene
Thanks for this wonderful post, Phil! I’ve been prepping my courses for autumn, and decided to do a unit on early medieval Celtic Christianity. Among other texts, I’m using the wonderful, if largely legendary, “Voyage of St. Brendan,” published in THE AGE OF BEDE, J. F. Webb (Trans.) and D. H. Farmer (Ed.) (Penguin, 2004). This story has been turned into a delightful ballad by the Irish folk singer, Christy Moore. Here’s the link to a performance featured on YouTube:
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZbWPMnWaA2U.
And here are the lyrics:
St. Brendan’s Voyage, by Christy Moore
A boat sailed out of Brandon in the year of 501.
Twas a damp and dirty morning,’ Brendan’s voyage had begun.
Tired of thinnin’ turnips and cuttin’ curly kale,
When he got back from the creamery he hoisted up the sail.
He ploughed a lonely furrow to the north, south, east and west.
Of all the navigators, St, Brendan was the best.
When he ran out of candles he was forced to make a stop,
He tied up in Long Island and put America on the map.
Did you know that Honolulu was found by a Kerryman,
Who went on to find Australia then China and Japan.
When he was touchin’ 70, he began to miss the crack.
Turnin’ to his albatross he sez “I’m headin’ back.”
[Chorus] “Is it right or left for Gibraltar”
“What tack do I take for Mizen Head?”
“I’d love to settle down near Ventry Harbour”
St. Brendan to his albatross he said
To make it fast he bent the mast and built up mighty steam.
Around Terra del Fuego and up the warm Gulf Stream.
He crossed the last horizon, Mt. Brandon came in sight.
And when he cleared the customs into Dingle for the night.
When he got the Cordon Bleu he went to douse the drought.
He headed west to Kruger’s* to murder pints of stout.
Around by Ballyferriter and up the Conor Pass,
He freewheeled into Brandon, the saint was home at last.
[Chorus]
The entire population came (281) the place was chock-a-block.
Love nor money wouldn’t get your nose inside the shop.
The fishermen hauled up their nets, the farmers left their hay.
And the Kerry people know that saints don’t turn up every day.
Everythin’ was goin’ great ’til Brendan did announce
His reason for returnin’ was to try and set up house.
The girls were flabbergasted at St. Bredan’s neck
To seek a wife so late in life and him a total wreck.
[Chorus]
Worn down by rejection that pierced his humble pride,
“Begod”, says Brendan, “If I run I’ll surely catch the tide.
“Turnin’ on his sandals he made straight for the docks,
And haulin’ up his anchor he cast off from the rocks.
As he sailed past Inishvickallaun there stood the albatross,
“I knew you’d never stick it out, ’tis great to see you boss.”
“I’m bailin’ out”, says Brendan, “I badly need a break,
A fortnight is about as much as any old saint could take.”
[Chorus]
* Kruger Kavanagh’s, the ‘Nearest pub to the States’
Beautiful — so grateful for these thoughts to fill my day today.
Reading this as I sit in the airport, waiting for a plane to Norway. What a marvelous blessing to send us on our way!