The Holy Communion, in Memphis, Tennessee, and Diana Butler Bass Featured It in Her Book, Christianity for the Rest of Us

Celtic Service Notebook

Please do not reproduce or photocopy this guide or materials it includes. The guide is available free of charge online for any who wish to explore how to introduce a contemplative service like the Celtic service in their own settings. Reproducing portions of the guide, however, might involve using copyrighted material (see below), and the guide is periodically updated, with new editions posted on our Web site at ststephensRVA.org/celtic-guide.

A note about copyrighted material: Permission to reprint copyrighted material must be obtained by each church or other entity planning to use it. Permissions to reprint materials for use in our Celtic service were given to St. Stephen’s Church; these rights to do not extend to others.

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Introduction

Dear Friends,

It is our pleasure to share with you some of the resources we use in crafting the Celtic service every Sunday evening at 5:30 at St. Stephen’s Church in Richmond, Virginia. This service was begun in 2002 at Church of the Holy Communion, in Memphis, Tennessee, and Diana Butler Bass featured it in her book, Christianity for the Rest of Us. It took hold in Richmond in 2005, when the rector from Church of the Holy Communion moved to St. Stephen’s, and it has continued to grow and evolve here.

Because we make every effort to keep this service fresh and alive, elements of the service are constantly under review and changing, but the basic structure and underlying assumptions have remained the same for some time. Our goal is for this service to be a fresh expression of ancient Christian worship and theology, not a modern novelty unhooked from the larger Church. We always use the Gospel lesson appointed by the Revised Common Lectionary, and we are indebted to worshipping communities around the world, ancient and new, for many of our prayers.

The Celtic service at St. Stephen’s Church can often have the largest attendance of our six Sunday services, and we thought it was a great compliment when the noted author and speaker on Celtic spirituality, John Philip Newell, phoned his wife, Ali, after his experience of this service and suggested that she consider offering a Celtic service like this one in her role as chaplain at Edinburg University in Scotland.

This service has filled a deeply felt need for many. We see people who have little or no experience with Christianity, those who gave up on the church long ago, and others who are members of other churches or adherents to other religious traditions but who have discovered something uniquely healing about this Christo-centric worship. The service includes Holy Eucharist, significant periods of silence, calming music, candlelit ambience, real-life reflections/meditations by laity in place of the conventional sermon, and the laying on of hands for healing by trained lay people who are called to this ministry. The reputation of this service has grown to the point that some therapists and other medical professionals have recommended it to some of their patients.

Not surprisingly, the service requires a great deal of work and careful preparation. It requires many people embracing the vision and joining in its implementation prayerfully. Setting the ambience with care is vital, and we require anyone who is participating in a liturgical role to arrive at least one hour ahead of time for a period of liturgical review, silence, and prayer, as we submit ourselves to God’s loving and healing presence and anticipate the arrival of hundreds of people that evening. We pray for ourselves and for all who will be worshipping with us. We pray that God will center us in God’s peace and love, so that we will be able to welcome each person gracefully, and so that we can be instruments of God’s peace, healing, and love.

Then, after this period of liturgical preparation and prayer, all liturgical ministers are to be in their seats in the church fifteen minutes prior to the beginning of the service. This is a time for us to be still in silent prayer or meditation. The result, we have found, is that people who arrive in this embracing, candlelit environment where the ministers are already meditating and praying find themselves drawn into a place of stillness and prayer themselves. Over the years, worshippers have been arriving earlier and earlier for this time of silence that precedes the service, and a carefully chosen opening prelude then gently brings us out of the silence.

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Our main piece of advice for you, if you decide to offer a contemplative service like this, is that you require all who will be helping to lead the service to engage in such contemplative, prayerful preparation. We pass on to others what we know ourselves. The instrumentation for the service is normally classical–violin, cello, flute, oboe, harp, classical guitar, along with an accompanying piano. The music is often classical, as well, with a generous representation of music from Celtic traditions, both Old World Celtic (Ireland, Scotland, Wales) and New World Celtic (Appalachian derivatives). We have found it important when using Celtic music to emphasize those pieces that have an undertone of joy and hope.

We have also found that the same service can contain very diverse musical expressions, as long as they are carefully placed. For example, we have had in the same service a Baroque adagio by Albinoni, along with a contemporary riff on a traditional hymn arranged by someone like Anne Krenz Organ, and a cello/flute/piano arrangement of George Harrison’s “Here Comes the Sun.” Renaissance polyphony also works beautifully with this service, adding a transcendent, monastic element that feels right at home in this environment, but this requires a highly trained choir that we do not normally have at this service. Our usual musical leadership comes from a solo instrument, with piano accompaniment, and a cantor to lead congregational singing, singing obbligatos, and often singing a solo piece while the table is being set for Communion. We recommend two additional resources that will help you understand the vision and practice here in Richmond, both of which are available on our Web site at ststephensRVA.org/celtic. The first is a segment from the PBS series Religion & Ethics Newsweekly, “New Christian Contemplatives.” The second is a video about the service we produced in house. On the same page, you’ll be able to watch recording of the most recent service.

This comes with our hope that our experience here in Richmond will be helpful to you and your church. Please do not hesitate to contact us with questions.

Sincerely,

The staff and people of St. Stephen’s Church

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Table of Contents

I. Introduction ...... 3

II. Curating the Celtic Worship Service...... 7

III. Guidelines for Reflections ...... 13

IV. Opening Elements ...... 14 a. Examples of Opening Poems ...... 14 b. Opening Prose...... 33 c. Opening Confession & Other Openings for Lent ...... 35

V. Prayers for the Evening ...... 36

VI. Prayers of the People ...... 39

VII. Graces ...... 52

VIII. Eucharistic Prayers ...... 53

IX. Post-Communion Prayers ...... 63

X. Dismissal ...... 64

XI. Blessings...... 65

XII. Appendices ...... 68 d. Media about the Celtic Service ...... 69 e. Bulletin Samples ...... 73 f. Music ...... 129 1. Hymns ...... 129 2. Instrumental Music ...... 131 g. Celtic Worship Bibliography ...... 139

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Curating the Celtic Worship Service 1. The environment: The ambience of the worship space is vitally important. Our hope is that just walking into the space before the service begins will bring a felt sense of the divine, of being in the presence of welcoming holiness.

The church is darker than usual, with candlelight strewn throughout the church. The ambience is one of quiet, warm embrace. Greeters at the doors to the church greet quietly, or even silently, but always lovingly. We encourage greeters to remember that many who come to the service are struggling or in pain, and all are in need of kindness and the assurance that they are “at home” here, that they are loved, no matter who they are, what they’ve done, or what they believe or do not believe.

A couple of hours before the service, volunteer set-up teams help to create this embracing environment, artfully dimming lights and placing candles in a way that might conjure a peaceful night-time sky. Traditional candles sit atop the altar, while votives, and column candles of all sizes are spread throughout the church, the chancel and sanctuary particularly. These candles are not set up in a regimented fashion, but more liberally and randomly strewn, as lights that adorn the nighttime sky.

In addition, racks of votive candles are placed strategically for worshippers to use, and the healing prayer ministers set up their stations in side chapels where people seeking companionship in healing prayer may sit with a healing prayer minister or present themselves to an anointer discreetly. And throughout this time of setting the environment, musicians are rehearsing the various pieces to be used in the evening’s liturgy.

2. One hour before the service begins: All liturgical ministers meet in the parish library or another room, in order to review the liturgy for the evening, their roles in the liturgy, and to pray together. Our goal is for anyone who is serving as a chalice bearer, reader, or intercessor should be completely comfortable with their roles, so that they can be fully present to the sacred gathering. And spending some time in prayer with each other allows the lay and clergy ministers to become more centered in God together, quieting their busy minds and making themselves more available to be instruments of God’s peace and love for all who will attend the service that evening.

In a separate room, also an hour before the service begins, the healing prayer ministers and anointers, who will be available for prayer and anointing at the time when the sacrament of Holy Communion is administered, meet for a period of lectio divina, using one of the many stories of Jesus’ healing, and a time of Centering Prayer. They might also pray over and/or anoint one another before entering the church for the service, in hopes that their own experience of sacred healing can be passed on to those who will come forward for prayer and/or anointing during the service.

Over time, experienced liturgical ministers, healing prayer ministers, and anointers all know their roles well and might feel as if there is really no need to gather an hour before the service to review and pray together. However, this time is essential, and if liturgical ministers are not able to gather in this way, they know they will not serve that evening. Our experience is that this time of prayerful centering has everything to do with the establishment of a non-anxious, soulful, sacred environment. We know what it “feels” like to enter a room where people are anxious, tense, or afraid. We know what it “feels” like to enter a room where people have been arguing angrily. And we know what it “feels” like to enter a room where people are centered in a

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prayerful place, quietly anticipating the joy and privilege of welcoming all who will attend the service that night.

3. Fifteen minutes before the service begins: All liturgical ministers, healing prayer ministers, and anointers are vested and sitting still in silent meditation, in the chancel (liturgical ministers) or the front pews (healing prayer ministers and anointers). The effect of having the leaders of the service still, silent, and in prayer well before the service begins is to create a welcoming atmosphere of prayer that others find soothing to the soul. Musicians who have been rehearsing an hour earlier are now silent, and there is now a kind of welcoming, monastic silence. Our experience has been that people attending the service start arriving earlier and earlier to bask in this silence, allowing their weary souls to rest and breathe in the embrace of holiness. As one recently retired, hard-charging, male CEO put it, “I love the morning services, but I prefer the evening Celtic service. It’s the one service where I feel like it’s okay to cry.”

4. The opening music – a gentle segue from silence to spoken word. At the time for the service to begin, musicians play a gentle piece of music designed to bring worshippers out of the silence and into a time of speaking and holy listening. We usually have symphonic instrumentation (cello, flute, violin, oboe, or other…) and a pianist. There is a cantor, but this opening piece is generally instrumental, intended to help worshippers gently emerge from contemplative silence to a mode of engagement with poetry, prayer, song, and reflection. This piece of music is often contemporary classical, classical, or meditative improvisations on traditional hymns. We are always seeking to convey underlying sense of hope, and even promise of joy. We certainly do not want to deny the reality of pain and suffering, but we generally have sensed an opportunity to use our words and music to convey the hopefulness of our faith and the reality of a Loving Presence, wherever we are and whatever we are experiencing.

5. A brief but noticeable pause follows the opening music, followed by a bell or chime. All rise in silence, and before speaking, the assigned liturgical minister (lay or ordained) waits for the room to settle. When it does, she or he recites the opening poem or other writing appointed to open the service. We have also used some simple prayers in a versicle and response format; and in Lent, we usually begin with an opening sentence from one of the saints or noted spiritual teachers, assuring us of God’s forgiveness, and this is followed by a Sarum-like confession: the celebrant first confesses his or her sins and is absolved by the congregation. Then, the congregation confesses using the same words the celebrant has used, and the celebrant absolves. But most of the time, the service opens with a poem designed to draw the hearts and minds of worshippers into a place of wonder, awe, gratitude, holy remembrance, or some other disposition that we believe will be conducive to worship and entering into the experience of holiness.

6. After the opening poem, there is again a slight pause, perhaps just a breath or two, but it makes a point. The pace is contemplative, there are fewer words spoken, and the silence magnifies those words and allows them to sink into our consciousness at a deeper level. We are also signaling that we are in a sense going beyond the experience of Chronos, or chronological time, and entering a little more fully into that deeper dimension of Kairos, or eternity.

7. The slight pause after the opening poem is followed by a beloved hymn, which is led by a solo cantor and the instruments for the evening. It is interesting that the congregational singing is considerably more robust in this evening service than in our more traditional morning services with full choir and organ. Perhaps there is something about the solo voice and the gentler instrumentation that invites more voices to join in?

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8. A Prayer for the Evening follows, generally spoken by the same person who read the opening poem. All respond with “Amen” and then are seated. This is when the reader for the evening comes forward from the congregation to the lectern, in street clothes.

9. There is only one reading at the service, and it is always the Gospel lesson appointed to be read in the Common Lectionary. Those who worship at this service are worshipping with the larger Christian church throughout the world, using ancient liturgical forms that are presented in fresh and inclusive ways, but it is all grounded in the hearing of the same Gospel and the celebration of the Eucharist that would be recognizable to Christians world-wide who are accustomed to ancient liturgical practices. The fact that there is only one piece of scripture to attend in this worship service allows for a deeper rumination on that scripture. And as if to promote such deeper rumination and spiritual reflection, the reader announces the reading in a traditional way, “A Reading from the Gospel according to ______, but the reader concludes the reading with silence. There is no “The word of the Lord” and its response, “Thanks be to God,” just a collective receiving of the word in sacred silence. The silence following the Gospel reading is to be a full minute after the reader steps away from the lectern. This 60-second period is timed by the person who will be reflecting that evening – he or she will approach the lectern only after 60 seconds have passed.

10. After a minute of silence, the person giving the reflection for the evening approaches the lectern. There is no sermon or homily at this service, just a reflection which is given by either clergy or laity (see the Guidelines for Reflections). We are asking people to reflect on a time when they have had an experience of being in the presence of God, a sense of being in a “thin place” or in the presence of holiness. In your reflection, tell us about this time. What happened? Where were you? What are you drawn to say about this experience that is beyond words? Our hope is that as we listen to one another’s experiences of the divine in our daily lives, we might find something awakened in our own souls, a sense of kinship with the person who is reflecting, or a desire to “be on the lookout” in our own lives, in new ways. The reflection is brief (no more than 5 minutes), and the silence following the reflection is a full two minutes. The contemplative pacing of the service and the periodic silences have a way of magnifying the reflector’s words, and we encourage the reflector to think of this reflection as something precious and important that you would invite your best friends to your home to tell them about. Sacred experiences are often very tender but full of wonder, awe, or hope. Speak with those who are gathered in this way, as if you are in your home and have something really precious you want your friends to know about.

11. After two minutes of appreciative silence, during which the congregation is pondering the reflection, the musicians offer a short piece of “music for meditation.” This instrumental piece is shorter than the opening piece, but it serves a similar function: to bring the congregation out of a time of meditation and back into a time of the spoken word.

12. At the conclusion of the “music for meditation,” there is another distinct pause, after which the celebrant and “deacon” silently stand (and the congregation does likewise), and the intercessor makes his or her way to the lectern to lead the Prayers of the People. These prayers are sometimes forms used in Celtic or other contemplative worshipping communities around the world, or they are written for the season, scripture, or a particular occasion.

13. After the spoken prayers, all sit, the prayers of the people continue with more private or personal expressions of prayer, through the lighting of votive candles. The rubrics printed in the bulletin signal that any who wish to leave their pews to light a candle as a symbol of their prayer concerns may do so now or at any other time in the service. During this time of lighting

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of votive candles, meditative and embracing music is played. Because so many people light candles, we normally slot 3-4 pieces of music, with the last piece being a hymn that is led by a cantor.

Our experience is that many people do indeed want to do something tangible to express their prayer concerns, with the result that this period of time leads to the lighting of scores, if not a hundred or more, lit votives. We frequently point out that the great number of lit votives signifies that we are all carrying significant personal concerns, with deep love and desire for health and healing in the lives of people we know or have heard about. This time of lighting votives frequently results in the deep realization kindness to all whom we meet is vital – we do not know what hidden pain, need, longing, or heartbreak people are carrying with them, all the time, but these scores of lit votives remind us of our need to treat each other with tender, loving care.

14. After the hymn that concludes the lighting of votives, the celebrant or deacon speaks the “Grace” and the “Peace,” after which members of the congregation greet one another in the Peace of the Lord. This is followed by announcements.

The task at this point is to honor the contemplative space we have all sought to enter, while warmly welcoming all who are in attendance, keeping in mind the often very diverse group of people present. At St. Stephen’s Church in Richmond, some local therapists have “prescribed” the Celtic service for some of their anxious or depressed clients; others in attendance are people who gave up on church long ago but were urged by friends to give this a try (“this is different,” they are told); and still others are people who know almost nothing of church, have never received Holy Communion, and perhaps grew up in a very different religious tradition, or none at all.

The quality of welcome and invitation, along with a simple explanation of how one may participate, can feel all-important to people who are accustomed to thinking about churches as exclusive communities. Therefore, we regularly begin announcements with a sincere expression of joy and privilege that we are able to welcome each person who has come to the service. “Whoever you are, wherever you have come from, whatever religious tradition or none, we are honored that you are here. And you are invited to participate in anything this church community has to offer – it exists for you – and that includes joining in the sacrament of Holy Communion, which has been precious to Christians for 2,000 years. It is so precious, in fact, that we are eager to share it with you. The experience of many through the ages is that Holy Communion can be a catalyst for people to know in a new way the power and presence of the divine within us and among us…etc.”

We then explain how the distribution of Communion flows in the service, how and when one comes forward and so on, so that people who are new to all of this can feel more at home and less conspicuous as a “newcomer.” But we frequently remind people that “you can’t mess this up; it’s just important for you to know that you are welcome.” The prayer after the breaking of the bread and the fraction anthem, therefore, has become especially beloved:

This is the table, not of the church, but of the Lord. It is made ready for those who love him, and for those who want to love him more. So come, you who have much faith, and you who have little; you who have been here often, and you who have not been here long; you who have tried to follow, and you who have failed. Come, because it is the Lord who invites you. It is his will that those who want him should meet him here.

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We also explain that healing prayer ministers are available in the church’s side chapels – “We are all carrying around deep concerns about ourselves and the people whom we love,” we tell the congregation, “and we often need companionship in our praying. If anyone would like such prayers after receiving Communion, we encourage you to approach one of the healing prayer ministers, introduce yourself, and explain briefly your prayer concern. You’ll then in a chair, while the healing prayer minister places his or her hands on your shoulders. The healing prayer minister will speak a brief prayer, but most of the prayer time will be in silence, as the two of you silently open yourselves to the healing grace and love of God which is always present, even if we have trouble at times being present to God. The healing prayer minister will conclude with a very brief word of prayer.

We also note that others prefer to approach one of the anointers for healing touch and anointing. These are people who stand near each side chapel with blessed, fragrant oil. We encourage people seeking anointing to approach the anointer with open palms. The anointer will then use the holy oil to make the sign of the cross on the person’s forehead and palms, while speaking a prayer for healing and inviting the person to receive the love and healing of Christ. It is a briefer but similarly powerful, holy encounter, and it seems to offer a lower threshold for some to join in.

We conclude announcements by everyone to join in a Community Supper (donations only, no charge) following the service; we note that some will choose to remain in the church praying and resting quietly at the service’s conclusion, so we ask that when people leave, they do so in silence; and we invite people to consider joining in our Compline service that night or any Sunday evening, after the Community Supper – Compline is a 30-minute service of Renaissance Polyphony and Gregorian Chant, in an even darker church, sung by a professional choir. It is popular among all ages, including many college students, with many finding it a perfect way to respond to Jesus’ invitation, “Come to me, all you who labor and heavily burdened, and I will give you rest.” The celebrant then says an offertory sentence.

15. A song or instrumental piece accompanies the setting of the table for Holy Communion, and the music generally lasts just a bit longer than the setting of the table. This allows the celebrant, deacon, and subdeacon to stand aside, out of view of the altar, so that the stillness and anticipation of this ever-deeper encounter with the divine can settle in. The ministers then approach the altar, as people stand for the Eucharistic Prayer, portions of which, including the contemporary Lord’s Prayer, are chanted. St. Stephen’s has not had a tradition of sung Eucharists, but this setting with its palpably sacred ambience, along with the intimacy of a solo cantor, as opposed to a full choir, has made chanting the Lord’s Prayer a cappella beloved and completely natural. It is also noteworthy that Jesus’ Words of Institution are said by all, following the contemplative pace of the celebrant. And as noted above in XIV, the invitation to Communion, “This is the table, not of the church but of the Lord…” might be one of the most cherished signs of the all-inclusive, Christ-like character of the service. After the invitation, the healing prayer ministers and anointers come forward first to receive the sacrament, so that they can then take their places in the side chapels, making themselves available for all who are seeking healing.

16. After all have received the sacrament, the table is cleared, and the celebrant returns to lead the post-Communion prayer, even though some may still be engaged in healing prayer in the side chapels. Following the post-Communion prayer, a closing hymn is sung.

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17. After the closing hymn, the “deacon” says the dismissal:

Deacon Go out into the world in peace, have courage, hold on to what is good, return no one evil for evil, strengthen the faint-hearted, support the weak, help the suffering, honor everyone, love and serve God, rejoicing in the power of the Spirit.

All Thanks be to God.

18. Following the dismissal, all are seated for a closing instrumental “Music for meditation.” This piece helps people to return to that place of appreciative stillness, where we hope they are now feeling renewed, fed, and grateful for this engagement with God and one another. This music, again, is usually gentle, peaceful, embracing, and hopeful. After the “Music for meditation,” there is a slight pause, followed by a “Postlude” and a rubric similar to the following:

Please feel free to depart during the Postlude, as you wish. Prayers for healing will be continuing at the front of both chapels, so we ask you to leave quietly. Please come back often.

Thus, the postlude continues the note of contemplative joy and hope, and while many will begin leaving the church, many others choose to stay for the conclusion of the postlude or longer. At the conclusion of the postlude, the celebrant and deacon (and subdeacon) rise and leave silently by a side door from the chapel, so as not to encourage socializing in the church itself while people are continuing to pray. The chalice bearers and other ministers may leave at any time after the celebrant and deacon have left.

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Guidelines for Reflections

These are the guidelines we provide to those preparing to give the reflection at the Celtic service.

The “Reflection” piece for the Sunday evening Celtic service is a bit different from a homily or sermon. First of all, it is intentionally very brief. We like to say that it must all fit on an 8.5 x 11” sheet of paper, with regular margins and normal type! If it’s less than a full page, that’s fine, too. Another way of saying this is that the reflection should be under five minutes. Another characteristic of this reflection piece is that it is intended to be very personal. Episcopalians are not known for their “witnessing,” but this is in a way what we are asking you to do. We want to know something about your experience of God, about how you tend to think about God, about where you have sensed God’s presence in your life, and about what matters most to you in life. Of course, given the brevity of the reflection, we know that we would be hearing only one small piece of your perspective on these things, but we hope you might be open to doing this more than once! The reflection also does not have to be related to the Gospel reading appointed for the evening. It is wonderful to have someone share with us something he or she has read – a poem or brief passage from a novel, for example – that is especially meaningful to them. What made this reading stand out for you? How does it reflect your own understanding of God or your own life? Did this reading shed new light on experiences you’ve had? A nice benefit of this approach is that others might be inspired to read more of that which you found so helpful or enlightening. But that’s just one approach. We hope you are getting the idea. Our hope is that those of us who are worshipping together would not only get to know a little about how you think but more importantly about who you are and how you experience the Divine. When we listen attentively to another’s experiences of God, we are likely to grow in greater awareness of how God might be at work in our own lives. One final guideline for the reflection time at this service has to do with the silences before and after the reflection. Someone will read the Scripture appointed for the evening, and when he or she concludes the reading, the person giving the reflection should time a full minute of silence. Wait 60 seconds before you approach the lectern to give your reflection. Then, be mindful of the fact that, once you conclude your reflection, we will be observing a full two minutes of silence. Your awareness of this silence might affect how you choose to reflect. Thank you for sharing in this important ministry. All who participate at the service meet in the library at 4:30 p.m. to go over the service. This is an important centering time, as well as prayer time for all who will attend the service. This time helps all worship participants to be attuned to the Spirit and the people who come to the service.

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Opening Elements EXAMPLES OF OPENING POEMS Please see the notice about copyright on page 2. The Thing Is by Ellen Bass to love life, to love it even when you have no stomach for it and everything you’ve held dear crumbles like burnt paper in your hands, your throat filled with the silt of it. When grief sits with you, its tropical heat thickening the air, heavy as water more fit for gills than lungs; when grief weights you down like your own flesh only more of it, an obesity of grief, you think, How can a body withstand this? Then you hold life like a face between your palms, a plain face, no charming smile, no violet eyes, and you say, yes, I will take you I will love you, again. From Mules of Love, BOA editions, 2002

Wild Geese by Wendell Berry Geese appear high over us pass, and the sky closes. Abandon, as in love or sleep, holds them to their way, clear in the ancient faith: what we need is here. And we pray, not for new earth or heaven, but to be quiet in heart, and in eye, clear. What we need is here. From Selected Poems of Wendell Berry. Counterpoint Press © 1998. Used by permission of the author.

The Peace of Wild Things by Wendell Berry When despair for the world grows in me and I wake in the night at the least sound in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be, I go and lie down where the wood drake rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds. I come into the peace of wild things who do not tax their lives with forethought of grief. I come into the presence of still water. And I feel above me the day-blind stars waiting with their light. For a time I rest in the grace of the world, and am free. From Collected Poems 1985. New York: North Point Press © 1985

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This Moment by Eavan Boland A neighbourhood. At dusk. Things are getting ready to happen out of sight. Stars and moths. And rinds slanting around fruit. But not yet. One tree is black. One window is yellow as butter. A woman leans down to catch a child who has run into her arms this moment. Stars rise. Moths flutter. Apples sweeten in the dark.

Winter: Tonight: Sunset by David Budbill Tonight at sunset walking on the snowy road, my shoes crunching on the frozen gravel, first through the woods, then out into the open fields past a couple of trailers and some pickup trucks, I stop and look at the sky. Suddenly: orange, red, pink, blue, green, purple, yellow, gray, all at once and everywhere.

I pause in this moment at the beginning of my old age and I say a prayer of gratitude for getting to this evening a prayer for being here, today, now, alive in this life, in this evening, under this sky.

From While We’ve Still Got Feet. © Copper Canyon Press. Used with permission.

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What if you slept... by Samuel Taylor Coleridge What if you slept And what if In your sleep You dreamed And what if In your dream You went to heaven And there plucked a strange and beautiful flower And what if When you awoke You had that flower in your hand Ah, what then?

Public Domain

Postscript by Seamus Heaney And some time make the time to drive out west Into County Clare, along the Flaggy Shore, In September or October, when the wind And the light are working off each other So that the ocean on one side is wild With foam and glitter, and inland among stones The surface of a slate-grey lake is lit By the earthed lightning of a flock of swans, Their feathers roughed and ruffling, white on white, Their fully grown headstrong-looking heads Tucked or cresting or busy underwater. Useless to think you’ll park and capture it More thoroughly. You are neither here nor there, A hurry through which known and strange things pass As big soft buffetings come at the car sideways And catch the heart off guard and blow it open.

From The Spirit Level. © Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1996. Used with permission

Love (III) by George Herbert Love bade me welcome: yet my soul drew back, Guilty of dust and sin. But quick-eye’d Love, observing me grow slack From my first entrance in, Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning, If I lack’d any thing. A guest, I answer’d, worthy to be here: Love said, you shall be he. I the unkind, ungrateful? Ah my dear, I cannot look on thee. Love took my hand, and smiling did reply, Who made the eyes but I?

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Truth Lord, but I have marr’d them: let my shame Go where it doth deserve. And know you not, says Love, who bore the blame? My dear, then I will serve. You must sit down, says Love, and taste my meat: So I did sit and eat.

Public Domain

God’s Grandeur by Gerard Manly Hopkins The world is charged with the grandeur of God. It will flame out, like shining from shook foil; It gathers to a greatness, like the ooze of oil Crushed. Why do men then now not reck his rod? Generations have trod, have trod, have trod; And all is seared with trade; bleared, smeared with toil; And wears man’s smudge and shares man’s smell: the soil Is bare now, nor can foot feel, being shod. And, for all this, nature is never spent; There lives the dearest freshness deep down things; And though the last lights off the black West went Oh, morning, at the brown brink eastward, springs-- Because the Holy Ghost over the bent World broods with warm breast and with ah! bright wings.

Public Domain

Annunciation by Marie Howe Even if I don’t see it again—nor ever feel it I know it is—and that if once it hailed me it ever does— And so it is myself I want to turn in that direction not as towards a place, but it was a tilting within myself, as one turns a mirror to flash the light to where it isn’t—I was blinded like that—and swam in what shone at me only able to endure it by being no one and so specifically myself I thought I’d die from being loved like that. From The Kingdom of Ordinary Time by Marie Howe. W.W. Norton & Company ©2008. Used by permission.

The Snow Storm by Marie Howe I walked down towards the river, and the deer had left tracks deep as half my arm, that ended in a perfect hoof and the shump shump sound my boots made walking made the silence loud.

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And when I turned back towards the great house I walked beside the deer tracks again. And when I came near the feeder: little tracks of the birds on the surface of the snow I’d broken through. Put your finger here, and see my hands, then bring your hand and put it in my side. I put my hand down into the deer track and touched the bottom of an invisible hoof. Then my finger in the little mark of the jay.

Once or Twice or Three Times, I Saw Something by Marie Howe Once or twice or three times, I saw something rise from the dust in the yard, like the soul of the dust, or from the field, the soul-body of the field—rise and hover like a veil in the sun billowing—as if I could see the wind itself. I thought I did it—squinting—but I didn’t. As if the edges of things blurred—so what was in bled out, breathed up and mingled: bush and cow and dust and well: breathed a field I walked through waist high, as through high grass or water, my fingers swirling, through it—or it through me. I saw it. It was thing and spirit both: the real world: evident, invisible. From The Kingdom of Ordinary Time. W.W. Norton & Company ©2008. Used by permission.

You Think This Happened Only Once and Long Ago by Marie Howe You think this happened only once and long ago? Think of a summer night and someone Walking across the water, maybe someone you loved in a boat, rowing. And you could hear the oars dripping in the water, from half a lake away, and they were far and close at once. You didn’t need to touch them or call to them or talk about it later. —the sky? It was what you breathed. The lake? sky that fell as rain. I have been like you filled with worry, worry—then relief. You know the wind is sky moving. It happens all the time.

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You are sitting in a wagon by Kabir

You are sitting in a wagon being drawn by a horse whose reins you hold.

There are two inside of you who can steer.

Though most never hand the reins to Me so they go from place to place the best they can, though rarely happy.

And rarely does their whole body laugh feeling God’s poke in the ribs.

If you feel tired, dear, my shoulder is soft, I’d be glad to steer a while.

Public domain

Let Evening Come by Jane Kenyon Let the light of late afternoon shine through chinks in the barn, moving up the bales as the sun moves down. Let the cricket take up chafing as a woman takes up her needles and her yarn. Let evening come. Let dew collect on the hoe abandoned in long grass. Let the stars appear and the moon disclose her silver horn. Let the fox go back to its sandy den. Let the wind die down. Let the shed go black inside. Let evening come. To the bottle in the ditch, to the scoop in the oats, to air in the lung let evening come. Let it come, as it will, and don’t be afraid. God does not leave us comfortless, so let evening come. From Otherwise: New & Selected Poems. Saint Paul: Graywolf Press, 1996

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The Trees by Philip Larkin The trees are coming into leaf Like something almost being said; The recent buds relax and spread, Their greenness is a kind of grief. Is it that they are born again And we grow old? No, they die too, Their yearly trick of looking new Is written down in rings of grain. Yet still the unresting castles thresh In fullgrown thickness every May. Last year is dead, they seem to say, Begin afresh, afresh, afresh. From High Windows by Philip Larkin ©2007 Faber & Faber. Used by permission.

Canticle of the Similes by Annie Lighthart The kingdom of heaven is within you like a ship in a bottle, like a chick in an egg, like the oak in the acorn or the heart within your heart, like the scene in a book that is a scene in a book the author writes as you read it, both of you rapt, both suddenly aware of love running through like the ocean in the bottle, like the sleeping current in the acorn and eggshell, like the heart within your heart that is the sunny child of that realm, the one who unlatches the door and stands looking out, the one who hums a little-known barely-heard hymn that nonetheless rains down like a great storm, that gentles like a hand.

The Second Music by Annie Lighthart Now I understand that there are two melodies playing, one below the other, one easier to hear, the other lower, steady, perhaps more faithful for being less heard yet always present. When all other things seem lively and real, this one fades. Yet the notes of it touch as gently as fingertips, as the sound of the names laid over each child at birth. I want to stay in that music without striving or cover. If the truth of our lives is what it is playing, the telling is so soft that this mortal time, this irrevocable change, becomes beautiful. I stop and stop again to hear the second music.

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Kindness by Naomi Shihab Nye Before you know what kindness really is you must lose things, feel the future dissolve in a moment like salt in a weakened broth. What you held in your hand, what you counted and carefully saved, all this must go so you know how desolate the landscape can be between the regions of kindness. How you ride and ride thinking the bus will never stop, the passengers eating maize and chicken will stare out the window forever. Before you learn the tender gravity of kindness, you must travel where the Indian in a white poncho lies dead by the side of the road. You must see how this could be you, how he too was someone who journeyed through the night with plans and the simple breath that kept him alive. Before you know kindness as the deepest thing inside, you must know sorrow as the other deepest thing. You must wake up with sorrow. You must speak to it till your voice catches the thread of all sorrows and you see the size of the cloth. Then it is only kindness that makes sense anymore, only kindness that ties your shoes and sends you out into the day to mail letters and purchase bread, only kindness that raises its head from the crowd of the world to say it is I you have been looking for, and then goes with you every where like a shadow or a friend.

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The Beautiful Not Yet by Carrie Newcomer Spring is coming. The world trembles Soon, And vibrates But not yet. With muddy possibility. After the snow, In a world of doing and things to be done, Before the buds, What a wonder to walk Before the blooms, In the almost and near, Here in the beautiful not yet. © 2016 Available Light Publishing. Used with permission.

West Wind II by Mary Oliver You are young. So you know everything. You leap into the boat and begin rowing. But listen to me. Without fanfare, without embarrassment, without any doubt, I talk directly to your soul. Listen to me. Lift the oars from the water, let your arms rest, and your heart, and heart’s little intelligence, and listen to me. There is life without love. It is not worth a bent penny, or a scuffed shoe. It is not worth the body of a dead dog nine days unburied. When you hear, a mile away and still out of sight, the churn of the water as it begins to swirl and roil, fretting around the sharp rocks – when you hear that unmistakable pounding – when you feel the mist on your mouth and sense ahead the embattlement, the long falls plunging and steaming – then row, row for your life toward it. From West Wind: Poems and Prose Poems. New York: Mariner Books © 1997. Used with permission.

The Poet Thinks about the Donkey by Mary Oliver On the outskirts of Jerusalem the donkey waited. Not especially brave, or filled with understanding, he stood and waited. How horses, turned out into the meadow, leap with delight! How doves, released from their cages, clatter away, splashed with sunlight. But the donkey, tied to a tree as usual, waited. Then he let himself be led away. Then he let the stranger mount. Never had he seen such crowds. And I wonder if he at all imagined what was to happen. Still, he was what he had always been: small, dark, obedient.

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I hope, finally, he felt brave. I hope, finally he loved the man who rode so lightly upon him . As he lifted one dusty hoof and stepped, as he had to, forward.

Praying, by Mary Oliver It doesn’t have to be a few words together and don’t try the blue iris, it could be to make them elaborate, this isn’t weeds in a vacant lot, or a few a contest but the doorway small stones; just into thanks, and a silence in which pay attention, then patch another voice may speak. From Thirst. Boston; Beacon Press © 2006. Used with permission.

Starlings in Winter by Mary Oliver dipping and rising; they float like one stippled star that opens, becomes for a moment fragmented, then closes again; and you watch and you try but you simply can’t imagine how they do it with no articulated instruction, no pause, only the silent confirmation that they are this notable thing, this wheel of many parts, that can rise and spin over and over again, full of gorgeous life. Ah, world, what lessons you prepare for us, even in the leafless winter, even in the ashy city. I am thinking now of grief, and of getting past it; I feel my boots trying to leave the ground, I feel my heart pumping hard, I want to think again of dangerous and noble things. I want to be light and frolicsome. I want to be improbable beautiful and afraid of nothing, as though I had wings. From Owls and Other Fantasies: Poems and Essays. © Beacon Press, 2003. Used with permission.

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Summer Day by Mary Oliver Who made the world? Who made the swan, and the black bear? Who made the grasshopper? This grasshopper, I mean- the one who has flung herself out of the grass, the one who is eating sugar out of my hand, who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down- who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes. Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face. Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away. I don’t know exactly what a prayer is. I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass, how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields, which is what I have been doing all day. Tell me, what else should I have done? Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon? Tell me, what is it you plan to do with your one wild and precious life?

Wild Geese by Mary Oliver You do not have to be good. You do not have to walk on your knees for a hundred miles through the desert, repenting. You only have to let the soft animal of your body love what it loves. Tell me about despair, yours, and I will tell you mine. Meanwhile the world goes on. Meanwhile the sun and the clear pebbles of the rain are moving across the landscapes, over the prairies and the deep trees, the mountains and the rivers. Meanwhile the wild geese, high in the clean blue air, are heading home again. Whoever you are, no matter how lonely, the world offers itself to your imagination, calls to you like the wild geese, harsh and exciting – over and over announcing your place in the family of things. From Owls and Other Fantasies: Poems and Essays. Boston: Beacon Press © 2003. Used with permission.

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Thirst by Mary Oliver Another morning and I wake with thirst for the goodness I do not have. I walk out to the pond and all the way God has given us such beautiful lessons. Oh Lord, I was never a quick scholar but sulked and hunched over my books past the hour and the bell; grant me, in your mercy, a little more time. Love for the earth and love for you are having such a long conversation in my heart. Who knows what will finally happen or where I will be sent, yet already I have given a great many things away, expecting to be told to pack nothing, except the prayers which, with this thirst, I am slowly learning.

The Journey by Mary Oliver One day you finally knew what you had to do, and began, though the voices around you kept shouting their bad advice— though the whole house began to tremble and you felt the old tug at your ankles. “Mend my life!” each voice cried. But you didn’t stop. You knew what you had to do, though the wind pried with its stiff fingers at the very foundations, though their melancholy was terrible. It was already late enough, and a wild night, and the road full of fallen branches and stones. But little by little, as you left their voices behind, the stars began to burn through the sheets of clouds, and there was a new voice which you slowly recognized as your own, that kept you company as you strode deeper and deeper into the world, determined to do the only thing you could do— determined to save the only life you could save.

From Dreamwork © Atlantic Monthly Press, 1986.

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Not Forgotten by Sheila Packa I learned to ride the two wheel bicycle with my father. He oiled the chain clothes-pinned playing cards to the spokes, put on the basket to carry my lunch. By his side, I learned balance and took on speed centered behind the wide handlebars, my hands on the white grips my feet pedaling. One moment he was holding me up and the next moment although I didn’t know it he had let go. When I wobbled, suddenly afraid, he yelled keep going— keep going! Beneath the trees in the driveway the distance increasing between us I eventually rode until he was out of sight. I counted on him.

That he could hold me was a given that he could release me was a gift.

Piano by Patrick Phillips Touched by your goodness, I am like that grand piano we found one night on Willoughby that someone had smashed and somehow heaved through an open window. And you might think by this I mean I’m broken or abandoned, or unloved. Truth is, I don’t know exactly what I am, any more than the wreckage in the alley knows it’s a piano, filling with trash and yellow leaves. Maybe I’m all that’s left of what I was. But touching me, I know, you are the good breeze blowing across its rusted strings. What would you call that feeling when the wood, even with its cracked harp, starts to sing? From Boy. © The University of Georgia Press, 2008.

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The Guest House by Jellaludin Rum, This being human is a guest house. Every morning a new arrival. A joy, a depression, a meanness, some momentary awareness comes as an unexpected visitor. Welcome and entertain them all! Even if they are a crowd of sorrows, who violently sweep your house empty of its furniture, still, treat each guest honorably. He may be clearing you out for some new delight. The dark thought, the shame, the malice. meet them at the door laughing and invite them in. Be grateful for whatever comes. because each has been sent as a guide from beyond. Translation by Coleman Barks

The Easter Challenge by Joyce Rupp Every year it happens: Every year we hear the stories: earth shakes her sleepy head, empty tomb, surprised grievers, still a bit wintered and dull, runners with news and revelation, and feels new life stirring. unexpected encounters, Every year cocoons give up their conversations on the road, treasures, tales of nets filling with fish, fresh shoots push through brown and breakfast on a seashore. leaves, And every year seemingly dead branches shine with the dull and dead in us green, meets our Easter challenge: and singing birds find their way to be open to the unexpected, home. to believe beyond our security, to welcome God in every form, and trust in our own greening.

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In the Library by Charles Simie There’s a book called “A Dictionary of Angels.” No one has opened it in fifty years, I know, because when I did, The covers creaked, the pages Crumbled. There I discovered

The angels were once as plentiful As species of flies. The sky at dusk Used to be thick with them. You had to wave both arms Just to keep them away.

Now the sun is shining Through the tall windows. The library is a quiet place. Angels and gods huddled In dark unopened books. The great secret lies On some shelf Miss Jones Passes every day on her rounds.

She’s very tall, so she keeps Her head tipped as if listening. The books are whispering. I hear nothing, but she does.

Advent Dawn by Thomas R. Smith Seven-thirty. Driving northwest out of town, the snowscape dusky, sky tinted smoky peach. In the rear view mirror, a bright orange glow suffuses the stubbly treeline. Suddenly a column of brightness shoots from the horizon, a pillar of fire! One eye on the road, I watch behind me the head of a golden child begin to push up between the black knees of the hills. Two weeks out from Solstice, the sun so near winter it seems to rise in the south. A fiery angel stands over his cradle of branches. And what strange travelers come to honor him? And what gift will I bring to him this day?

From The Glory. © Red Dragonfly Press, 2015. Used with permission

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My Name by Mark Strand Once when the lawn was a golden green and the marbled moonlit trees rose like fresh memorials in the scented air, and the whole countryside pulsed with the chirr and murmur of insects, I lay in the grass, feeling the great distances open above me, and wondered what I would become and where I would find myself, and though I barely existed, I felt for an instant that the vast star-clustered sky was mine, and I heard my name as if for the first time, heard it the way one hears the wind or the rain, but faint and far off as though it belonged not to me but to the silence from which it had come and to which it would go.

From Man and Camel. © Alfred A. Knopf, 2006. Used with permission.

The Moor by R.S. Thomas It was like a church to me, I entered it on soft foot, Breath held like a cap in the hand. It was quiet. What God was there made himself felt, Not listened to, in clean colors That brought a moistening of the eye, In movement of the wind over grass. There were no prayers said. But stillness Of the heart’s passion–that was praise Enough; and the mind’s cession Of its kingdom. I walked on, Simple and poor, while the air crumbled And broke on me generously as bread.

From For Lovers of God Everywhere: Poems of the Christian Mystics by Roger Housden. Carlsbad: Hay House, 2009.

The Bright Field by R. S. Thomas I have seen the sun break through to possess it. Life is not hurrying to illuminate a small field on to a receding future, nor hankering after for a while, and gone my way an imagined past. It is the turning and forgotten it. But that was the pearl aside like Moses to the miracle of great price, the one field that had of the lit bush, to a brightness treasure in it. I realize now that seemed as transitory as your youth that I must give all that I have once, but is the eternity that awaits you. From Collected Later Poems 1988-2000. Northumberland, UK: Bloodaxe Books, 2004.

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The Work of Christmas by Howard Thurman When the song of the angels is stilled, To heal the broken, When the star in the sky is gone, To feed the hungry, When the kings and princes are home, To release the prisoner, When the shepherds are back with their flock, To rebuild the nations, The work of Christmas begins: To bring peace among [sisters and] brothers, To find the lost, To make music in the heart. Howard Thurman: Essential Writings Selected, Orbis Books, 2006.

Love After Love by Derek Walcott The time will come when, with elation you will greet yourself arriving at your own door, in your own mirror and each will smile at the other’s welcome, and say, sit here. Eat. You will love again the stranger who was your self. Give wine. Give bread. Give back your heart to itself, to the stranger who has loved you all your life, whom you ignored for another, who knows you by heart. Take down the love letters from the bookshelf, the photographs, the desperate notes, peel your own image from the mirror. Sit. Feast on your life. From Collected Poems, 1948-1984, Farrar, Straus, and Giroux; New Edition (January 1, 1987)

Faith by David Whyte I want to write about faith, about the way the moon rises over cold snow, night after night, faithful even as it fades from fullness, slowly becoming that last curving and impossible sliver of light before the final darkness.

But I have no faith myself I refuse it even the smallest entry.

Let this then, my small poem, like a new moon, slender and barely open, be the first prayer that opens me to faith. From Where Many Rivers Meet © 1990 David Whyte. Used by permission of the author and Many Rivers Press

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Tilicho Lake by David Whyte In this high place it is as simple as this, leave everything you know behind. Step toward the cold surface, say the old prayer of rough love and open both arms. Those who come with empty hands will stare into the lake astonished, there, in the cold light reflecting pure snow the true shape of your own face.

It is a Beauteous Evening, Calm and Free by William Wordsworth It is a beauteous evening, calm and free, The holy time is quiet as a nun Breathless with adoration; the broad sun Is sinking down in its tranquility; The gentleness of heaven broods o’er the sea: Listen! the mighty Being is awake, And doth with his eternal motion make A sound like thunder—everlastingly. Dear Child! dear Girl! that walkest with me here, If thou appear untouched by solemn thought, Thy nature is not therefore less divine: Thou liest in Abraham’s bosom all the year, And worship’st at the Temple’s inner shrine, God being with thee when we know it not.

Public domain

The Place by Paul Zimmer Once in your life you pass As they unwrap in twilight. Through a place so pure This is where you will go It becomes tainted even At last when coldness comes.It is something By your regard, a space you realize Of trees and air where When you first see it, Dusk comes as perfect ripeness. But instantly forget. Here the only sounds are At the end of your life Sighs of rain and snow, You remember and dwell in Small rustlings of plants Its faultless light forever.

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Some Suggestions for Poems by Season (most can be used at any time)

Advent/Winter The Trees by Philip Larkin Wild Geese by Wendell Berry The Easter Challenge by Joyce Rupp by Wendell Berry The Peace of Wild Things Pentecost Winter: Tonight: Sunset by David Budbill God’s Grandeur by Gerald Manly Hopkins Annunciation by Marie Howe You Think This Happened Only Once and Long Ago by Praying by Mary Oliver Marie Howe West Wind II by Mary Oliver Canticle of the Similes by Annie Lighthart Advent Dawn by Thomas R. Smith It is a Beauteous Evening, Calm and Free by William by David Whyte Faith Wordsworth The Place by Paul Zimmer Trinity Sunday Christmas/Epiphany The Second Music by Annie Lighthart What if you slept… by Samuel Taylor Coleridge God’s Grandeur by Gerald Manly Hopkins Ordinary Time Starlings in Winter by Mary Oliver This Moment by Eavan Boland The Bright Field by R.S. Thomas You Think This Happened Only Once and Long Ago by The Work of Christmas by Howard Thurman Marie Howe Praying by Mary Oliver Lent/Forgiveness Summer Day by Mary Oliver Love (III) by George Herbert The Beautiful Not Yet by Carrie Newcomer Autumn/Transition Kindness by Naomi Shihab Nye Postscript by Seamus Heaney Piano by Patrick Phillips Palm Sunday The Poet Thinks about the Donkey by Mary Oliver Anytime The Thing Is by Ellen Bass Easter/Spring Kindness by Naomi Shihab Nye The Snow Storm by Marie Howe My Name by Mark Strand Once or Twice or Three Times, I Saw Something by The Moor by R.S. Thomas Marie Howe Love After Love by Derek Walcott Let Evening Come by Jane Kenyon Tilicho Lake by David Whyte

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OPENING PROSE

Celebrant Breath of God, Breath of Life, Breath of the Deepest Yearning, All Come Holy Spirit. Celebrant Comforter, Disturber, Interpreter, Enthuser All Come Holy Spirit. Celebrant Heavenly Friend, Lamplighter, Revealer of Truth, Midwife of Change, All Come Holy Spirit. Celebrant The Lord is here. All God’s Spirit is with us.

Thomas R. Kelly. from A Testament of Devotion Meister Eckhart wrote, “As thou art in church or cell, that same frame of mind carry out into the world, into its turmoil and its fitfulness.” Deep within us all there is an amazing inner sanctuary of the soul, a holy place, a Divine Center, a speaking Voice, to which we may continuously return. Eternity is at our hearts, pressing upon our time-torn lives, warming us with intimations of an astounding destiny, calling us home unto Itself. Yielding to these persuasions, gladly committing ourselves in body and soul, utterly and completely, to the Light Within, is the beginning of true life. It is a dynamic center, a creative Life that presses to birth within us. It is a Light Within which illumines the face of God and casts new shadows and new glories upon the face of men. It is a seed stirring to life if we do not choke it. It is the Shekinah of the soul, the Presence in the midst. Here is the Slumbering Christ, stirring to be awakened, to become the soul we clothe in earthly form and action. And He is within us all.

Thomas Merton, “Thoughts in Solitude” My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going. I do not see the road ahead of me. I cannot know for certain where it will end.

Nor do I really know myself, and the fact that I think that I am following your will does not mean that I am actually doing so. But I believe that the desire to please you does in fact please you.

And I hope I have that desire in all that I am doing. I hope that I will never do anything apart from that desire. And I know that if I do this you will lead me by the right road though I may know nothing about it.

Therefore will I trust you always though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death. I will not fear, for you are ever with me, and you will never leave me to face my perils alone.

Opening Sentences from the Iona community Leader Come, Lord Jesus, and be our guest. All Stay with us for day is ending. Leader With friend, with stranger, with young and with old, All Be among us tonight. Leader Come close to us that we may come close to you. All Forgive us that we may forgive one another. Leader Renew us All so that, where we have failed, we may begin again. Amen.

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Alfred Lord Tennyson, from In Memoriam

There lives more faith in honest doubt, Believe me, than in half the creeds.

Emily Bronte, from Last Lines

No coward soul is mine, No trembler in the world’s storm-troubled sphere: I see Heavens glories shine, And faith shines equal, arming me from fear.

John Greenleaf Whittier

Nothing before, nothing behind; The steps of faith Fall on the seeming void, And find the rock beneath. –

Parker Palmer, from A Hidden Wholeness Despite its toughness, the soul is also shy. Just like a wild animal, it seeks safety in the dense underbrush, especially when other people are around. If we want to see a wild animal, we know that the last thing we should do is go crashing through the woods yelling for it to come out. But if we will walk quietly into the woods, sit patiently at the base of a tree, breathe with the earth, and fade into our surroundings, the wild creature we seek might put in an appearance. We may see it only briefly and only out of the corner of an eye – but the sight is a gift we will always treasure as an end in itself. (pages 58-59)

The soul is like a wild animal. Like a wild animal, the soul is tough, resilient, resourceful, savvy, and self-sufficient: it knows how to live in hard places…. Yet, despite its toughness, the soul is also shy…. Unfortunately, community in our culture too often means a group of people who go crashing through the woods together, scaring the soul away. In spaces ranging from congregations to classrooms, we preach and teach, assert and argue, claim and proclaim, admonish and advise, and generally behave in ways that drive everything original and wild into hiding. Under these conditions, the intellect, emotions, will, and ego may emerge, but not the soul…. A circle of trust is a group of people who know how to sit quietly ‘in the woods’ with each other and wait for the shy soul to show up.” (pages 58-59)

Meister Eckhart What good is it to me if Mary gave birth to the Son of God hundreds of years ago, if I do not give birth to the Son of God in my time and my culture? We are all meant to be Mothers of God, for God is always needing to be born.

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OPENING CONFESSION & OTHER OPENINGS FOR LENT

Celebrant I confess to God, and in the presence of all God’s people, that I have sinned in thought, word, and deed, and I pray God to have mercy on me. People May God have mercy on you, pardon and deliver you from your sins, and give you time to amend your life. Celebrant Amen. People We confess to God, and in the presence of all God’s people, that we have sinned in thought, word, and deed, and we pray God to have mercy on us. Celebrant May God have mercy on you, pardon and deliver you from your sins, and give you time to amend your life. People Amen. Celebrant Turn again, O God, and give us life People That your people may rejoice in you. Celebrant Create in me a clean heart, O God, People And renew a right spirit within me. Celebrant Give us the joy of your saving help again, People And sustain us with your bountiful Spirit.

A few quotations that could be used in Lent, following the confession and absolution. My mercy is incomparably greater than all the sins you could commit.—God speaking to Catherine of Sienna

If we have not experienced ourselves as unconditional love, we have more work to do, because that is who we really are.—Thomas Keating, The Human Condition

Remember this, and you will never judge another; Judas was once an apostle, and the thief crucified at Christ’s side was once a murderer.—John Climacus c. 570-649

No harm comes from holding yourself to be less than someone else, even if it is not true; but much harm comes from holding yourself to be better than others, even if they are great sinners. –Thomas a Kempis

To allow oneself to be carried away by a multitude of conflicting concerns, to surrender to too many projects, to want to help everyone in everything is itself to succumb to the violence of our times. Frenzy destroys our inner capacity for peace. It … kills the root of inner wisdom which makes work fruitful.—Thomas Merton, Conjectures of a Guilty Bystander

What God says to you in Jesus is this: You are forgiven.—William Countryman, New Testament scholar and Episcopal priest

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Prayers for the Evening

O Christ of the least and the homeless, O Christ of the lost and the betrayed, Come close to us this night That we may come close to you. Amen.

Speak to us this night, O God Speak to us your truth. Dwell with us this night, O God Dwell with us in Love. Amen.

For the many gifts you have bestowed on us Each day and night, each sea and land Each weather fair, each calm, each wild Thanks be to you, O God. Amen.

O Christ, our love and encircler Each day and each night, Each light and each dark, Be near us, uphold us, Our treasure and our truth. Amen.

In the quiet of this place in the dark of the night we wait and watch. In the stillness of the soul and from its fathomless depths the senses of our hearts are awake to you. For fresh soundings of life for new showings of light we search in the silence of your Spirit, O God. Amen.

O God of peace, who has taught us that in returning and rest we shall be saved, in quietness and confidence shall be our strength; By the might of your Spirit lift us, we pray, to your presence, where we may be still and know that you are God; through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

Let us learn of you in the depths of our souls, O Christ, and journey through death to birth. Let us learn of you in our souls through this night and the journey of letting go. Amen.

O Lord, support us all the day long, until the shadows lengthen and the evening comes, and the busy world is hushed, the fever of life is over, and our work is done. Then, in your mercy, grant us a safe lodging, a holy rest, and peace at the last. Amen. In the darkness of the evening The eyes of our hearts are awake to you, O God. In the quiet of this night We long to hear again intimations of your love. Amen.

THE CELTIC SERVICE + St. Stephen’s Episcopal Church + Richmond, Virginia 36

Enduring presence, goal and guide, you go before and await our coming. Our thirst compels us beyond complaint to conversation, beyond rejection to relationship. Pour your love into our hearts that, refreshed and renewed, we may invite others to the living water given to us in Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

We seek the grace of healing, O God. At the heart of the brokenness around us and in the hidden depths of our own souls we seek your touch of healing, O God, for there you reside. In the hidden depths of life, O God, there you reside. Amen.

For the quietness that surrounds us and your promise of peace deep within us, for the stillness of sleep for our bodies and the hope of healing for our souls, thanks be to you, O God. Amen.

Gracious God, You have given us much today; Grant us also a thankful spirit. Into your hands we commend ourselves And those we love. Be with us still, and when we take our rest Renew us for the service of your Son Jesus Christ. Amen.

Lord, amid the noise and stress of daily life, help us to preserve a silence within. In moments of crisis may we turn to you, the center of our being, to find you awaiting us. Bless us with the vision of your changelessness and grant us peace. Amen.

Eternal God, shed your light on us who watch for you, that our lips may praise you, our hearts bless you, and our lives glorify you, through Jesus Christ our Savior. Amen.

Teach us, Loving God, not to hold on to life too tightly. Teach us to hold it lightly, not carelessly, but lightly, easily. Teach us to take it as a gift, to enjoy and cherish while we have it, and to let it go gracefully and thankfully when the time comes. The gift is great, but the Giver is greater still. You, O God, are the Giver, and in You is the life that never dies. Amen.

Holy God, in you there is no darkness; shed upon us through this night the light of your forgiveness, your healing and your peace, that when we wake from sleep we may know once more the brightness of your presence; through our Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.

Jesus our inspiration, you come in the evening as our doors are shut, and bring peace. Grant us sleep tonight, and courage tomorrow to go wherever you lead. Amen.

THE CELTIC SERVICE + St. Stephen’s Episcopal Church + Richmond, Virginia 37

Lord, it is night. The night is for stillness. Let us be still in the presence of God. It is night after a long day. What has been done has been done; what has not been done has not been done; let it be. The night is dark. Let our fears of the darkness of the world and of our own lives rest in you. The night is quiet. Let the quietness of your peace enfold us, all who are dear to us, and all who have no peace. The night heralds the dawn. Let us look expectantly to a new day, new joys, new possibilities. In your name we pray. Amen.

Grant, O Lord, that in all the joy of life, I may never forget to be kind. Help us to be unselfish in friendship, thoughtful of those less fortunate than we are, and eager to share the burdens of others. Amen.

Christmas Eve Son of Mary, Son of God, may we for whom the heavens have opened never lose that heavenly vision. May we, who like the shepherds, have seen in your birth a new kind of love, witness to that love in our lives. Amen. From A New Zealand Prayer Book: He Karakia Mininare o Aotearoa. San Francisco: Harper, 1997, page 527.

Christmas Season Son of God, light that shines in the dark, child of joy and peace, help us to come to you and be born anew this holy night. Amen. From A New Zealand Prayer Book: He Karakia Mininare o Aotearoa. San Francisco: Harper, 1997, page 555.

Come, Lord Jesus, and be our guest. Stay with us for day is ending. With friend, with stranger, with young and with old, Be among us tonight. Come close to us that we may come close to you. Forgive us that we may forgive one another. Renew us so that, where we have failed, we may begin again. Amen.

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THE CELTIC SERVICE + St. Stephen’s Episcopal Church + Richmond, Virginia 38

Prayers of the People Prayers for Ourselves and Others Please stand. Celebrant Almighty God, you have promised to hear when we pray in the name of your Son. Therefore in confidence and trust we pray for the Church and for all who serve you in it.

Leader Loving God, enliven the Church for its mission People That we may be salt of the earth and light to the world.

Leader Breathe fresh life into your people. People Give us power to reveal Christ in word and action.

Leader Creator of all, lead us and every people into the ways of justice and peace. People That we may respect one another in freedom and truth.

Leader Awaken in us a sense of wonder for the earth and all that is in it. People Teach us to care creatively for its resources.

Leader God of truth, inspire with your wisdom those whose decisions affect the lives of others. People That all may act with integrity and courage.

Leader Give grace to all those whose lives are linked with ours. People May we serve Christ in one another, and love as he loves us.

Leader Let us now name before God those for whom we offer our personal prayers, either silently or aloud.

The People may add their intercessions either silently or aloud.

Celebrant Lord, you have called us to serve you. People Grant that we may walk in your presence: your love in our hearts, your truth in our minds, your strength in our wills, until, at the end of our journey, we know the joy of our homecoming and the welcome of your embrace, through Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.

THE CELTIC SERVICE + St. Stephen’s Episcopal Church + Richmond, Virginia 39

Prayers for Ourselves and Others Celebrant Let us keep silence before God, and through our minds and imaginations offer prayers which words might not contain. Let us pray. Silence Leader There is a time for every purpose under heaven. Silence Leader A time for gratitude… Silence Leader A time for what we have to lay down… Silence Leader A time for what we have to pick up… Silence Leader A time for confronting what we are avoiding… Silence Leader A time for recognizing what we hope for… Silence Celebrant In our time and in your time, God fulfill our prayers and let your kingdom come. Amen.

Prayers for Ourselves and Others Please stand. Celebrant Let us pray for the church and the world.

In the silence following each petition, please offer your own prayers, silently or aloud.

Leader Let us first of all pray for those who have no one to pray for them. Leader Let us pray for the concerns of our community, our families and friends, and all who have requested our prayers. Leader Let us pray for the Christian Church and for all people of faith. Leader Let us pray for our nation and for leaders around the world. Leader Let us pray for those who have died and for all who grieve. Leader Finally, let us give thanks for all that is lovely, true, and gracious in our world and in our lives. Celebrant May God still our minds, calm our hearts, breathe fresh life into us, and make us instruments of peace. Amen.

THE CELTIC SERVICE + St. Stephen’s Episcopal Church + Richmond, Virginia 40

Prayers for Ourselves and Others Please stand. Celebrant Let us pray for the church and the world saying, “Lord in your mercy, hear our prayer.”

Please kneel and pray responsively

Leader Loving God, we give thanks for the deep and lasting peace you give us. Open us that we may accept it and share it with others. The People may add their own prayers either silently or aloud. Celebrant Lord in your mercy, People Hear our prayer.

Leader Holy Lord, we pray for our clergy and lay leaders and all who build up the body of Christ in this place. We give thanks for all who use their various talents, to increase your Kingdom.