Road Rising, Wind at Back, Hollow of God’s Hand

St. Patrick’s Day seems the perfect excuse to pause the Lenten reflections and praise Celtic spirituality. I’ve already explained my attraction to it in A Generous Lap: A Spirituality of Grandparenting. This orthodox stream of Christianity developed parallel to the Roman, more attuned to preserving imperial might and power. Easy to see the appeal of an approach that is more poetic than doctrinal.

Its emphasis on God shining through creation seems well suited to children, who have finely attuned sensual antennas to the world they are discovering. It’s not unusual to see them scooping up an intriguing bug or worm for closer inspection, sinking their faces deep into a fragrant flower. When they hear music, they dance without inhibition, their bodies instinctively responding fully, while adults might primly tolerate a slight toe tapping.

John Philip Newell is an expert on Celtic spirituality, and it was a privilege to make two weekend retreats with him. I still remember my delight-in-discovery, and how it spilled into subsequent weeks after I’d been more attuned to God’s footprints and fingerprints in the natural world.

In his book Listening for the Heartbeat of God, Newell differentiates with two apostles’ names two ways of thinking which are complementary: John’s discovers God in all creation, light wherever it is to be found. Peter’s enshrines the light in the Church: the rock of shelter in tradition and sacraments. For the former, all creation is God’s temple: “For a true contemplative, a green tree works just as well as a golden tabernacle.” (p. 171) For the latter, God stands in relation to a particular people, within four walls. The two come together: “Being part of the song of creation and, as members of the Church, of the living communion of saints, are two aspects of the one mystery.” (p. 98)

A healthy spirituality needs both emphases, but at different times in our lives, we might favor one perspective over the other. Once, I would’ve been uplifted by good liturgy with rousing music and a fine homily. Now, I find that spark of joy in the veil of clouds parting to reveal a glistening mountain range, or the play of light on water. “Our religious sanctuaries are at best side chapels onto the great cathedral of creation.”

In Newell’s book Christ of the Celts, I found an essential difference with the doctrine many of us learned early: first and deepest, we are of God, not opposed to God. Grace is given not to make us something other than ourselves, but to make us radically ourselves. (p. 10) His description of his grandmother hit home: she knew he was mischievous, but looked deeper. “I knew that to her I was precious and would always be precious… my epiphany moment came when I realized that Granny was more loving than the God of my religious tradition.” (p.88)

I can no longer define myself, my children, grandchildren or any human by the “blight” of evil, “instead of seeing what is deeper still, the beauty of the image of God at the core of our being.” (p. 12) Any religious service which focuses on sin fails to nurture, and indeed, contradicts our oneness with God, our primary identity as beloved children.

So cheers to the lyric joy of Celtic spirituality, and the long, lovely tradition of St. Brigid and St. Pat!