May you live in interesting times. So says the Chinese curse.
As this book was being written, the Coronavirus pandemic struck the world with the ferocity of a tsunami. Apart from the global trail of illness, economic devastation and death, it sparked a tidal wave of fear. It struck at something deep inside us and shattered many of our cherished certainties. We thought we were in control, but nature reminded us of our fragility, vulnerability and mortality not with a gentle whisper but with a primeval scream. The experience had echoes of a medieval plague, but our twenty-first century world struggled to find an adequate response to it. So where can we find a pathway through this existential crisis?
As someone who lectures in theology, one resource I find helpful in troubled times is to turn to my Celtic heritage. It offers shafts of light into the darkness that so many people grapple with on a daily basis and provides prisms of hope into the despair I regularly feel while watching the news.
As our lives under the shadow of COVID-19 illustrated so vividly, the world today can be both disconcerting and disconnecting. However, the Celtic tradition offers connections, community and common sense. It presents itself as a rich vein to be mined of insight, imagination and inspiration. When we have an aching heart, Celtic wisdom can be a sanctuary of rest, renewal and reassurance. Long before the terms ‘mindfulness’ and ‘well-being’ were coined, the Celtic tradition offered pathways to peace of mind and serenity.
The Write Stuff
I once visited the monastery of Saint-Gaul in Switzerland, which had a great medieval school. One of its most famous teachers was Iso. While his mother was pregnant with him, she had a disturbing dream of a hedgehog being stripped of its quills by a bunch of young boys who then went to write on the walls with these quills. Her husband went to the local hermit, an Irishman called Eusebius, who shared her anxieties about the dream. Eusebius calmed her down by explaining that the dream did not imply a threat, but the very opposite. Her boy would grow up to be a teacher and devote his life and career to educating generations of children with writing quills. It was ultimately an affirmation of the power of wisdom. In the Celtic tradition wisdom was valued above all else. This book mines some of that rich tradition.
The Celts had a distinctive sensibility. To take a small example. Every year, thousands of people visit the beautiful Glenveagh National Park in Donegal. The name Glenveagh comes from the Gaelic Gleann Bheatha which means ‘glen of the birches’. In the Celtic tradition, birches have special powers. If a child had a cradle made of birch they had the protection of the gods.
Caoimhe was the name of the Queen of Ulster in days gone by. Caoimhe had the ears of the horse, a feature which made her feel angry and ashamed. Since she was not prepared to be laughed at by allowing her ears to be seen, she wore her hair very long, and the hairdresser visited the palace only once a year at festival time. It was a different hairdresser every year, because the poor hairdresser was put into prison forever so that she could never tell anyone about the queen’s big ears.
One day the queen, who had a good heart, decided to let the hairdresser go free as long as she promised never to tell anyone her secret. The poor hairdresser, Mairead, was so afraid of telling anyone Caoimhe’s secret that she went and asked her grandmother, who was famous far and wide for her wisdom, how she would keep her secret. So her grandmother advised Mairead to go to a forest and tell a tree her secret. Mairead did as she was told and immediately she felt better.
The tree was a willow tree and a few weeks later it was cut down to make a new harp for the queen’s orchestra. On the big feast day, the whole kingdom of Ulster gathered for the annual concert, but when the music started the audience heard the sounds coming from the new harp saying: ‘The Queen has horse’s ears.’
There was stunned silence.
Then the harp started to play again and this time the words that came from it were:
‘But do not mind her ears
Because she has a good heart
And that is all that matters.’
And everyone got to their feet and clapped and cheered for the queen’s good heart. From that day on, the queen never worried about her ears again and all her hairdressers were released from prison. Soon Ulster became known as the kingdom of kindness. Such an idea paved the way for the later Celtic idea of Cinéaltas Chríost, the kindliness of Christ.
Into the Mystic
However, just as the Celts were happy to borrow wisdom from everywhere, this volume is happy to do the same. I have sought out stories, wisdom, poetry and prayers which resonate with the Celtic sensibility. One of Ireland’s greatest singers is Van Morrison. He is a Celtic mystic for our times. One of his more recent songs is called ‘Dark Night of the Soul’. He borrows this title from St John of the Cross. Like a Celtic magpie, I borrow wisdom shamelessly from other traditions. My hope is that, in the words of Alice Taylor, when the world is too much with us and our way forward is obscured by confusion these inspirational thoughts ‘will be a ray of light to beam peace into stressful lives and focus us forward with renewed hope and serenity in our hearts’.
This collection is full of simple thoughts, but I hope with a depth of meaning. It offers a series of short reflections, which take only a few minutes to read but a lifetime to assimilate. Long before the phrase was coined, the Celts knew intuitively that laughter is the best medicine. So I hope the collection will bring a few smiles as well as lifting the spirits.
The Celtic year was based around the seasons and I have structured this book around the seasons to reflect that. As wisdom, stories, poetry, prayers, humour and letters are at the heart of the Celtic tradition I have broken the central sections of the book into subsections to reflect these threads in the Celtic tapestry. Much of my appreciation of the Celtic tradition was formed by my friendship with the late great, John O’Donohue. I conclude the book with a small tribute to a giant of Irish intellectual and spiritual life and I dedicate this volume to John’s memory.
This book is not a nostalgic portal to what I imagine was a golden age of traditional Irish lyricism with mighty mists lolling lazily about the Celtic landscape, but a search for wisdom that will resound with the sort of truthfulness that will steer deep recognitions in the reader.
As this is a book of shared blessings I am donating all royalties to the Peter McVerry Trust who help those who need not a handout but a hand up.