Patrick the self-isolater (and Lent #3)

 Happy St Patrick's Day! He didn't get any mad parades and green Guinness either. And no, he didn't have a government telling him to stay in for a few months, but he did have Irish slave traders who grabbed him and sold him to Miliucc who condemned him to six long, cold, lonely years on a very rocky and uncomfortable bump of a hill not too far from here.

It's interesting to us in these days especially, I think, to imagine how Patrick chose to spend his time. He would have been entirely dependant on God and presumably others to feed him. He would have been devoid of all stimulation and entertainment. He records later that what he did was pray, all day and all night. One hundred times in daytime. One hundred times at night. We worked this out at our little Scripture Union in school last week: that's one pray every seven minutes.

Prayer is definitely becoming my theme for Lent. And Lent seems to be becoming C-time for us all. I often complain to myself, make excuses to myself, that I haven't time to read my Bible, or sit for a decent time meditating on that reading, listening to the God who loves me extravagantly. Well, aren't we getting more time than we've ever had? I sincerely hope that we won't have six years to combat loneliness and deprivation, but I do also sincerely pray that we'll look back on these weeks of self-isolation with recognition of how they brought us closer to God.

I even think that these weeks will bring us closer to others as well. We can, as so many are saying now, use our multitudinous communication technologies to communicate with each other. So, a very happy St Patrick's day to you all. I wish you lots of prayer time! We'll be reading this book, and praying these words of Patrick's too,

I bind unto myself today

The power of God to hold and lead,

His eye to watch, his might to stay,

His ear to hearken to my need.

The wisdom of my God to teach,

His hand to guide, His shield to ward,

The word of God to give me speech,

His heavenly host to be my guard.

Celtic Advent (started two weekends ago!)



I travelled to Glasgow on the first night

Of Celtic Advent:

Forty days and forty nights like Lent.

A Lenten fast in winter.

I journeyed beside three sad men.

A nephew had died, and they were pilgrims

To pay tribute,

Laden with grief, bearing friendship.

I too journeyed with gifts,

But of wine, chocolate and curtains to be made.

There was indeed a star,

Shining warmly,

Over the table of hospitality

Where my journey ended.

And lo! Glad tidings

Of many things were shared.

And as the three sad men

Travelled home unseen next day,

I was pondering all these things

In my heart.

 

The Last Book of the Year

 I was determined to get to twenty-four books by the end of this month- surely it is possible, even in this uncomfortably hot sandwich time of life, to read two books a month?! So, in the interests of both speed and relevance, I reached a few nights ago for this Platonic ideal of a Christmas book.


We are having a wonderful Christmas break, with just the right balance between exciting things and time quiet at home, or indeed long mornings in bed! We have been up a misty, snowy mountain, into town with sales shoppers, to the cinema to see Voldemort and Professor Snape try their hand at the Star Wars genre for a little change, and have cooked and cooked and fed and fed.


Already feeling alarmed that this time, even this time, will pass, I dearly want to hold on to Scrooge's resolution (in the absence of any others) that, "I will honour Christmas in my heart, and try to keep it all the year."

We had a wonderful sermon this morning, from three passages at the start of Luke- passages where different characters from the Nativity narrative are told not to be afraid. If I had two resolutions for whatever shall unfold next year, this would be the second!

Apparently, as farcebook said last week so it must be true, an old Irish tradition is to light a candle in the window on Christmas Eve to promise hospitality to the traveller. Always late, I'm lighting my unlit Advent candles tonight. They are a pale imitation of that bright moon shining beyond the pane, but they reflect our desire to shine what light we can here where we are. You are always welcome! May you know God's blessing and light in your heart, and all the year, with much love from the Meadowplace,

Mags and men x 

Irish Views

 Here we are back in the North for the new school term. Dusk in April in East Entrim. This garden (inherited from the green-fingered couple who sold the Meadowplace to us) is most assuredly a Spring garden. From now on swathes of colour will roll across the beds.

 The magnolia is in full flower, and even my timid potted camellia is gaining courage. But last week we were down in Wicklow and Wexford for a few days. We stopped at Newgrange on the way..

Laid by Neolithic masterminds the overlapping stones of the roof have kept out rain for five thousand years. In Ireland by Frank Delaney the Storyteller has the most fabulous account of its construction. Maybe it'll be third time lucky when next I go and I'll actually manage to be there at the right time to visit the cairn and tomb themselves.

 Prince Charming on Brittas Beach.

 Strawberries at Glendalough for their first visit to Kevin's community. They bounded round the Lower Lough, and may have noticed some impressive sights along the way.

 Surely they noticed the Round Tower?

 We climbed the little hill to what is marked as the site of St Kevin's Cell. I think we were disappointed that there wasn't an actual cave. Though they do have a beautiful sculpture of the bird laying an egg on his palm. Much discussion as to whether you really could let the egg stay there until it hatched. Would the bird need to be hatching it all that time?

The Monastic City. It's as if you could catch a glimpse of someone hurrying to prayer, or carrying a basket of potatoes in from the vegetable garden. Glendalough survived numerous Viking raids, and was ultimately ended by Henry VIII's dissolution of the monasteries. I don't think you can come away without humming this...