A Life of Prayer

Celtic Christians, like the Celtic pagans before them, prayed continually. From the moment of waking in the morning until they fell asleep at night, their life was surrounded by prayer. Their faith was more passed on to each generation than discussed. Their prayers were about whatever they were doing. Stirring up the peat from last night’s fire, they would pray that the Lord of fire on the earth and in the heart would stir up a fire in them. As they baked bread, they would pray that the food would nourish them and that the world would be nourished. Working the farm, weaving the cloth, washing the clothes, or the body was all part of their prayer. Walking the paths, they would pray for guidance and give thanks for the earth beneath their feet.

This is not to romanticize those days. I would not want to give up all the advantages of modern life. Life was hard then, especially compared to now. But they did not know it was hard. It was just life. In a couple of hundred years, people may say the same thing about the way we live now.

But I do long for something of that life of prayer. To be connected through my spirit to what I do every day, to the people I see, to the earth around, underneath, and above me.

So while I do not have to stir the coals to warm the house, I can utter a prayer to God who has given me a warm place to stay, to Christ who cares for those who do not have the same, and to the Spirit that guides me in sharing warmth with others. While I do not pray to the Creator of all things to bless my fields, I can ask that my time at the computer be helpful, uplifting, and honoring of all who are creators.

I have a collection of Celtic prayers, Carmina Gadelica, that were gathered from the people in Ireland, Scotland, and Wales in the nineteenth century. These prayers have their roots in the ancient prayers of their people. Many of them speak to me, and I use them to say my heart. Here’s one for starting the day.

Bless to me, O God,
   Each thing mine eye sees;
Bless to me, O God,
   Each sound mine ear hears;
Bless to me, O God,
   Each odour that goes to my nostrils
Bless to me, O God,
   Each taste that goes to my lips;
   Each note that goes to my song,
   Each ray that guides my way,
   Each thing that I pursue.
   Each lure that tempts my will,
The zeal that seeks my living soul.
The Three that seek my heart,
The zeal that seeks my living soul,
The Three that seek my heart.

(From Catherine Maclean, crofter, Naast, Gairloch)

Alison Krauss and Union Station recorded a song, A Living Prayer. It speaks to me, too.

I long for a life of prayer, and I think the longing is a prayer itself.