Lucha Séipéal

If one carefully looks at the bottom left of the Chi Rho page in The Book of Kells (Folio 34r), they will see depicted there a pair of cats pinning down the tails of two mice that are nibbling on the Eucharistic host, while two other mice sit on the cats’ backs. That depiction inspired the following tale.

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As Mother and Father Lucha tucked their two little children, Reep and Cheep, into their nest for the night, the parents knew that this night was no ordinary night. It was different from all other nights they had known because of what they had seen earlier that day.  Considering what they had seen, rather than telling Reep and Cheep a make-believe bed-time story to quiet them and to help them sleep, the furry couple began telling their litter of two sons about their ancestry.

            Father Lucha said, “Our family was not always Lucha Séipéal, or church mice. Our ancient ancestors were wandering Lucha Achaida, or field mice, living in an emerald green land westward across the great waters. They occasionally scurried closer to humans in search of food and warmth. One day a couple of our ancestors found their way to a small wooden and thatched hut where they discovered a stash of food. There was so much food in that place that after a day of gorging themselves, they built a temporary nest and settled down for the night.”

            “What happened next?” asked Cheep.

            “Before they were hungry again, and before they could leave that place,” said mother Lucha, “their temporary shelter was turned over, topsy-turvy, and dragged down to the great water. A human named Colum Cille climbed into the upside-down shelter, which they later learned was called a coracle. Colum Cille raised a large piece of cloth, called a sail,  on a wooden pole. That sail caught the wind and pushed the coracle eastward. When the wind stopped blowing, Colum Cille used a long wooden stick called an oar, broad on one end, and by stirring the water with it, he propelled that small boat farther eastward.”

            “And then what happened?” asked Reep.

            “Well, awhile later,” continued Mother Lucha, “the two mice felt the vessel run aground. As soon as Colum Cille unloaded his supplies and was no longer around, the furry couple abandoned the nest they had constructed in the coracle and found a new home among this land’s grasses, heathers, and rocks. Gathering small pieces of straw and twigs, they built a lovely nest among some rocks where they began to raise a family that is our family many generations removed.”

            Father Lucha picked up the story where his wife left off. “Life on this small land surrounded by water was not always easy out in the field, as you can imagine. As you know, the wind can blow and it often rains. In our nest in this stone building, we are protected from the long, slithering beasts called snakes that, if mice are not careful when they are out and about, can capture and devour us.”

“When we are in our nest, we are also protected from the furry felines that sometimes knock us about and will even kill us,” added Mother Lucha. “But it was different when our ancestors still lived out in the field.”

Reep and Cheep listened attentively as their parents told them things they had never heard before.

Mother mouse added “The scaly beasts called snakes were a new experience for our ancestors who came here with Colum Cille. They had not experienced such a threat in their former home across the great waters. Many of their children and grandchildren born here were caught and killed by these slithering demons until our ancestors learned how to better avoid them. Despite this threat and all the other challenges of living on this small island, our ancestors persevered and raised a family that has survived and thrived for generations to this day.”

“They also passed on to their descendants the story we are now telling you,” said Father Lucha.

Father Lucha told Reep and Cheep even more. “At first, Colum Cille was alone, but after awhile other humans also sailed here in coracles. They began to build stone shelters, using mud and straw to fill in the gaps and cracks so the wind and rain could not get in. This mud and straw also provided our ancestors with great material to build nests. Our ancestors eventually learned that humans tended to drop food and leave food lying around, so it was much easier to find food and shelter among the humans than out in the field.”

Reep and Cheep listened even more intently as their mother told them, “Over time, Colum Cille and the other humans began to build bigger and more elaborate, multi-room stone buildings to live and work in. One of those buildings is the building in which we now have our warm, comfortable, safe nest.”

Father mouse interjected, “In one of the rooms of this building, the humans gather a couple times a day to eat and drink. As your mother said, the humans often drop crumbs on the ground and leave food behind. When the humans are not looking, or have gone away, we come from out of the dark corners of the walls or down from the rafters and grab the crumbs. We eat what our stomachs will hold and carry what we can back to our nest for you. Someday very soon you will have to closely watch the humans so that you too can gather the food they drop and leave behind.”

“So all the food you feed us comes from the humans?” Cheep asked.

“Yes,” replied mother Lucha. “The food our ancestors received from the monks was always good and nourishing. It kept us well fed, and sooner than later our ancestors abandoned the way of the field. Although our family no longer lived in the field, we kept the memory of that time alive by passing down stories about the field, including stories about the great slithering demons.”

Father Lucha continued “Another room the humans built is a room where they gather several times a day to read from what they call books.  They also chant songs from those books, eat small pieces of flat, round bread they call the Eucharistic host, and drink sweet, intoxicating liquid called wine from large chalices. One day, some of our ancestors made their way into this quiet place and observed one of those small, flat, round pieces of bread fall from the table to the floor.”

“And then what happened?” asked Reep.

“Well,” continued Reep’s father, “Once all the humans had left the room, our ancestors scurried to the wafer underneath the table and began to munch on it. The wafer of bread felt and tasted different from all other breads, or even all other foods they had ever eaten. They told the rest of the Lucha Séipéal in the building that it tasted heavenly. It not only filled their stomachs but their souls. It made them feel more alive, cleaner, and refreshed, they said.”

            “This bread wafer sounds too good to be true,” said Cheep and Reep at the same time.

“Listen to the rest of the story,” chimed the pair’s mother. She continued, “Eventually, more of our ancestors began to watch from the rafters and dark corners of this room, hoping and watching for another wafer of bread to fall from the table. Sometimes only crumbs would fall to the floor, but those crumbs were the best crumbs our family ever ate. On rare occasions, a whole wafer would fall to the ground, and when it did, it was like a miracle - a feast - that one wafer feeding and satisfying more of our ancestors than they might ever have expected.”

“We and our ancestors always used to think that the humans never saw us in this special room,” said Father mouse, “we reasoned they never knew we were eating their fallen sacred bread. But the other day, your mother and I learned otherwise.”

“That’s right,” Mother mouse said, “earlier today we went into another room the humans built in this building. In that room, they sit at desks copying their great books. Illuminated by sunlight by day and candlelight by night, the humans painstakingly make dark marks on dried and preserved skins of calves they call vellum. They dip specially cut goose feathers they call quills into bottles of dark, syrupy liquid called ink. Some of the ink is pulled up into the quill, but when the humans press the quill against the vellum, the ink slowly flows from the quill on to the surface of the vellum and leaves behind dark marks. The humans apparently know what these dark marks mean, but we mice do not.”

“Sometimes the humans dip their quills into thick liquids of bright and happy pigments, like orpiment, indigo, verdigris, and others,” said mother mouse. “They then use these colorful pigments to draw beautiful patterns and pictures upon the pages of their books, illuminating the writing and the pictures on the pages in a mystical way.”

“And Sometimes the humans draw and illuminate pictures of the animals that live on this land onto the pages of their books,” said Father Lucha.  “We have seen them draw geese, and even the dreaded slithering demons called snakes, entangled in knots, upon the pages of their books.”

“Snakes entangled in knots?” quired Reep.

“You heard me correctly, son” replied Reep’s father, “Slithering demons tying themselves up into beautiful knots!”

“Imagine our surprise,” interrupted the boy’s mother, “when earlier today, as we were in this room called the scriptorium, watching from up in the rafters as the humans were working on their special books, I looked down upon one human illuminating a particularly beautiful page. To my astonishment I saw that he had drawn two mice that looked like us, your parents. I gasped at the sight and pointed it out to your father.”

“I could not believe what your mother was pointing at,” said the boy’s father. “There on the page of vellum below us was a drawing of two mice that looked just like us, and they were holding and munching on one of those thin, flat wafers of sacred bread that sometimes fall to the floor in the sacred room where the humans read, sing, and sit in silence! And cats with mice on their backs, but mice we did not recognize, were holding your father’s and mother’s tales, pinning our tails to the floor with their paws!”

“O No!” shrieked Reep.

“Did that ever really happen?” asked Cheep.

“Of course, it never really happened,” clamored the boy’s parents in unison. “At least not to us,” they added.

Reep and Cheep’s father told his sons more. “All these years your mother and I thought that the humans never knew we were watching them in their special sacred place; that they were never aware we ate the sacred wafers that fell from the table. But they had! They knew we were there, but they never shooed us away. They knew we were there, but they never kept us out. Nor had any cats ever bothered us there. It was like the furry felines also knew it was a peaceful, sacred place and that they should not bother us there.”

Reep and Cheep’s mother added, “I am now beginning to think that those special thin, round wafers of bread never accidentally fell from the table. I am beginning to think that occasionally, a human would intentionally drop one of those special pieces of bread so that we and the other Lucha Séipéal could eat from it and so that your father and I could bring some back for you to eat!”

“For this reason,” Father mouse said to his boys, “We Lucha Séipéal must be careful when we are in the Scriptorium to never ever chew on the special calves’ leather called vellum that the humans make black marks and beautiful designs on. We must never disturb the thick liquids called ink, or the goose feathers they call quills. And when we are in the rafters of the Scriptorium, we must never drop anything upon the beautiful, illuminated pages the humans are creating below.”

“We understand,” replied the boys in unison.

“More than anything else,” continued Father Lucha Séipéal, “you must promise you will never forget, and when we, your parents, have died, you must tell your children, and your children must tell their children and your great-grandchildren, from generation to generation, the story about the great illuminated book in which we, your parents, have found a place in the story being copied by the humans.”

“I promise,” said Reep.

“I will never forget this story, or this night,” added Cheep. “This night has indeed been different from all other nights Reep and I have known.”

“We have no way of understanding what these books the humans are making and using mean,” said Mother Lucha Séipéal. “But we know these books are also sacred, especially the book we saw earlier today to which the humans added an illumination  including us. The humans creating these books do so with great care, treating them and cherishing them because they are indeed sacred books, just like the Eucharistic host and the room where the human’s read and sing from their books, eat the sacred wafers, and drink wine from chalices is sacred.

“Your father and I do not know how long this extra special illuminated manuscript will last, or where it will eventually end up,” lamented mother mouse, “but we know, and our family of Lucha Séipéal must forever know and remember that we are immortalized in its pages and part of its story.”

“Perhaps someday, many mice generations removed, and in a strange land we can only imagine, maybe even in the land our ancestors came from, the great emerald land across the mighty waters, humans will look at this special, illuminated work, see the pair of us on this particularly beautiful page, and wonder what we are doing there,” said Father mouse. “Perhaps they will ask themselves why the humans drew us there. They will speculate why we are holding and munching on the thin, flat, wafer of bread called the Eucharistic host. They might wonder if the two cats with mice on their backs really pinned the tails of two other mice to the floor. I wish those humans could know our story as much as I wish we could know the story they are copying in this beautiful, illuminated book”.

“Now go to sleep, boys,” cooed mother mouse. “you need your rest. Tomorrow, your father and I will take you to and show you the beautiful illuminated book the humans are making.”

Calligraphy Caim

A good friend gave me a Sheaffer Maxi Calligraphy Kit and a fifty sheet Calligraphy Paper Pad for Christmas. The Sheaffer Kit included a small instruction book. I have been learning and practicing calligraphy ever since.

This above is a scanned copy of my latest creation after several failed attempts. The words to the Celtic Caim are not original and slightly different from the traditional. The lettering, my attempt to employ "The Uncial Hand," which according to the instruction book "is often called an 'early Christian' alphabet, as it was used during the 4th and 5th centuries for scriptural texts and sacred writings," and coloring was all done by hand with the exception of the Celtic Cross. I used a rubber stamp and ink pad for the cross and then shaded it with a green colored pencil. The finished piece is 8 x 10.

My renewed interest in calligraphy and illuminated manuscripts has been in part piqued by recently reading about and studying the calligraphy and illuminations of The Saint John's Bible, especially the Gospels and Acts volume. My studying and reading is in preparation for a four day continuing education event called "Illuminating the Text," which will focus, in part, on the Gospels and Acts volume of The Saint John's Bible.

The above illuminated calligraphy also betrays my interest in Celtic Christianity and Celtic Christian illuminated manuscripts, especially The Book of Kells and The Lindisfarne Gospels, both of which I have had the opportunity to see with my own eyes.

A Celtic Cross for the Birds

In the graveyard of Trinity Church Cemetery, Manhattan, across the street from the North Presbyterian Church of Manhattan, stands a large Celtic Cross that dominates the immediate landscape and marks the grave of John James Audubon. I recently discovered the site, or rather had it pointed out to me by my wife, when we attending an event at the North Presbyterian Church of Manhattan.

My wife and I have been intrigued by Celtic Crosses and have undertaken pilgrimages to see many in Ireland and Scotland on two different occasions. Although the Celtic Cross that marks Audubon’s grave is far younger than most Celtic Crosses in Scotland and Ireland it is just as impressive, if not more so, rivaling crosses on Iona, as well as in Monasterboice and Clonmacnoise.

Thanks to some excellent research by Corey Finger and reported on the 10,000 Birds blog, I learned alot about the Audubon monument, including that the original block of North River Bluestone used for it weighed 14 ton. Once carved, the final cross weighed seven ton and stands 19 feet high.

Audubon is most likely buried in Trinity Church Cemetery because Audubon donated the land for it. What I cannot figure out is why a Celtic Cross was chosen for the monument’s design. Audubon was neither Irish nor Scottish and as far as I have been able to determine had no Celtic roots. I am not she whether or not he was a Christian. The monument was not Audubon’s or his family’s choice. It was the choice of a group of New Yorkers intent on more properly marking his grave. So why did they choose a Celtic Cross to do so? Why not a giant bird? Or a representation of one or more of his paintings?

If you find yourself in the vicinity of Trinity Church on the upper west side of Manhattan, walk into the graveyard and see this Celtic Cross for yourself. Standing near the cross, close your eyes, feel the breeze on your face, block out the noise of traffic, listen the songs of birds, and imagine you are in the Scotland or Ireland.

Iona and the Book of Kells (Musically Speaking)

While writing yesterday’s post about the Irish animated feature film The Secret of Kells (which did not win the Academy Award for best animated feature film, which went to Up), I remembered that about twenty years ago, soon after their forming and the 1990 release of their self-titled first CD, I learned about a progressive Christian rock band from Scotland called “Iona”. This Scottish group should not be confused with a Celtic band by the same name that plays around the mid-Atlantic states.

Iona's second CD, released in 1992, was titled The Book of Kells, a musical tour de force that that not only captures the artistic themes of the 1,200 year old illuminated manuscript by the same name but also some of the theological flavor of Celtic Christianity. Eighteen years later I still listen to it, listening to it as I wrote this post.

If you like listening to Celtic music, especially by musicians such as Enya and Clannad, I am almost certain you will like Iona. They will soon be touring the US and I hope they will appear in New York City.

The Secret of Kells

Last Friday evening my wife and I went to the IFC Film Center in Manhattan to see the Irish animated feature film The Secret of Kells, not because we are big fans of animation but because we are devotees of Celtic Christianity and admirers of the Book of Kells, a 1,200 year old Illuminated Latin Manuscript containing the four Gospels and other texts. Having travelled to Ireland twice, we have been to Kells and also saw the Book of Kells exhibition at Trinity College in Dublin. We have also twice been to Iona, where the Book of Kells is thought to have originated. Thus, we went to see The Secret of Kells with high hopes and great expectations. We were not disappointed.

This film is great. It is fantastic! The broad outline of the story was more or less as we remembered it and the animation, while low tech, was detailed, reflecting the art and spirit of the Book of Kells. We especially liked the animation near the end when parts of the Book of Kells came alive through the animation. The music was also authentically Irish.

Anyone with a drop of Irish blood, an interest in Celtic Christianity, an appreciation of the Book of Kells, or fan of classic animation should find this Irish animnated feature film entertaining, informative, inspirational and a visual treat. Click on the first hot link above for the movie’s web site and delight.

Celtic Crosses Everywhere

Yesterday’s meeting of New York City Presbytery at the Madison Avenue Presbyterian Church was architecturally dominated by a large Celtic cross suspended from the ceiling over the Chancel (photo top right). I do not know what it was made from. It appeared to be painted gold and was a simple outline, allowing me to see through it. Perhaps the ability to see through the cross is a metaphor. Rather than focusing our gaze on the cross Christians are called to look beyond the cross, allowing it to frame our vision of the world, acting as an interpretative lens.

On the back wall of the chancel of the church I serve as Designated Pastor, North Church Queens (a.k.a. North Presbyterian Church of Flushing), you can see another Celtic cross (photo bottom right). It was lovingly crafted from wood handpicked by the woodworking church member who made it, created in memory of a saint of the congregation.

Several years ago the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) Planning Calendar featured photographs of various stone Celtic Crosses from Ireland. I later saw most if not all of those crosses in person, including the one in Kells, the one time home of the famous illuminated manuscript known as the Book of Kells.

Today the Celtic cross is associated with ancient Celtic Christianity and contemporary Presbyterianism in Scotland and Ireland, especially ancient Celtic Christian sites such as Iona, Clonmacnoise, and Glendalough. Next to the Celtic knot, the Celtic cross is perhaps the most well known image associated with Celtic Christianity.

The origins of the Celtic cross are shrouded in Mystery. The form and shape of the cross seem to have undergone change and development over centuries. Some suggest the Celtic Cross has pre-Christian, pagan roots, and that Celtic Christians baptized a religious and spiritual symbol of the druids, the standing stone, and turned it into a cross. Know one knows for sure.

The Celtic Cross has long been associated with the Presbyterian Church, thanks in no small part to Presbyterian Scottish and Scots-Irish immigrants who immigrated to America. But during the years Cromwell ruled, dozens if not hundreds of stone Celtic Crosses in Scotland were thrown into the sea, lost forever. Isn’t it funny how what Presbyterians value and cherish today as part of our heritage was once considered an idol? I wonder what we might value in fifty or hundred years that today we think as anathema.

Introducing Myrrhlyn

Drum roll please!

Myrrhlyn came to live with us Thursday. He was being sheltered under the name “Dusty” at Wilma’s Orphan’s Inc. “Dusty” was also Hermes’ name when we adopted him and Wilma was my mother’s name. More synchronicity?

We went to visit Wilma and Dusty a week ago. After our visit Wilma processed our application, contacted our references, and approved us adopting Dusty.

Wilma delivered this cute bundle of canine energy Thursday morning. The photo of Myrrhlyn at right is not the best picture but it is the first, taken as he was approaching our home.

We had been thinking about names and had narrowed the choices down to three or four but decided to wait twenty-four hours after Myrrhlyn came to live with us before finally deciding. He have chosen a Welsh variation of the name of the magician, seer, and teacher of Arthurian Legend, a variation which also alludes to one of the gifts of the Magi to the Christ Child, a gift often used for the embalming, funeral incense, and Christian liturgy. The Welsh variation also recognizes our love of Celtic tradition and lore as well as interest in Celtic Christianity.

Myrrhlyn has been with us for nearly 48 hours. He is affectionate, intelligent, has a lot of puppy energy, and has had very few “accidents” in the house. His vet records estimate that he was born March 24, 2009. He appears to be a Chocolate Lab but is certainly a Labrador Retriever Mix.

Shadows Outside the Cave

Not long ago during a sunny afternoon following a week of rain and overcast skies, I noticed a compelling shadow on a wall in our living room. Recognizing the outline I knew at once what the shadow was of. The shadow on the wall was of a mermaid sculpture sitting near the window where rays of the Sun were shining in. I would not have been able to deduce the form casting the shadow if I had not first known the Sculpture. Because I knew the three dimensional sculpture I recognized its outline in the two dimensional shadow. I knew the shadow was not the sculpture because I also knew the sculpture casting the shadow. I was compelled to capture both the shadow and the sculpture with my digital camera.

A few days later I was walking along the sidewalk on another rare bight sunny day. I noticed my shadow ahead of me on the sidewalk. Since I had my camera with me I took a picture, not quite a self portrait, but close.

A week or so later I was standing in the foyer of North Church Queens, waiting for worship to begin, when I looked out the window and noticed on the street in front of the church the shadow of a very recognizable form. It was the form of a Celtic Cross, but not any Celtic Cross. It was the shadow of the Celtic Cross on the roof of the church.

I have learned over the years that when I am aware of similar phenomena occurring in threes or more within close proximity of time to pay attention to them. Jung called such occurrences synchronicity, and through his writings he taught me that when I am aware of occurrences of synchronicity that I had not only better pay attention but also reflect upon the experience. Thus, I write this post.

Hopefully everyone who has ever had a high school or college level Introduction to Philosophy Class will be familiar with Plato’s Analogy of the Cave. I know the students I had for Introduction to Philosophy at the undergraduate level were presented with it.

I think we very often are willing to settle for and live with shadows when upon a little reflection and inquiry we can discover the three dimensional reality behind them. We rarely expend the time or energy to ask questions about our world, to go below the surface and delve deeper into reality. After awhile our own existence can take on a shadow quality and so we live shallow, superficial, two dimensional lives.

Emerald Isle Memories and Prayers

My wife and I have twice travelled to Ireland. On our first trip, in 1999, we flew in and out of Belfast on KLM and spent most of our three week stay in a private country home in Ballymoney, County Antrim. Using Ballymoney as our base we explored the small towns and countryside of both Northern Ireland and the Republic of Ireland.

There were only a few visible cues letting us know when we had crossed the border between Northern Ireland and the Republic. The road surface would change. Road signs in Northern Ireland were in English only. Road signs in the Republic were in both English and Gaelic. On major roads we would often see the derelict remains of border crossing stations and fortifications. We were never stopped, never had to show a passport, and our English pounds were always accepted in the Republic.

When we entered small towns in Northern Ireland we could tell by the paint on the curbs and how the homes were appointed whether it was a Protestant, Roman Catholic, or mixed village. Our visit coincided with ”the marching season” so in the North we saw small parades of Protestant Orangeman, often culminating in bonfires, and were even once solicited for a donation by an Orangeman who came to the door of the country home we were staying in.

Our hosts were Irish Presbyterians that had lived in Northern Ireland for two and three, if not four generations. Even though they and their parents had all been born in Ireland they thought of themselves not as “Irish” but as “British”. Their sense of self identity helped me begin to understand the root of some of the conflict in Northern Ireland.

On our second trip, in 2001, we flew Aer Lingus in and out of Dublin, stayed in B&Bs and a dorm at Trinity College, and never crossed into Northern Ireland.

I always felt safe during both trips, whether in Northern Ireland or in the Republic. In spite of the history of violence, unlike during our visit to Israel in 2000, I saw no armed military presence, though I did see police stations protected by barbed wire and gun towers. People in both the North and the Republic were friendly and helpful. Even after two visits we would like to return to Ireland yet again.

In recent days we have learned that in two British Soldiers were killed on Saturday and a Police Officer was killed on Monday in Northern Ireland. This is sad news for Ireland, all who love Ireland, and for peacemakers and lovers of peace. Having twice visited the Emerald Isle and having preached in a Presbyterian Church in Northern Ireland I feel an affinity for the people of Ireland, both Protestant and Roman Catholic. I now find myself once again praying for peace in that land of Celtic Saints.

Whitney, a Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.) Minister and Missionary living in Belfast, authors the blog Glimpses of Grace and reflects on the recent violence in her post “persistent peace”.