Today’s liturgy brings faith to the forefront of our readings. Faith is a profound trust, beyond human comprehension, that there is a reason behind all that is happening. It’s not the fool’s path that has us blindly believing in something that doesn’t present as true; but rather, there is an utter truth that can be felt at the core of our being, beyond what our thinking mind can justify, that only faith can comprehend. It’s the certainty of truth that totally blindsides the ego, one that can be experienced within practices that are purely contemplative in nature, like meditation or prayer. When there is heartache and suffering, when we are filled with all of the inevitable anguishes of the human experience…that is when faith can be experienced in its most vulnerable, raw, and honest state. 

In today’s Letter to the Hebrews we are reminded of the ancestors of our tradition, who with their steadfast faith were able to move through extraordinary circumstances that human willpower alone could not have moved them through. We are encouraged to look to our ancestors for guidance concerning our ability to not only move toward the wild unknowns where life will take us, which God encourages us to head toward wholeheartedly, but also into the security that God is already here to help us move through whatever challenges we’re currently experiencing. 

The sincerity our psalm offers, that our savior is here in the now, is beyond the comprehension of those experiencing life without faith, which our gospel reading shows us. How can Christ be sleeping amidst such a storm? As we are reminded again and again in the Bible, we can look to the earth as one of our greatest models of faith. The earth is a being so one with Christ that its contemplation can reveal to us the kind of embodied faith that is our birthright. 

Many Catholics, including myself, have found their way back to their faith after much dissolution by forming a relationship with the earth first. The Blessed Mother and any other female saints that present themselves to us in visitations through iconography, prayer, or dreams also often lead our way, along with nature, back into a deeper experience of faith. Working with this paired guidance can help foster the internal shifts necessary to take care of the parts of ourselves that have been wounded by institutional religion. In doing so, we can walk new paths forward that recognize God within creation, the world itself as a place of revelation, and that our human experience walking upon this earth can be lived as deeply sacramental, here and now. 

In his book Listening for the Heartbeat of God: A Celtic Spirituality, J. Philip Newell explains how this approach is inherent within Celtic Christianity. Calling on the example of Mary, he writes:

“There is not in the Celtic way of seeing a great gap between heaven and earth. Rather, the two are seen as inseparably intertwined. Mary, for instance, loved with a homely tenderness of affection, is portrayed not as Queen of Heaven, remote from humanity, but as a barefooted country girl out among the cattle, in immediate contact with the concerns and delights of daily life” (26). 

St. Brigid of Kildare (c. 450-525) is one of those saints who has guided many people back to nature as a place where God can be heard and experienced. Kildare can be translated to ‘church of the oaks,’ with oak groves being sacred places for the Druids that the Celtic Church later brought in as symbols of its mission. Pre-Christian myths about the goddess Brigid were infused into the Celtic Church’s stories about St. Brigid of Kildare as a way to see the gospel as fulfilling, rather than destroying ancient Celtic mythology. 

With both the earth and St. Brigid as our guides, we can better understand how nature is fertile ground for establishing a well-rooted faith practice, how institutional religion has become impoverished by the loss of this perspective, and how honoring nature is an integral way of honoring the ancestors and actively restoring their presence back into our lives as ever-present reminders for how to live in faithful ways.

Below is an old Celtic prayer that invites God to encompass us with gentleness of strength. It’s from the Carmina Gadelica, which is a written record of prayers that Celtic peasants sang at different times throughout the day, as part of their deep understanding that God exists in everything. 

The invitation is to sing it upon waking each day during the month of February, steadily encoding the prayer within your heart. Pay special attention to what shifts in you in relation to the prayer each day, and after the month ends. 

It’s worth mentioning that God takes shape in each of us in deeply personal ways, which may shift form as time passes but whose essence remains unchanged. Let this speak to your personal understanding of God, welcoming the waves that come, which reveal more about what that means as you devote yourself to singing the prayer each day. 

God to enfold me, 

God to surround me, 

God in my speaking, 

God in my thinking. 

God in my sleeping, 

God in my waking, 

God in my watching, 

God in my hoping. 

God in my life, 

God in my lips,

God in my soul, 

God in my heart. 

God in my sufficing, 

God in my slumber, 

God in my every-living soul, 

God in mine eternity. 

Reflection Questions

• What are some daily anchors that can support your deepened connection with God? 

A few examples are engaging with morning/evening prayer, or reading a text by a Christian mystic before bed. 

• What are some ways that you can foster your connection with nature? 

A few examples are waking up with the sun, or engaging with daily walks at a regular time each day.

• Are there ways that you can reduce your dependence on technology? 

A few examples are turning off your phone at a certain time each night, or opting for in-person gatherings rather than online whenever possible