The Morning Is Yours

Almighty God, Creator:
the morning is yours, rising into fullness.
The summer is yours, dipping into autumn.
Eternity is yours, dipping into time.
The vibrant grasses, the scent of flowers,
the lichen on the rocks, the tang of seaweed.
All are yours.
Gladly we live in this garden of your creating.

But creation is not enough.
Always in the beauty, the foreshadowing of decay.
The lambs frolicking careless:
so soon to be led off to slaughter.
Nature red and scarred as well as lush and green.
In the garden also:
always the thorn. Creation is not enough.

Almighty God, Redeemer;
the sap of life in our bones and being is yours,
lifting us to ecstasy.
But always in the beauty:
the tang of sin, in our consciences.
The dry lichen of sins long dead, but seared upon our minds.
In the garden that is each of us,
always the thorn.

Yet all are yours as we yield them again to you.
Not only our lives that you have given are yours:
but also our sins that you have taken.
Even in our livid rebellions and putrid sins:
you have taken them all away
and nailed them to the Cross!
Our redemption is enough: and we are free.

Holy Spirit, Enlivener:
breathe on us, fill us with life anew;
In your new creation, already upon us,
breaking through, groaning and travailing,
but already breaking through,
breathe on us.

Till that day when night and autumn vanish
and lambs grown sheep are no more slaughtered:
and even the thorn shall fade
and the whole earth shall cry Glory
at the marriage feast of the Lamb.
In this new creation, already upon us,
fill us with life anew.


--George Macleod (1895-1991), Church of Scotland, founder of the Iona Community

Highland Mary

Ye banks, and braes, and streams around
         The castle o' Montgomery,
Green be your woods, and fair your flowers,
         Your waters never drumlie!
There Simmer first unfald her robes,
         And there the langest tarry:
For there I took the last Fareweel
         O' my sweet Highland Mary.

How sweetly bloom'd the gay, green birk,
         How rich the hawthorn's blossom;
As underneath their fragrant shade,
         I clasp'd her to my bosom!
The golden Hours, on angel wings,
         Flew o'er me and my Dearie;
For dear to me as light and life
         Was my sweet Highland Mary.

Wi' mony a vow, and lock'd embrace,
         Our parting was fu' tender;
And pledging aft to meet again,
         We tore oursels asunder:
But Oh! fell Death's untimely frost,
         That nipt my Flower sae early!
Now green's the sod, and cauld's the clay,
         That wraps my Highland Mary!

O pale, pale now, those rosy lips,
         I aft hae kiss'd sae fondly!
And clos'd for ay the sparkling glance,
         That dwalt on me sae kindly!
And mouldering now in silent dust,
         That heart that lo'ed me dearly!
But still within my bosom's core
         Shall live my Highland Mary.

--Robert Burns (1759-1796), national poet of Scotland. Today is Burns's birthday, and tonight is Burns' Night. 

This is one of three songs Burns wrote to honor Mary Campbell, whom he loved. It is sung to the tune of "Katherine Ogie." 

The bronze statue above was unveiled on 21 July 1896, the centenary of Burns' death, and made of bronze, was sculpted by David Watson Stephenson. It stands, facing southeast, on a round ashlar pedestal with an octagonal cap and base. It is inscribed Burns Highland Mary.

brae= steep hillside

drumlie=rough and muddy

birk=birch tree

St Andrew’s Day under the Southern Cross

GOD bless our land, our Scotland,
Grey glen an’ misty brae,
The blue heights o’ the Coolins,
The green haughs yont the Spey,
The weary wastes on Solway,
Snell winds blaw owre them a’ —
But aye it’s Hame, lad,
Yours an’ mine, lad,
Shielin’ or ha’.

It’s Hame, it’s Hame for ever,
Let good or ill betide!
The croon o’ some dear river,
The blink o’ ae braeside.

God bless our land; it’s yonder –
Far in the cold North Sea:
But ‘neath the old Saint’s glamour
It’s calling you an’ me:
Your feet tread Libyan deserts,
Mine press the wattle’s bloom,
But to-night we stand together
Among the broom.

It’s Hame, it’s Hame for ever,
Let shore or sea divide!
The croon o’ some dear river,
The blink o’ ae braeside.

God bless our land. We dream o’t —
The days aye brakin’ fine
On the lang, lane glints o’ heather
In the glens we kent langsyne.

Ay, we are Reubens, rovers,
‘Neath mony an alien star,
But flaunt the blue flag o’er us,
Pipe up the ” Braes o’ Mar,”
And steppe and nullah vanish,
And pomp and pelf and fame —
It’s gloamin’ — on a lown hillside,
An’ lads, . . . We’re . . . Hame.

-- Mary Symon (1863-1938), Scots poet and translator who wrote in the Banffshire dialect. This poem is for all the Scots abroad.

Image of the Southern Cross from the New Zealand observatory.

Iona Invitation to Communion 5

This table does not belong to any denomination,

church or community.
It belongs to Jesus.
It was at table that he met people,
heard their stories and shared his.
It was at table that he deepened his friendship
with poor folk and prostitutes,
the business class and puzzled bystanders.
It was at table that he shared profound insights
into who God is and what God wants.
And it was at table, with bread and wine,
that he initiated the sacrament we now celebrate.
So come to this table.
Leave behind any baggage of arrogance or unworthiness.
Do not think, ‘This is not for me.’
Think rather of Jesus saying, ‘I am for you,’
and accept his invitation to be the friend
he cherishes and longs to feed.

--from the Iona Community

Iona Invitation to Communion 4

We are here because Jesus has called us –

strangers and friends,
locals and visitors,
believers and doubters,
the certain and the curious.
It is always a mixed company that Jesus gathers
and invites to his table where, in bread and wine,
he meets us
and through him we, who are different,
are joined to each other.
So come,
not because you understand,
but because you are understood.
Come,
not because of how you feel,
but because God has food for you.
Come, not because you deserve a place,
but because Jesus invites you,
just as you are.

- from the Iona Community

Iona Invitation to Communion 3

As Jesus broke bread,
we break this bread.
As Jesus shared wine
we share this cup.

-- Iona Community

Iona Invitation to Communion 2

Take this bread, share this wine.

In these Christ comes to us
with love from God.
The gifts of God for the people of God.

-- From the Iona Community

Iona Invitation to Communion

Come, not because you are strong 

but because you are weak.

Come, not because of any goodness of your own,

but because you need mercy and help.

Come, because you love the Lord a little 

and would like to love him more.

Come, because he loves you 

and gave himself for you.

--George McLeod, from the Iona Community

Invitation to Communion based on Matthew 11:28-29

Jesus said,‘Come to me, all who are weary
and whose load is heavy;
I will give you rest.
Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me,
for I am gentle and humble-hearted;
and you will find rest for your souls.’
(Matthew 11:28-29)

-- from Common Order 1994, Church of Scotland (Presbyterian)

Honestly

I have searched for God
in the dry echo of tall stone buildings
where the laws are written upon the walls.

I have found God
in the broken bread of light across the moorland,
as it silvers from the miracle of the earth.


--Kenneth Steven, Scots poet, from Iona: New and Selected Poems (Paraclete poetry)

Finding

It is not about going on a particular night in the knowledge of finding a foal;
it is the chance of it, the perhaps – the making of time to try.
The struggling up at three in the morning in the strangeness of the dark
to get ready in soft voices; the going out into the fields on padded feet,
no longer worrying about what tasks have been completed, which left undone.
It is about walking together leaving silvery trails, uneven, through long lush grass;
about coming at last to the place where you hoped it might happen,
for some things are not certain – in this world where almost everything
is written down and long decided – and always it has been that way.
This water meadow where there is always scent of something not quite known;
a bowl made of low hills and round it the ancient trees held in the still dark.
However many yards away the foal already trying to hobble onto legs ridiculously big,
and she pouring into him all the love that she possesses.
Unselfconsciously and with reverence
it is about kneeling in the long wet grass to watch, to wonder.

--Kenneth Steven, Scots poet, from Iona: New and Selected Poems (Paraclete Poetry).

Invitation to Communion based on Luke 13:29

This is the Lord’s table.

The Lord Jesus invites us
to share this joyful feast.
From east and west, from north and south,
people will come and take their places
at the banquet in the kingdom of God.
(Luke 13:29)

-- from Common Order 1994, The Church of Scotland (Presbyterian)

I Am Bending My Knee

I am bending my knee
In the eye of the Father who created me,
In the eye of the Son who purchased me,
In the eye of the Spirit who cleansed me,
In friendship and affection.
Through Thine own Anointed One, O God,
Bestow upon us fullness in our need,
Love towards God,
The affection of God,
The smile of God,
The wisdom of God,
The grace of God,
The fear of God,
And the will of God
To do on the world of the Three,
As angels and saints
Do in heaven;
Each shade and light,
Each day and night,
Each time in kindness,
Give Thou us Thy Spirit.


--Anonymous, from the Carmina Gadelica I, 3, collected by folklorist Alexander Carmichael from the Outer Hebrides

For a' That and a' That

Is there, for honest poverty,
     That hings his head, an' a' that?
The coward slave, we pass him by,
     We dare be poor for a' that!
          For a' that, an' a' that,
               Our toils obscure, an' a' that;
          The rank is but the guinea's stamp;
               The man's the gowd for a' that,

What tho' on hamely fare we dine,
     Wear hoddin-gray, an' a' that;
Gie fools their silks, and knaves their wine,
     A man's a man for a' that.
          For a' that, an' a' that,
               Their tinsel show an' a' that;
          The honest man, tho' e'er sae poor,
               Is king o' men for a' that.

Ye see yon birkie, ca'd a lord
     Wha struts, an' stares, an' a' that;
Tho' hundreds worship at his word,
     He's but a coof for a' that:
          For a' that, an' a' that,
               His riband, star, an' a' that,
          The man o' independent mind,
               He looks and laughs at a' that.

A prince can mak a belted knight,
     A marquis, duke, an' a' that;
But an honest man's aboon his might,
     Guid faith he mauna fa' that!
          For a' that, an' a' that,
               Their dignities, an' a' that,
          The pith o' sense, an' pride o' worth,
               Are higher rank than a' that.

Then let us pray that come it may,
     As come it will for a' that,
That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth,
     May bear the gree, an' a' that.
          For a' that, an' a' that,
               It's coming yet, for a' that,
          That man to man, the warld o'er,
               Shall brothers be for a' that.

--Robert Burns (1759-1796), national poet of Scotland. January 25 is his birthday, and tonight is "Burns' Night," in which he is remembered and his work (and all things Scots) are celebrated. Image is a typical tenant farmer, or cottar, house. This poem, written in 1795, was one of Burns's last.

hings=hangs

guinea's stamp= face on a guinea coin, worth 21 shillings, or 1.05 pounds; a guinea was paid to gentlemen, while pounds were paid to tradesmen

gowd=gold

hamely=homely

hodden grey=rough woolen cloth

sae=so

yon birkie=arrogant dude over there

ca'd=called

coof=fool

aboon=above

guid=good

mauna fa'=must not come by

pith=strength, vigor

bear the gree=win first place

Prayer of St. Columba

Let me bless Almighty God,
Whose power extends over sea and land,
Whose angels watch over all.
Let me study sacred books to calm my soul.
I pray for peace,
Kneeling at heaven’s gates.
Let me do my daily work,
Gathering seaweed, catching fish,
Giving food to the poor.
Let me say my daily prayers,
Sometimes chanting, sometime quiet,
Always thanking God.
Delightful it is to live
On a peaceful isle, in a quiet cell,
Serving the King of Kings.

--St. Columba of Iona (521-597), Irish monastic, abbot, and missionary to the Picts in Scotland

The beautiful image is from a card I received from the artist, Kreg Yingst, who makes amazing religious prints at his shop, wORKINGaRTS, found on Etsy.

Rune Before Prayer (Ortha nan Gaidheal)

I am bending my knee
In the eye of the Father who created me,
In the eye of the Son who purchased me,
In the eye of the Spirit who cleansed me,
     In friendship and affection.

Through Thine own Anointed One, O God, 
Bestow upon us fullness in our need, 
     Love towards God, 
     The affection of God, 
     The smile of God, 
     The wisdom of God. 
     The grace of God, 
     The fear of God,
     And the will of God 
To do on the world of the Three,
As angels and saints
Do in heaven;
     Each shade and light,
     Each day and night,
     Each time in kindness,
     Give Thou us Thy Spirit.

--from the Carmina Gadelica, collected by Alexander Carmichael (1832-1912) from the Outer Hebrides in Scotland

Peace

Peace between neighbors,
Peace between kindred,
Peace between lovers,
In love of the King of life.

Peace between person and person,
Peace between wife and husband,
Peace between woman and children,
The Peace of Christ above all peace.

Bless, O Christ, my face,
Let my face bless everything;
Bless, O Christ, mine eye,
Let mine eye bless all it sees.

--from the Carmina Gadelica III, collected by Alexander Carmichael and his family, among the people of the Outer Hebrides and Scots Highlands

The Love and Affection of the Angels

The love and affection of the angels be to you, 
The love and affection of the saints be to you, 
The love and affection of heaven be to you, 
To guard you and to cherish you.

-- From the Carmina Gadelica III, collected by Alexander Carmichael and his family from the Outer Hebrides and the Scots Highlands

Sleeping Prayer

I am placing my soul and my body 
On Thy sanctuary this night, O God, 
On Thy sanctuary, O Jesus Christ, 
On Thy sanctuary, O Spirit of perfect truth, 
The Three who would defend my cause, 
Nor turn their backs upon me. 

Thou, Father, who art kind and just, 
Thou, Son, who didst overcome death,
Thou, Holy Spirit of power,
Be keeping me this night from harm;
The Three who would justify me
Keeping me this night and always.

--from the Carmina Gadelica, collected by Alexander Carmichael (1832-1912) from the Outer Hebrides in Scotland

A Little Miracle

Two black and brown puffs of duckling
Little bits of thistledown
That could have blown away in a breeze
Bobbing beneath the bank of the river.

As I approached they bobbed out into the current
Were washed away like flotsam
Making high peeps of sound
Till a bend snatched them out of sight.

All night I worried for them
Went out into the raining darkness
To the lion roar of the river
Listened in hope for their peeping.

And I wondered that such little things survived at all,
Winter and spring, the angry traffic of this world,
To grow safe and strong into wings
To learn to fly.

--Kenneth C. Steven (1968- ) Scottish poet and author, from Iona: Poems, 2000.