A Walk With Your Father

Before you do anything else, check your lungs.
Are they the right size for you, are you the right size for them?
Are they nice and snug against your ribs and spine?
Don’t worry if they’re a bit big for you, you’ll grow into them.
They must be full, however; you don’t want them empty.
You have a long way to go.

Put your hand inside your mouth and make sure
everything’s in it’s place, check that all the pipes and hoses
leading from your lungs into your mouth are in position and in good nick.
You don’t want any leaks or sudden explosions
this is your air we’re talking about.
Close your mouth securely around this apparatus.

Next check your weight. If you are too heavy
or too light you won’t get anywhere. By the way
there’s no need to take a whole lot of extras with you.
Some people strap expensive knives to their legs and wear protective gloves.
There’s no real need for any of this – an ordinary old sharp knife
from the kitchen drawer will do. And just your bare hands.
You may need to signal to each other.

Now pay some attention to your skin.
It should feel secure and warm
but also allow plenty of room to move freely.
There are any number of colours available nowadays –
they all do pretty much the same job.

Your feet, are they the right size?
If they’re too large you will tire quickly,
too small and you’ll be left behind.
You’re probably looking at feet
about the same size as his.

Your eyes – spit in them.
It keeps everything clear.

That step you’re about to take
will have to be wider than you’re used to.
Don’t forget to move forwards, not backwards.
Keep your hand on your mouth so everything stays in place
when you break the surface.

Mihi to Tangaroa. Mihi to Hinemoana.
Now get yourself in under there,
immerse yourself.

Do it now, go.
He’ll be right behind you.

--Hinemoana Baker (1968- ), New Zealand (Maori) poet, teacher, and musician born in Christchurch 

What you hold, may you always hold

What you hold, may you always hold.
What you do, may you do and never abandon.
But with swift pace, light step,
     unswerving feet,
     so that even your steps stir no dust,
go forward
    securely, joyfully, and swiftly,
on the path of prudent happiness,
    believing nothing
    agreeing with nothing
    which would dissuade you from this resolution
    or which would place a stumbling block for you on the way,
so that you may offer your vows to the Most High
in the pursuit of that perfection
to which the Spirit of the Lord has called you.

-- St. Clare of Assisi (1194-1253) Italian monastic, abbess, follower of St. Francis, and founder of the Order of San Domino (later the Order of Saint Clare)

Blessing of the Magi

There is no reversing
this road.
The path that bore you here
goes in one direction only,
every step drawing you
down a way
by which you will not
return.

You thought arrival
was everything,
that your entire journey
ended with kneeling
in the place
you had spent all
to find.

When you laid down
your gift,
release came with such ease,
your treasure tumbling
from your hands
in awe and
benediction.

Now the knowledge
of your leaving
comes like a stone laid
over your heart,
the Family.liar path closed
and not even the solace
of a star
to guide your way.

You will set out in fear.
You will set out in dream.

But you will set out

by that other road
that lies in shadow
and dark.

We cannot show you
what route will
take you home;
that way is yours
and will be found
in the walking.

But we tell you,
you will wonder
at how the light you thought
you had left behind
goes with you,
spilling from
your empty hands,
shimmering beneath
your homeward feet,
illuminating the road
with every step
you take.


-- Jan Richardson (1967- ) American Methodist artist, poet, and theologian, from Circle of Grace: A Book of Blessings for the Seasons

The Path I Walk

The path I walk, Christ walks it.
May the land in which I am in be without sorrow.
May the Trinity protect me wherever I stay, Father, Son and Holy Spirit.
Bright angels walk with me - dear presence - in every dealing.
In every dealing I pray them that no one's poison may reach me.
The ninefold people of heaven of holy cloud, the tenth force of the stout earth.
Favorable company, they come with me, so that the Lord may not be angry with me.
May I arrive at every place, may I return home; made the way in which I spend be a way without loss.
May every path before me be smooth, may woman and child welcome me.
A truly good journey! Well does the fair Lord show us a course, a path.


-- Attributed to Saint Columba (521-597 CE), Irish missionary and saint, founder of Iona Abbey

The Journey Prayer

God, bless to me this day,
God bless to me this night;
Bless, O bless, Thou God of grace,
Each day and hour of my life;
Bless, O bless, Thou God of grace,
Each day and hour of my life.

God, bless the pathway on which I go,
God, bless the earth that is beneath my sole;
Bless, O God, and give to me Thy love,
O God of gods, bless my rest and my repose;
Bless, O God, and give to me Thy love,

And bless, O God of gods, my repose.

--prayer of the people of the Outer Hebrides, collected by James Watson, grandson of Alexander Carmichael, in Carmina Gadelica III

God Bless the Broken Road

I set out on a narrow way many years ago
Hoping I would find true love along the broken road
But I got lost a time or two
Wiped my brow and kept pushing through
I couldn't see how every sign pointed straight to you

That every long lost dream led me to where you are
Others who broke my heart, they were like Northern stars
Pointing me on my way into your loving arms
This much I know is true
That God blessed the broken road
That led me straight to you

I think about the years I spent just passin' through
I'd like to have the time I lost and give it back to you
But you just smile and take my hand
You've been there, you understand
It's all part of a grander plan that is coming true
Every long lost dream led me to where you are
Others who broke my heart, they were like Northern stars
Pointing me on my way into your loving arms
This much I know is true
That God blessed the broken road
That led me straight to you

And now I'm just a-rollin' home
Into my lover's arms
This much I know is true
That God blessed the broken road
That led me straight to you
That God blessed the broken road
That led me straight to you.


--Marcus Hummon, Jeff Hanna, and Bobby Boyd, recorded by Rascal Flatts

Scripture references: Isaiah 40:3, Mark 1:3-4

The Path

RUNNING along a bank, a parapet 

That saves from the precipitous wood below
The level road, there is a path. It serves
Children for looking down the long smooth steep,
Between the legs of beech and yew, to where
A fallen tree checks the sight: while men and women
Content themselves with the road and what they see
Over the bank, and what the children tell.
The path, winding like silver, trickles on,
Bordered and even invaded by thinnest moss
That tries to cover roots and crumbling chalk
With gold, olive, and emerald, but in vain.
The children wear it. They have flattened the bank
On top, and silvered it between the moss
With the current of their feet, year after year.
But the road is houseless, and leads not to school.
To see a child is rare there, and the eye
Has but the road, the wood that overhangs
And underyawns it, and the path that looks
As if it led on to some legendary
Or fancied place where men have wished to go
And stay; till, sudden, it ends where the wood ends.

-- Edward Thomas (1878-1917), British writer, poet, and critic 

Relevant scripture: Isaiah 40:3, Mark 1:2-3, Advent 2B

Closed Path

I thought that my voyage had come to its end 

at the last limit of my power,---

that the path before me was closed,
that provisions were exhausted
and the time come to take shelter in a silent obscurity.

But I find that thy will knows no end in me.
And when old words die out on the tongue,
new melodies break forth from the heart;
and where the old tracks are lost,
new country is revealed with its wonders.

--Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941), Bengali philosopher, mystic, painter, composer, and poet, winner of the Nobel Prize in Literature, 1913.

Scripture references: Isaiah 40:3, Mark 1:2-3 (Advent 2B)

St. Brendan's Prayer: On Setting Out

Shall I abandon, 

O King of mysteries, 

the soft comforts of home? 

Shall I turn my back on my native land, 

and turn my face towards the sea?

Shall I put myself wholly at your mercy, 

without silver, 

without a horse, 

without fame, 

without honour? 

Shall I throw myself wholly upon You, 

without sword and shield, 

without food and drink, 

without a bed to lie on? 

Shall I say farewell to my beautiful land, 

placing myself under Your yoke?

Shall I pour out my heart to You, 

confessing my manifold sins and begging forgiveness, 

tears streaming down my cheeks? 

Shall I leave the prints of my knees 

on the sandy beach, 

a record of my final prayer in my native land?

Shall I then suffer every kind of wound 

that the sea can inflict? 

Shall I take my tiny boat 

across the wide sparkling ocean? 

O King of the Glorious Heaven, 

shall I go of my own choice upon the sea?

O Christ, will You help me on the wild waves?

--St. Brendan of Clonfert (the Navigator) (484-577 CE), Irish patron saint of Kerry and Clonfert, founder of a monastery in the Aran Islands, monastic and sailor, one of the "Twelve Apostles of Ireland" who is renowned for his sea journey with 16 other monks to find the Isle of the Blessed, aka the Garden of Eden

St. Columba's Boat Song

Cut in the forests, swept down the two-horned Rhine,
Our keel, tight-caulked, now floats upon the sea. 
Heia, men! Let the echoes resound with our heia! 
The wild gusts swell, the slashing torrents fall, 
But manly strength has force to tame the storm.
Heia, men! Let the echoes resound with our heia! 
To earnest effort, clouds and tempest yield;
Zeal and unceasing labor conquer all.
Heia, men! Let the echoes resound with our heia!

Endure and save yourselves for better things; 
O you who have suffered worse, this too shall end.
Heia, men! Let the echoes resound with our heia! 
So when the loathsome foe assaults our hearts, 
Tempting and shaking the depths of our hearts with passion,
Let your souls, men, remembering Christ, cry heia! 
In resolution fixed, scorn Satan's wiles. 
By virtues armed, defend yourselves with valor.
Let your souls, men, remembering Christ, cry heia!

Firm faith and holy ardor conquer all.
The ancient fiend, defeated, breaks his arrows. 
 Let your souls, men, remembering Christ, cry heia! 
The Source of Good and Being, the Highest Power,
Offers the warrior and gives the victor prizes.
Let your souls, men, remembering Christ, cry heia!

--St. Columba (521-597), Irish monk, abbot, poet, philosopher, and diplomat; founder of Iona Abbey

A blessing on someone's journey or on a child

I bless you, darling one,
in the name of the Holy Three,
the Father, the Son, and the Sacred Spirit.
May you drink deeply from God's cup of joy. 
May the night bring you quiet.
And when you come
to the Father's palace
may his door be open
and the welcome warm.

--The Northumbria Community, Celtic Daily Prayer, Book One

For Those Who Have Far to Travel: An Epiphany Blessing

If you could see
the journey whole
you might never
undertake it;
might never dare
the first step
that propels you
from the place
you have known
toward the place
you know not.

Call it
one of the mercies
of the road:
that we see it
only by stages
as it opens
before us,
as it comes into
our keeping
step by single step. 

There is nothing
for it
but to go
and by our going
take the vows
the pilgrim takes:

to be faithful to
the next step;
to rely on more
than the map;
to heed the signposts
of intuition and dream;
to follow the star
that only you
will recognize;

to keep an open eye
for the wonders that
attend the path;
to press on
beyond distractions
beyond fatigue
beyond what would
tempt you
from the way.

There are vows
that only you
will know;
the secret promises
for your particular path
and the new ones
you will need to make
when the road
is revealed
by turns
you could not
have foreseen.

Keep them, break them,
make them again:
each promise becomes
part of the path;
each choice creates
the road that will take you
to the place
where at last
you will kneel

to offer the gift
most needed—
the gift that only you
can give—
before turning to go
home by
another way.

--Jan Richardson (1967- )

Sea Fever

I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely sea and the sky,
And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by;
And the wheel’s kick and the wind’s song and the white sail’s shaking,
And a grey mist on the sea’s face, and a grey dawn breaking.

I must go down to the seas again, for the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call that may not be denied;
      And all I ask is a windy day with the white clouds flying,
And the flung spray and the blown spume, and the sea-gulls crying.

I must go down to the seas again, to the vagrant gypsy life,
To the gull’s way and the whale’s way where the wind’s like a whetted knife;
And all I ask is a merry yarn from a laughing fellow-rover,
And quiet sleep and a sweet dream when the long trick’s over.

--John Masefield (1878-1967), English poet and poet laureate