"Hearing God's Heartbeat"

Ps. 103:13, NIRV

     There was once a unique model of Christianity that deeply understood and lived the ideal that we have previously called God’s great sacred romance (see our preceding post^[1]).  Here we tell the story of how this unique model came into existence.

     Our story begins with a warm-hearted, hospitable, imaginative, tender/tough people who lived on a large island at the very “ends of the earth”--a place “beyond” which no one had “ever gone”^[2] (at least, to anyone’s knowledge at that time).  These people were tender by nature but tough and courageous by necessity.  Life was precarious and filled with struggles against the elements and the dangers of a primitive time (5^th c).  Perhaps because of such dangers—perhaps because of temperament—these people were naturally spiritually inclined.  They loved the earth they stood upon with a fierce, tender love, saw its immense beauty, and felt spiritually connected to it.  They saw various gods in the elements around them and were deeply devoted to those gods.

     One day a strange boy of sixteen years of age came to their shores.  He did not come willingly, nor would he have much effect upon this island people at that time.  This boy was a captured slave.  There were some (a minority) among this island people who had plenty of the tough side of this people’s personality but had suppressed the tender side.  They had also developed what we would later call dollar signs for eyes (and apparently for heart, as well).  They had found a relatively easy way to obtain wealth.  They could cross the sea to the east (they had long been seafaring people), capture innocent people in a strange land, and sell them as slaves. 

     The sixteen year old boy we speak of was captured in one such raid, brought to the island as bounty, and sold to a chieftain.  He was forced to live the lonely, exposed (to the elements) life of a shepherd-slave.  For six years this lad lived that lonely, uncertain existence.  He grew to be a strong man, and he grew very close to God (his grandfather had been a Christian priest; perhaps he had learned some things about God as a legacy from him). 

     All he had on those lonely hills was his flock and God, who, the 

lad said, “strengthened me, consoling me just as a father comforts 

his son.”^[3]   He learned deeply, personally, to know God as the great 

“Friend of the soul,” and he came to understand the “inner beauty 

of [knowing] the divine intimacy [that] transfigures outer bleak-

ness”--that brings the “soul alive.”  

     As John O’Donohue writes, such a person “can travel on any 

dangerous or hostile outer journey because he knows he is at Home 

within.”^[4]  This is also an important aspect of what we called the 

great divine romance in our previous post.^[5]

     This young man developed into a remarkable person: a man of great simplicity and depth of purpose, founded upon that deep love relationship with God.  He also grew to be intuitively knowledgeable about the ways of the Holy Spirit at work in his life.  There was no guile in him; later he would say what he meant and mean what he said; it was all based on his “unity of innocence and authenticity.”^[6]  And it was also based upon that intimate love, companionship, and friendship with God that had come to animate his life.  In the hills he had learned his unique style of life: it was just him, God, the faith story he’d heard in childhood, the beautiful land around him, and the flock entrusted to his care.  These simple facts would ever after be the secret of his life (although the nature of his flock would change dramatically).

     Increasingly, the young shepherd-slave found that the Holy Spirit was finding surprising ways to communicate with him; increasingly he listened.  One day the Spirit spoke with unexpected clarity in a mysterious, authoritative dream; he saw and heard an angel saying: “[S]oon you will be returning to your own country…. Come and see, where your ship is waiting for you.”^[7]   (If we consider the fact that there are five inspired dreams that protect the infant Jesus in the very short space of Matt. 1:18-2:23, this should not seem so strange to us.  Note also that an angel appears to Jesus' earthly father Joseph trice in those dreams.) 

     The young man obeyed the voice in that dream.  He simply set out, journeying two hundred miles to the east with nothing to defend him in that alien land except the relationship he had developed with a loving, guiding Father.  Finally, he came to the sea.  There was indeed a ship that could take him home--if the sailors were willing.  After some initial rejection, he was accepted as a passenger.  The ship set sail and after a time landed on the main continent to the east.  They found a completely devastated land—invaded, depopulated, left waste.  (Such events happened in various times and places in what has sometimes been called the Dark Ages--early medieval times.) 

     Our young man and the sailors soon became desperate for food in this devastated land.  The lad, having learned to rely upon God in his previous ventures, told the sailors to, “[T]urn trustingly to the Lord . . . put your faith in him with all your heart, because nothing is impossible to him" [Lk. 1:37].”  In desperation they accepted his advice.  To their surprise, they soon came upon a herd of pigs;  a feast followed.^[8]

     After further adventures our young man made his way home (to Britain) and was greeted by his family with great surprise and joy.  Like his grandfather before him, the young man decided to become a priest so that he might share the intimate Father that he had come to know.  He studied diligently.  Still, he had lost six years to slavery, years when he might have been studying.  He would always regret those years of lost study or, as he called it, “my homespun ways and lack of learning.”^[9]  Nevertheless, he became a priest and also a missionary bishop: “missionary” because the voice of the Spirit had again come to him, beckoning him—giving him a calling.

     “I had a vision in my dreams,” our young man--now a bishop--again says.  In the dream he was handed a letter calling him back to the island where he had once been enslaved.  As he read the letter (in that dream) he also heard the people of the island calling loudly to him: “Holy broth of a boy, we beg you, come back and walk once more among us.”  Whereupon he says he felt “pieced to my heart’s core.”^[10] 

     Soon there was another experience: again a dream-voice with these “wise words”: “He who gave his own soul for you [see Phil. 2:6-9], He it is who now speaks within your soul.”  Our missionary bishop tells us he “woke up full of joy.” ^[11]  (Here we recall the Apostle Paul’s call from the people of Macedonia—also in a vision in the night: a westward leaning call that would eventually make all the difference to those of us with a Western Christian heritage; see Acts 16:9-10.  Both calls would prove to be graced moments.)

     Who would wish to return to a primitive land at the “ends of the earth” where one had been a lonely slave?  This missionary bishop would!  If that was where the Spirit of God directed him, he would go with all the love and single-minded dedication in his huge heart; for he knew he would not go alone.

     And so our missionary bishop returned to the island people.  He carried a simple message.  He came in great peace to share the story of a God who loved this island people and now wished that love to be made known more clearly to them.  They already worshiped many gods.  Somehow they were ready to hear that there was truly but one God who reigned over all.  However, this God’s revelation to us did come in three profound ways: as our Father-Creator; as the intimate, like-unto-us, incarnated Son Jesus, who brought that love right down to us; and as the Holy Spirit, who comforts and guides us--three faces of Sacred Love.  Legend says this missionary teacher plucked a clover-like leaf to show how something could indeed be both three and one at the same time.

     The island people sometimes feared their gods.  Now they learned of a God of love who casts out all fear (1 Jn. 4:18).  They took to this new understanding of faith at an astonishing rate—like ducks to water.  As chieftains adopted this faith, with its moving, loving stories and symbols, their people followed.  In a completely peaceful way—unique in the world (with no bloodshed or martyrs^[12])—the new faith of Christianity was increasingly adopted.  Yet it was a rather distinctive style of Christianity, being as it was at the very edge of the world and completely cut off from the Christianity of the continent to the east. 

     The loving bishop who brought this faith (and his numerous followers, including dedicated monks, who soon joined him) began with what he (they) saw as good in the people’s former spirituality (much as the Apostle Paul did in Acts 17:23-28, CEB).  They did not tamper with what was good in the people’s natural passions and loves.  These people were passionately connected with nature.  Well, why not remain so?  Wasn’t Christ, in fact, the “King of the Elements”?^[13]  (See Col. 1:16; Jn. 1:3.)  Hadn’t God created a good and beautiful earth? (see Gen. 1:31).  All the earth is filled with God’s glory (Isa. 6:3, CEB). The fact that we sometimes marred and defaced our world (and our fellow beings) didn’t change that, did it? 

   These people often expressed their faith in the symbolism of the circle or the sun, a central part of the nature they so loved.   The bishop and the monks who followed him saw that circle as a sign of infinity/eternity.  They taught the symbol of the cross representing Jesus’ sacrificial life given to show the extent of God’s love.  However, they were quite willing to have the arms of this cross embrace the circle of infinity that the people already knew and loved.^[14]

     The island people also loved the symbol of intertwining, weaving lines and knots, which represented for them the truth that “the threads of heaven and the threads of earth [are] inseparably interwoven”^[15]—heaven is not far away!  For them, “Only a thin, permeable membrane separates those living on earth and those living with God.  This was especially true [as they embraced the new faith] of the risen Christ, whom . . . [they] believe is not only at God’s right hand but also at theirs.”^[16] 

     The weaving lines and knots that the people identified with were retained.  Now, however, the symbol of the cross and illuminated (illustrated) copies of the scripture would be filled with delightful weaving, intertwining lines and knots to represent this connection between heaven and earth. 

     Since these people loved poetry they also developed a wonderful style of using poetic prayers (melodic psalms, if you will) that could guide ordinary people through the tasks and perils of their everyday concerns.  Through such psalm-like prayers they could meditate and draw closer to God in every event of life.  They would also see by way of these melodic prayers that all of life is sacramental.  If we share everyday tasks with God, there is no such thing as the merely mundane—the merely ordinary.  (Some of these poetic prayers will be offered at the end of this post.  Over time such prayers can help draw one ever deeper into intimate friendship with God.)

     The bishop--and the followers and monks who came after him--also developed a great love for the beloved disciple, who for them was surely identified as the disciple John. They saw John as the one who had “listened for the heartbeat of God” as he shared a final meal with Jesus on the last night of Jesus’ life (i.e., the image of the beloved disciple leaning against Jesus and listening for his heartbeat--as they understood the imagery of Jn. 13:23).^[17]  (Note: such imagery was very common in the early church; many great artists, e.g. Giotto, pictured this scene in their masterpieces of the Last Supper.  See Jn. 13:23, MEV, NASB, MSG).

     The Apostle John became increasingly special to them.  He became known as John of Love, John the Beloved, foster-brother of Christ—all names which evoked “the closest and most tender relationships” between Jesus and the Apostle John.^[18]  They emulated John and sought a similar tender relationship with God and Jesus--for each individual.  In their view this intimate tender relationship was something that was entirely possible for all, for Jesus had shown us throughout his entire life that God wishes nothing less.^[19]

     Thus, these teachers were not in the least shy to speak of intimacy and tender relationship between God and God’s children in their expression of Christianity.  They spoke of Christ as the “King of Tenderness.”  Like the disciple John, they, too, would listen for the heartbeat of God and would not be hesitant to express a sense of “the personal immediacy of God to us” or a sense of God and “the whole host of heaven, enfolding the earth and its people with love.”  This was not “sentimental piety” but a well founded “readiness to give and receive warm affection” (Newell).^[20]  After all, God is love (1 Jn. 4:16).  What else is love?  In their view there should, indeed, be a filial, intimate relationship between the heavenly and the human. 

     Furthermore, these teachers would listen for the heartbeat of God in all of life: in God’s magnificent creation, in their fellow human beings, in the story of Christ’s intimate coming to be with us, and also--with special devotion and love--in the scriptures.  They adored the scriptures, copied scripture with loving dedication, and made the most elegant, elaborate, artistic, imaginative illuminations to accompany it that have ever been seen upon the face of this earth[21]--illuminations in headings, margins, and cover pages of books of the Bible.  (Providentially, some of their magnificent volumes [made of carefully treated calfskin: vellum] have survived, so we might marvel, chuckle, and be

astonished at them today, as hidden faces of angels, humans, and beloved animals peek out at us playfully in their intricate illuminations.[22]) 

     In general, these followers and monks had hearts centered upon devotion to God, love and care of their people, simple hospitable service, and a tender attitude toward God’s children and creation.  They were less into authority and control than the religion on the main continent.  They found love and service more effective in winning people’s hearts than authority and control could ever be.  Towns grew up around monasteries.  Deep love and service flowed back and forth between monasteries and the lay folk of the towns.  These towns became vibrant centers of faith, culture, and the arts (among a people who had always been artistically inclined).

     In various ways this style of Christianity could be considered unique.  Priests could marry, and women could be leaders.  The ex-slave/bishop would always be considered their greatest teacher, but next in line in this people’s hearts was a woman: a woman of great generosity, hospitality, and passionate love for her people and, especially, for the sick or oppressed.  She became an abbess and for a time functioned with all the esteem and authority of a bishop.  (Women could also be in charge of double monasteries: monasteries that included areas for men as well as women.^[23])

     The followers of our ex-slave/bishop also loved learning.  While libraries on the main continent were too often being burned and destroyed (as illiterate peoples conquered and saw no value in libraries during those Dark Ages), this island people saved and recopied every classic volume they could get their hands upon—religious as well as secular classics.  They developed schools (indeed universities--within various monasteries^[24]) that in time would become famous far and wide.  Eventually, those desiring the best education on the main continent would come to this island to soak up the learning they sought.  They were taught “divinity, classical poetry, philosophy, Latin, Greek, science and general literature.”  It was a “first Renaissance.”^[25]  The island became known as the land of saints and scholars.

     In time the monks would even take their learning and their understanding of God’s profound, tender love abroad.  They would take it first to today’s Scotland and eventually to the main continent.  They would set up new monasteries, live simply, quietly, peacefully, and hospitably among the people and reintroduce Christianity and scholarship to a continent that had been devastated by invasion and had lost much of its previous cultural heritage.  (Some Christian scholars believe we have much to learn today from their unique style of missionary outreach and evangelism.^[26])

     These monasteries were established in today’s Scotland, Britain, France, Germany, Austria, Italy, and some believe even as far east as Russia.  They were established in the same loving, peaceful pattern as the monks had originally experienced on their beautiful island: slowly the monks would love, teach, and find a place in the hearts of the people.  Those of us with a heritage in Western Christianity owe a huge debt of gratitude to these brave monks who saved and then reintroduced what had been lost during that infamous age sometimes called the Dark Ages.  (Note: we recognize that historians today have reservations about the terminology Dark Ages.  We use it here largely for the sake of brevity and simplicity in storytelling.)

     Of whom do we speak?  The island, of course, is Ireland.  When Thomas Cahill wrote How the Irish Saved Civilization (an international bestseller), he was recapturing a history that had too long been ignored. 

     The ex-slave bishop is that humble, loving, totally-dedicated man we today know as St. Patrick, who came to Ireland as a missionary bishop about 430 CE.  He was “gentle and free”--a “great soul,” who combined “earthiness and warmth” with “courage,” as well as “steadfast loyalty” and an almost “supernatural generosity.”^[27]  (St. Patrick would also be “the first human being in the history of the world to speak out unequivocally against slavery”—making a heartfelt plea when some of his beloved flock were taken as slaves shortly after their baptism.^[28]  This included young women who would surely become sex-slaves; Patrick especially lamented their suffering.  He called the captors [supposedly Christians from Britain, who looked down upon the Irish as primitive--baptized or not] to return every captive.)

     The passionate, hospitable woman abbess, who served for a time as a virtual bishop, is St. Brigid.^[29]  Next in line in the people’s heart (after St. Patrick), she is Ireland’s most revered example of a great life lovingly lived for her people. 

     The cross that embraces the symbol of a circle is the Celtic 

Cross.  And the illuminated manuscripts of scripture include the 

Book of Kells, (ca. 8^th century) which we can still marvel at 

today.^[30]  When a 13^th c. historian saw this book, he said it 

“had emerged from another world: ‘the work, not of men, 

but of angels.’”^[31]

     The main continent is, of course, Europe.  And the Christianity we have described is today known as Celtic Christianity (especially described here as it is depicted by those who come out of the Iona community, which will be discussed shortly).   The clover-like leaf that explains the Trinity is (as might be expected) the shamrock. 

     Use of the shamrock to explain God’s nature reminds us of another significant aspect of Celtic Christianity: its profound love and respect for nature.  Thomas Cahill writes of the great saint most often noted for such loving respect: “[T]he sweetness of poets like Francis of Assisi (whose ‘Canticle of the Sun’ could almost be mistaken for a Celtic poem)” is also deeply reflective of St. Patrick’s even earlier regard for the created order.^[32]   And J. Philip Newell asks: “Would not the Church and the world have been better prepared to meet the challenges of the modern world—including ecological crisis—if they had learned from Celtic spirituality…. [And had] been enriched by the awareness that God’s light is within creation as well as transcending it?”^[33]  It would have been much harder to justify abuse of the created world had this understanding been adequately taught, rather than neglected upon the European continent--in spite of St. Francis’s eloquence (as well as that of St. Hildegard of Bingen^[34]).

     What happened to the unique model of Celtic Christianity?  Many things: Viking invasions; plague; being conquered by Henry VIII of England, who emptied Irish monasteries (in part to steal whatever wealth he found there); increasing contact with the Christianity of the continent (which tended to assume that its style was more correct^[35] ); contact with the increasingly rationalistic approach that was developing on the European continent (which we will discuss in our next post), etc. 

     Slowly the uniqueness of the vision that St. Patrick brought to Ireland--a vision that flourished naturally in the hearts of the Irish people--began to lose some of that uniqueness (although it was never completely lost).  It mixed with a more generalized European viewpoint, including a somewhat more rationalistic European understanding of Christianity.  (Note: It’s important to understand that there were never any major differences in the content of the Christian faith as taught by St. Patrick and his followers.  However, there was a difference in viewpoint or what we today might call “personality type.”^[36]   As J. Philip Newell says, there was a unique way of seeing^[37]: a way of seeing that Irish Celtic Christianity understood as being very close in style to that of the beloved disciple and his attitude of lovingly listening for the heartbeat of God.  It was also a Christianity greatly suffused first and foremost with love.^[38]

     The above was written after we took a “roots journey” to Ireland.  David’s grandfather was Irish.  Lorraine’s grandparents were German (south-western Germany) and Austrian—groups who were introduced (or reintroduced) to the Christian faith by brave Irish missionary monks. 

     We are also Presbyterian (a branch of Christianity forged in Scotland).  It was Irish monks who first brought Christianity to Scotland.  In the 20th century George Macleod, a noted voice (one-time moderator to the General Assembly of the Church of Scotland), worked tirelessly to rebuild the ruined Iona Christian community off the coast of Scotland.  This community had first been established by Irish missionary monks.  Here these monks, including St. Colum Cille (or Columba), brought Christianity to Scottish territory for the very first time.  Macleod had a deep feeling for Celtic Christianity and worked diligently to reweave various aspects of this tradition back into the mainstream of Christian tradition, becoming most “influential in reviving an interest in Celtic Christianity.”^[39]  “What a wonderful world it is,” MacLeod said, for example, “provided you believe in another world.  Not over against this world, but interlaced with it.”^[40]

      Sources for the above story of St. Patrick and early Celtic Christianity (sources that tell a most fascinating story!) are found below in the “Notes.”

     We turn now to some of the wonderful Celtic psalm-like prayers that guided people toward an intimate sense of the companionship and presence of God in all of life--teaching us that there was no real difference between the sacred and the ordinary.  Also note the tender relationship (sacred tenderness) evoked in these selections: “God is seen as encompassing us with a gentleness of strength and care.”[41]

           I rise today

with the power of God to pilot me,

God’s strength to sustain me,

God’s wisdom to guide me,

God’s eye to look ahead for me,

God’s ear to hear me,

God’s word to speak for me,

God’s hand to protect me,

God’s way before me

God’s shield to defend me. . . .

            . . . . . . .

[In all] I arise today. . . .”^[42]

God to enfold me, God to surround me,

God in my speaking, God in my thinking. . . .

God in my waking, God in my watching,

God in my hoping. . . .  God in my slumber, . . .

God in mine eternity. ^[43]

The next selection is from the most famous psalm-like lines of this 

type--“St. Patrick’s Breastplate” (breastplate of protection):

Christ be with me, Christ within me,

Christ behind me, Christ before me,

Christ beside me, Christ to win me,

Christ to comfort and restore me,

Christ beneath me, Christ above me,

Christ in quiet, Christ in danger,

Christ in hearts of all that love me,

Christ in mouth of friend and stranger. ^[44]        

     The two selections below express the idea that we should not separate 

the spiritual from the ordinary.  In this view all of life takes on a 

sacramental quality.

There’s no plant in the ground
But is full of his blessing.
There’s no thing in the sea
But is full of his life . . .
There is nought in the sky
But proclaims his goodness.
Jesu! O Jesu [Jesus]! it’s good to praise thee! ^[45]  

 

I lie down this night with God
And God will lie down with me.
I lie down this night with Christ
And Christ will lie down with me.
I lie down this night with the Spirit
And the Spirit will lie down with me. ^[46]

And finally our own small (similar) offerings:

Meditating upon the ‘Beloved Disciple’:

     (With reflection upon Jn. 6:20, 13:23-25, 14:18, 15:15; Ps. 18:2, 144:1,

KJV, JB, ASV.) [47]    

                                                             * * *

“The Braille of the Earth”  [48] 

I read with my bare feet    

the mute Braille of the earth,       

the coolness of the twilight grass,                           

the fur-like green of the moss . . .  

                        

I read . . . 

a message that spreads to my fingers,  

saying: Write of the wild richness 

      (safeguard the lavish wonder)      

as simple as knowing one moment              

barefoot in the grass--  

one moment 

suspended 

in time!  

* * *

                                                             

"RESPECT (for Mother Nature & Mother Deer's wishes)" 

Dappled sunlight . . . Baby Fawn.

Momma Deer says: “Shh!  Stay!”

I know where; I’ll not tell!

Slowly . . . I tiptoe away.

      (Mother deer often find a hidden place for their fawns to

stay-put while she must roam to forage. I was lucky enough

to see a stay-put fawn as it momentarily rose to stretch.

In stillness, gratitude for a rare sight, and a Celtic-style

prayer for this small creature's safety--I backed away.)

* * *

(See additional blog posts after the “Notes”—Newer/Older Posts.)

……………………..

Notes:

1. See “The Great 'Sacred Romance' of Heaven for us & its Frequent Neglect”;

http://sacred-tenderness-christian-tradition.blogspot.com/2015/07/the-great-sacred-romance-and-its.html.

2. The Confession of Saint Patrick, notes and trans. John Skinner (New York: Image,
Doubleday, 1998), pp. 58, 69.

3. Ibid., p. 27.

4. John O’Donohue, Prologue, The Confession of Saint Patrick, pp. viii-xii.

5. See Note 1 above.

6. O’Donohue, Prologue, The Confession of Saint Patrick, p. xii.

7. The Confession of Saint Patrick, p. 39.

8. Ibid., pp. 41-42.

9. Ibid., p. 65.

10.  Ibid., p. 45.

11. Ibid., p. 46.

12. Thomas Cahill, How the Irish Saved Civilization (New York: Anchor, Doubleday, 1995),
p. 151.

13. J. Philip Newell, Listening for the Heartbeat of God: A Celtic Spirituality (New
York: Paulist Press, 1997), pp. 26, 41.

14. This understanding of the arms of the cross embracing the circle is thanks to Philip Duffy,
our excellent guide/interpreter/driver on a recent tour of his beautiful country.

15. Newell, Listening for the Heartbeat of God, p. 86.

16. Brad Kent, “Beneath the Celtic cross of Jesus,” Presbyterians Today,
Jan./Feb., 2002, p. 13.

17. Newell, Listening for the Heartbeat of God, pp. 1-2; 41, 94-107.  

18. Ibid., p. 41.

19. Jesus, who taught us to pray “Our Father,” modeled intimate relationship with the Father
himself (especially see the Book of John), and taught (and modeled) the Father’s love,
as in Lk. 15.

20. Newell, Listening for the Heartbeat of God, pp. 48.

21. Cahill, How the Irish Saved Civilization, p. 165.

22. Trinity College Dublin (where we viewed the Book of Kells) allows views online:
see https://www.facsimilefinder.com/facsimiles/book-of-kells-facsimile. (Note that

many scholars think the Book of Kells originally came from the Iona

community; see Note 39 for the authors' sense of personal connection.)

23. Cahill, How the Irish Saved Civilization, pp. 172-176, 204.

24. Such as the Glendalough and Clonmacnois monastic centers, the ruins of which

we visited on a recent trip.

25. Brian O’Carroll and Bill Felton, The Story of Clonmacnoise and Saint Ciarán
(Shannonbridge, Co. Offaly: Ely House, 2013), pp. 43, 29.

26. See additional resources for examining the uniqueness of early Celtic Christianity,
as well as this this unique way of evangelism: George G. Hunter III, The Celtic Way
of Evangelism (Nashville: Abingdon, 2000); Kent, “Beneath the Celtic cross of
Jesus,” Presbyterians Today, Jan./Feb., 2002, p. 15.

27. O’Donohue, Prologue, The Confession of Saint Patrick, p. xiii; Cahill,

How the Irish Saved Civilization, p. 124.

28. Cahill, How the Irish Saved Civilization, p. 114; “Letter to Coroticus” in The

Confession of Saint Patrick, pp. 1-16 and O’Donohue, Prologue, p. xix.

29. Cahill, How the Irish Saved Civilization, p. 175.

30. See Notes 22, 31 above/below.

31. Bernard Meehan, The Book of Kells (London: Thames & Hudson Ltd., 1994),

p. 9 (quoting the 13th c. historian Giraldus Cambrensis).

32. Cahill, How the Irish Saved Civilization, p. 133.

33. Newell, Listening for the Heartbeat of God, pp.106-107.

34. See Renate Craine, Hildegard: Prophet of the Cosmic Christ (New York:

Crossroad, 1997), p. 72 (note: Hildegard of Bingen, long considered a saint

in Germany, is increasingly considered so beyond Germany’s borders).

35. Beginning with the Synod of Whitby, 644 CE; see Cahill, How the Irish

Saved Civilization, pp. 200-204.

36. If one considers the much used Myers-Briggs Type Indicator, based on Carl Jung’s

understanding of personality types, it could be said that St. Patrick and the Irish seem
to be especially strong representatives of the “feeling” (values of the heart) function
and the “intuitive” function.  See our post where we discuss the “rationalistic
materialism” (C. G. Jung) that increasingly dominated on the European
continent and also seeped into religion:

http://sacred-tenderness-christian-tradition.blogspot.com/2015/09/.

37. Newell, Listening for the Heartbeat of God, pp. 48, 75, 84, 94.

38. See “‘Love First’ or ‘Law First’ (and God’s Tender Love)”;
http://sacred-tenderness-christian-tradition.blogspot.com/2015/04/law-first-or-love-first-and-gods-tender.html. 

39. Kent, “Beneath the Celtic cross of Jesus,” Presbyterians Today, Jan./Feb., 2002, p. 15.

40. Newell, Listening for the Heartbeat of God, p. 86 (from Ronald Ferguson, ed., Daily
Readings with George MacLeod).

41. Ibid., p. 48.

42. Hunter, The Celtic Way of Evangelism, pp. 32-34, also see pp. 50-51 (quoting from

“St. Patrick’s Breastplate”).

43. Ibid. (quoted from Alexander Carmichael, ed., Carmina Gadelica III).

44. Ibid., pp. 25-26.  

45. Patrick Comerford, “Introducing Celtic Spirituality” (quoted from Carmina Gadelica);

www.patrickcomerford.com/2011/11/introducing-celtic-spirituality.html.

46. Ibid.

47. Final meditations by Lorraine B. Eshleman (see Note 48).

48. This selection won Best of Challenge for the 2008 Poetry Challenge of Highland Park,

Highland Park, IL (a very slight update in words here). Also note that the Braille is in

italics, since it is meant to be symbolic and does not represent a real word.