#84.2 Wednesday, September 2, 2026

Historical Setting: The Great Skellig in an unknown time

Sitting in the midst of these young monks on the stones for steps, I look at their faces — all one single expression dazed by wonder. I told them who I am, assuming their knowledge of the gospel would solve the mystery of the missing dead man now alive among them. They got caught up in the wonder of the sign and even those among them who are grieving the deaths of a brother, or a father, or their old lives are seeing only the sign and not the spiritual life that the metaphor in the sign could mean to the grieving.

If they see a sign on the refectory door telling them “today we fast,” do they examine the sign itself and wonder how the letters are formed? Or do they expect today is a fast day?

I am simply the sign Jesus posted to say that the Christ is the resurrection and the life.

I ask them.

     “Don’t you want to talk about the reason Jesus made a sign of me?”

Apparently, I’ve asked the impossible question. In the gapping unanswered space their eyes turn to the abbot, the only slightly older man who knows every word of gospel and even the epistles, by heart. The abbot understands my question, and he answers it — correctly — of course.

         “Jesus used the sign of the raising of Lazarus to speak one of his ‘I am’ Christ messages. He said, ‘I am the resurrection and the life.'”

         One asks what all seemed to wonder, “Must we be without sin, to enter into this eternal life?”

         The abbot answers, “Of course.”

         I answer, “It’s not about sin.”

The young monks listen to the abbot.  And I wonder, why is everything always about sin? Even the all-loving God’s abundant gift of life seems to have a sin lock on the door.  It is helpful for me to remember my own needs as a youth.

Jesus was there with us in the crowd of the followers of John the Baptist.  It seemed wonderfully counter-cultural to us teens at the time. Our papa, a faithful Pharisee, didn’t want us just going off after every popular movement, but the actual opposition to these baptisms was from the political power mongers under Ceasar –I’ll save my commentary for another time.

I was in the crowd with my sister, Mary, as the preacher, John, begged repentance. And here was my friend, Jesus. Like these monks, we were all young, and searching.

(Continues tomorrow)

#84.1 Tuesday, September 1, 2026

Historical Setting: The Great Skellig in an unknown time
 

Sitting on the outer wall between sea and rock the young monks gather with their questions. My recent healing still feels tenuous, and here these young monks dutifully bring concerns regarding sin. Sin is either too personal or too hypothetical. I would rather answer questions about the message Jesus had of God’s love for all people. That isn’t what they want to hear. They want assurance of personal righteousness. Even in a new time it is the same old sin all wound up in a tiresome rope. I need a moment alone.

It is a dizzy silence that the young monks allow me. I move down from the wall, onto the steps to put my head against the cool stone wall.

Dear God, I am tired and aching just now. Fill me with the Creative Spirit, the fervor of the love message. Open these young fellows to the pure joy of Spirit.  Please break in with healing. Amen.

And here is Brother Lugh, bringing me a cup of cold water.

Maybe the better understanding I begged for is here now, in the silent young faces of these monks. And the shift from obligations of sin to the resurrection of joy doesn’t happen by fixing over youth’s same old ancient questions about sin. Maybe the repentance that is needed is for me to remember my own youthful quest to attain a personal goodness.

I can remember my need to please others and God too, all wrapped up in repentance. So why do young seekers still reach for the hard rule and punitive correction?  These nearly pure youth have committed themselves to the monastic rule, grasping for a single righteousness for turning from the guilt of sin, toward an affirmation — not of joy — but a solid list of rules.

And I thought surely, they would want to know the good news of the resurrection.

When I remember my own youth, my sister and I didn’t tell our Pharisee father that we were going out to that place on the river to hear the new preacher. We were following the voice in the wilderness, baptizing, in the Jordan.  There was a huge crowd; it was the place to be. The carpenter’s son, Jesus, was there in the crowd so we made our way in his direction.

We knew him. His father was the master carpenter who remodeled our house. Jesus and I had carried the beams for the new portico that summer.

(Continues tomorrow)

#83.12 Thursday, August 27, 2026

Historical Setting: The Great Skellig in an unknown time
 

About sin: I am sitting here on the wall of the steps to the monastery offering the monks a Q and A. I thought they would be asking about my friend Jesus, but I find they are most concerned about sin and holy retribution.

I intended to tell them about the seven signs, (not miracles,) that Jesus used to illustrate the gracious nature of God on earth as it is in heaven: here in the physical mortal life as it is in the eternal, holy, spiritual life.

Maybe that message isn’t as suited to these times of human wars and games of wins and losses. Or maybe God’s grace just doesn’t seem to belong in this place of winds and rocks and brute survival. Or maybe the obsession of people with sins appears to empower humankind to take control of the divine by requiring God to dole out punishments and rewards. Like the precocious child, bored in a classroom, humankind finds power over the whole of God’s love by behaving badly, always searching and sometimes creating “sin.” Even though the abundant power of the love of God surrounds us like air does for breath, constant and invisible, our personal thoughts of God only seem to gravitate to the exhale.

Jesus took issue with the human need for judgement. In John 9, the whole chapter is about the sixth sign in which Jesus gave sight to a man who was born blind.  He uses the mud of earth and spit to make the healing potion and he assigns the healing power from the traditions of healing by washing in a particular pool, using physical tools already known and present. But all the time, all around, the disciples, and then the keepers of the law, those religious leaders ever present make the discussion about sin. Jesus comes as a brilliant beam of gracious light into this eternal human search for the roots of darkness.

So. the next question from the young monks is much easier to answer because it is simply about order and sequence, not actual practicable theology. 

     “So, is the raising of Lazarus the seventh sign, or is it actually part of the fifth declaration of ‘I am’ [John 10:14]?”

This young scholar perceives the gospel as a numerical puzzle to be solved with seven of these and seven of those. He is seeking a hidden code as though it is a game with a win.

     I say, “However you come to it, it always ends the same. God is all-love, always welcoming us home. John 15:4.”

(Continues Tuesday, September 1)

#83.11 Wednesday, August 26, 2026

Historical Setting: The Great Skellig in an unknown time

In all my redundant healings, rising over and over again into life always into future times, I’ve never actually discussed my circumstances with anyone but my closest friends and family.  Now, I offered it as a homily on the “signs” in the gospel and the questions here aren’t about the Jesus message, they are only asking about personal sins, the kind that are confessed before a priest.

Perched as we are here, just above the nesting place for thousands of birds, our slight human glimpses of holy wisdom don’t distinguish which birds of Creation are beloved and which are doomed to eternal punishment. In birds there seems to be no sorting for punishment and no required penance. In birds, everyone has wings, not just the angels. Then, here are these earthbound monks with all the contrivances of human understanding.

     I ask, “What do you say about the birds? Do they sin? Does God measure them by their sins? Or is it only human beings who can sin?”

The monks look to the abbot for the answer, and the abbot is standing a few steps higher, observing, not participating. Pushed by his followers’ expectation he offers scripture for an answer.

     “In the Gospel of Matthew, it is said that God knows even if a nearly worthless sparrow falls. And God knows every little thing about us, even the number of hairs on our heads.” [Matthew 10:29-31]

A novice touches the bristles shaven on the fore part of his head, then he reaches his fingers back to the hairs still growing a length. It is a sign that God has less counting to do with tonsured monks. And it is a confusing bit of holy scripture here — this hair counting thing. I think the abbot was intending to use this reference to tell of God’s grace, affirming God’s love for all Creation. He means to be supportive of the metaphor I am drawing. But scripturally, the context is the Gnostic divisiveness between darkness and light, between soul and body. And in that passage part of us may be destined for hell. [In the context of the chapter Matthew 10]

The abbot’s answer doesn’t argue against my analogy but he chose to keep his answer narrow, allowing for grace, amid the more punitive context of the whole chapter.

To the abbot, I say, “thank you.”

(Continues tomorrow)

#83.10 Tuesday, August 25, 2026

Historical Setting: The Great Skellig in an unknown time

Rarely do I explain my gift, or call it an oddity, of amazing healing power. But I did speak it aloud not to an intimate family member, but to a small community of monks who are strangers to me. They have so many questions; so after Mass I find a place on a stairway wall to sit, and answer whatever they ask.

Here the summer sun is tempered by the cool breath of sea–always beautiful. Always rugged — Even more awesome in storms. 

Monks gather with their questions.

     “Is this miracle available to anyone who doesn’t sin?”

Didn’t I already say that?

     “My oddity of life on earth is a sign, not a miracle. It is an earthly metaphor of a heavenly truth. Jesus intended the dramatic illustration of a healing to life as an earthly sign to tell us, his friends, of eternal life and life again, which is spiritually available to all.”

     “Were you chosen for this because you were sinless?”

I shouldn’t be caught laughing at this question. It was a serious question in these times. But how can I answer?

     “It wasn’t about sin at all, even though the notion of sin seems to drive every spiritual message on earth in these times. Sin is of earth and doesn’t speak the poetry of heaven. In the ways of thinking in these times, it would seem we are all sinners.”

     “So, you are saying Jesus raised up a sinner?”

     “I’m just saying sin, depending on the viewpoint people take of it, is either the inevitable nature of all humankind, or it is an earthly stain on some and not others. It isn’t a factor in the relentless, unjudging, gracious love of God for us or for the eternal nature of spiritual life.”

Now they are shouting questions over one another.

     “What about Hell?”

     “Why would people choose goodness over sin if the reward of heaven is for all?”

     “How can you say sin is a ‘viewpoint?'”

     “Jesus gave us signs of God’s universal and unbreakable love. This love of God is not fractured or manipulated by human sin. When Jesus was present, teaching, walking the earth, at my first rising, no one cared about my sins. My sister was blaming Jesus for being late to my death, but other than that, sin wasn’t even considered.”

     Jesus was using something all people share — healing, which is a gracious gift to all Creation, as a sign to show the nature of the reality of God’s love as unceasing and regardless of sin.”

(Continues tomorrow)


#83.9 Thursday, August 20, 2026

Historical Setting: The Great Skellig in an unknown time

     Order is restored and the abbot appears to be confused by my presence here. Am I his cohort or foe? He isn’t comfortable with nuance. He wants to hate me, but for this moment anyway, I’ve captured the wonder of his followers and it seems it would only undermine his power as the leader of this community to turn them against me.

     “Please Father, continue with this Mass.”

The abbot begins the liturgy. [Footnote1]

     Celebrant (abbot): “O God come to my assistance.”

     People: “O Lord make haste to help me.”

     Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Spirit, as it was in the beginning, is now, and ever unto ages of ages.”

The unison “amen” is the cue to kneel. Even though this is a Celtic liturgy, there are some differences between this and the services led by Father Columbanus. I was not expecting to kneel, so I’m depending on this walking stick just now. I’ve only recently healed back to standing. I’m conspicuously the last to kneel as the abbot waits before proceeding with the prayer of contrition.

“We have sinned, O Lord, we have sinned: remit our sins and save us. Hear us, O Thou Who didst guide Noah upon the waves of the Flood, and didst recall Jonah from the abyss by Thy Word; free us. O Thou Who didst offer a hand to Peter as he was sinking; bear us up, O Christ, Son of God. Thou didst perform wonders among our fathers, O Lord: stretch forth Thy hand from on high to answer our necessities.” [Footnote 2]

I am so awkward rising again to my feet, Brother Lugh feels compelled to help me up. It is a wonder I claim healing at all.

     The abbot says, “Free us, O Christ:”

The dialogue continues.

         “Hear us, O Christ.”

         “Hear us, O Christ.” 

         “Hear us.”

The chant has a new, less complicated set of notes.

         “Kyrie eleison.”

         “Christe eleison.”

         “Deo Gratias.” [Stowe Missal]

When the abbot elevates the chalice — the new chalice — the golden chalice in this place of raw rocks — this anonymously gifted chalice, is actually known to Brother Lugh by its gifter — known to him as a remembrance of a father to a son. Brother Lugh, wilts in tears of grief for his own, ever so earthly and mortal, father.

     The words of institution — “the blood shed” — “the body of Christ” —

     The release of the Spirit on earth as it is in heaven. Amen.

[Footnote 1] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Stowe_Missal (retrieved 12-12-25) Blogger’s note: Just as I prayerfully write this blog about our spiritual oneness in God, having ancient earthly signs of this tucked into all creation, I search history on the internet looking for an 8th century Celtic Liturgy. And it is here.  It is published in these later centuries as a book.  Like the nature of color, all reflected to create the perfection of white, here is another earthly sign for that oneness of all human expression, despite the mortal little hates and foibles, may the  amalgamation of human goodness and wisdom and the search for it, reflect a spiritual truth.

[Footnote 2] ©1995 M K Dowling ORDINARY of the MASS (retrieved 12-15-25, as included in the Stowe Missal)

(Continues Tuesday, August 25)

#83.8 Wednesday, August 19, 2026

Historical Setting: The Great Skellig in an unknown time
 

It’s left for me, to preach to these monks of the Skellig and explain myself as I am called a “sign.”

     “All of Creation, the earth, the beauty, the love and our sacred ability to touch and to be touched are all signs — on earth to speak of heaven. The whole of touchable, visible, beautiful Creation of earth speaks the heavenly truth, ‘God is.’ Love would be unfathomable if it had no earthly sign. Friendship, familial bonds, parental obligation, even sexual passion are earthly signs to speak of the invisible, present, all-encompassing love.”

I see shocked faces gaping at me — some loves are taboo here. Original sin keeps its luster even in a world made only of a vertical rock face.

     “All beauty on earth becomes signs of the invisible, explaining the  experience of heaven. I am a sign — an earthly messenger of something more.

     “In the Gospel of John, the signs aren’t hidden to be discovered anew with each turning of a leaf or wonder at a sunrise. In John seven signs were extraordinary and performed only by Jesus. So, my dear friend and teacher made me a sign when he called me back from my first death. There was, of course, a Roman plot to start rumors that I could finally stay dead, [John 12:10] which would have made me a sign of a temporary resuscitation, and the message would be that our spiritual nature is as mortal as our earthly nature. But, not so.  The spiritual life isn’t bound by the rules of mortality. Spiritual life is immortal and abides with God as love — before our physical births and after our physical deaths, even while we live as mortals, we are also spiritual by nature. Apparently, people weren’t adept at understanding that, so Jesus made a sign to speak it.”

     “How did you arrive here?” One asks.

     I was sailing with a river merchant to Iona, when we were wrecked in a storm at sea, and both of us drown.  My bones were washed ashore here. It was Brother Lugh who found me and Brother Timothy who granted me the time and comfort for the healing.

Now, everyone is shouting questions at me. The abbot is furious; his own shouts only raise the noise level. There is no decorum, just a cacophony of each talking above the other.

     I speak what the abbot is shouting, “Please, peace, my friends, this is a solemn service of worship. I will answer questions afterwards.”

(Continues tomorrow)

#83.7 Tuesday, August 18, 2026

Historical Setting: The Great Skellig in an unknown time
 

Surely, they must know the gospel here; probably it is committed to memory many times over. For them, it wouldn’t be a strange story I have to tell. I could understand this amazement if they were Pagan and the earthly signs of Jesus were not already known to them.

     “Surely, you already know. It is as it was specifically told in John 11.”

The monks turn back to the front of the room expecting the abbot has plotted me here as a clever start for his homely on spiritual life. He could have played my interruption so well, but no. He looked to the two young novices, just learning the routines of this community.

     “Is this a prank?” the abbot asks. “You brought this stranger with you from the mainland and kept him hidden all this time just to make a joke of it?”

The young monks are mortified.  I speak on their behalf.

     “No, the new brothers had nothing at all to do with me here. I was brought from the dregs of the sea by Brother Timothy, the hermit, and for all the weeks of my healing he cared for me, as he does other wounded things clinging to life.”

Now the abbot casts accusations on Brother Lugh.

      “So, you lied, when you confessed that you’d lied, when you said you found a dead man on the shore!”

     “Your Holiness, I thought I’d seen a dead man, and then there was no one to bury, so I thought the devil had tangled my thoughts so I would think I saw what wasn’t, so I confessed that I had spoken a falsehood in reporting a dead man.”

The abbot failed his monks several times over here, blaming them, then revealing a confession, and now the missing homely is left for me to speak. I have everyone’s full attention.

      “My friend and teacher knew that his own death was eminent, murder by cross was plotted by Roman henchmen against any outspoken Jew. Jesus knew of his likely, earthly death. He wanted us, his beloved followers and friends to know that we would still have the Spirit of him with us, as he is still with us to this day. So, Jesus gave an earthly sign, raising a physical person from the dead, to gift us with an earthly simile to describe the invisible spiritual truth of heaven. And here am I, always healing in body as the sign of the heavenly truth of spiritual life unfettered by death.”

(Continues tomorrow)


#83.6 Thursday, August 13, 2026

Historical Setting: The Great Skellig in an unknown time

I follow the others of this community into the slightly larger, oblong cell of stacked stones where monks gather for Mass. It is not a Pagan circle, made over to be a Christian Church as are many small circular stone churches made over from ancient Pagan temples.  This seems Christian from the start. More likely it pretends to be the shape of a Roman basilica, so it has a front and a back. The abbot takes his place at the front and within the small scale of it, he alone, fills the whole apse. In a miniature structure, the earthly people seem like giants. So be it.

Brother Lugh and I, followed by the two novices were first to enter, so we are standing the farthest in the back, but how could Brother Lugh think I wouldn’t be noticed, a ninth man here, a stranger to these others, wearing this oddly made linen tunic of the very same weave as the scapulars and the body bags supplied to this monastery at the start of it. I’m grateful Brother Timothy gave me the proper Celtic tonsure. There is no thought among these people that I am not a monk — I’m just a stranger to them.

The dialogue of the ritual would be in the Roman language. But first, the abbot interrupts the expected liturgy, and speaks in the spoken language of these monks.

         “How is it possible there is a stranger among us? There has not been a boat at the cove for some weeks.”

It hardly feels like warm words of welcome.

         Brother Lugh announces, “This is Lazarus, back from the dead!”

There is a silence before the murmur of wonder.  Maybe no further explanation is needed.

         But the abbot says, “Brother Lazarus. Explain this.”

I really didn’t think I needed to explain myself to strangers. But I attempt it anyway.

         “I am a sign.”

         “You say you are Christ returned?”

         “No, no. I am a sign — My return to life is an earthly event to speak of a heavenly truth — I am just, simply, the sign on earth of spiritual resurrection as it is in heaven.  The mystical life is for all of us — it is the spiritual nature of all of our lives.”

There is a stunned silence here.

(Continues Tuesday, August 18)

#83.5 Wednesday, August 12, 2026

Historical Setting: The Great Skellig in an unknown time
 

Here is a fracture of earthen rock jutting out over a foreboding sea. Climbing onto it would be daunting to any creature not equipped with wings. Heaven is abundant here. But it is the things of earth that are rough and sparse.

It isn’t a Christian thing, or a Pagan thing; it is an ancient thing, forever bound in the holy space between earth and heaven where people come seeking, and maybe even trusting that which is invisible yet well known as Holy. Even in such spiritual bliss within such holiness, comes a longing for an earthly voice to be the flesh and blood human speaking for Holy One. These brothers come here longing to hear the voice of God whispering the love message.

In the earthling way of thinking, the mountain peaks would be given grand names and the cliffsides would become the paths to reach them, but here, the peaks are simply called Skellig maybe because that’s the sound of the rock rolling down the cliffside. The whole island is Skellig, and Skellig is also another rock like this one, nearby in this ocean. But in the midst of this Great Skellig, between the unnamed peaks is the one place with a name. It is a gentler slope and it links one peak to the other. I’ve heard it called Christ’s saddle. It is a perfect seat for the far-traveling mystical presence of the Christ known here on the gallop from heaven to earth with the holy message always known but never spoken, except in metaphor and parable.

Here the earthbound fringe of humanity longs for a physical presence of God. Even the priestly voice of a human can’t really fill the gapping need for the link between heaven and earth. Yet, here, a priestly abbot can give a monk a comfortable footing on earth while his own monk’s Spirit soars heavenward.

I follow Brother Lugh and a few other monks through the opening at the east facing end of the largest of this cluster of cells. These stacked stone cells look like an enclave of bald heads — but with corbels. Why have these monks, new to this Skellig, not thatched their shelters, at least with fescue and kelp as Brother Timothy has done to his cell? If these monks had lived their earthly years as my own sons, they would know the importance of thatch to keep the damp out and every little passing raincloud wouldn’t chill their sleeps.

(Continues tomorrow)