Yesterday, I shared a blessing from the book of Celtic Daily Prayer. I also mentioned that I have found the Celtic tradition, with its emphasis on the basic goodness inherent in people and creation, quite refreshing. This ancient strand of Christianity perceives that the world itself is a stunning miracle and that all matter is evidence of the creative activity of God. 

The late George McLeod was a Scottish Presbyterian minister who, earlier in life, had fought in the trenches in World War I. He had a profound experience of Christ’s presence while on a train with other wounded soldiers heading home. This led him to re-establish a Christian Community on the Island of Iona off the west coast of Scotland. This community, steeped in Celtic Christianity, is now a popular pilgrimage site.

Today, I’d like to share an excerpt from a prayer written by Reverend McLeod. Let us pray:

We come into Thy house, our home once more, to give thanks:

for earth and sea and sky in harmony of color,

the air of the eternal seeping through the physical,

the everlasting glory dipping into time.

We praise Thee.

For swift running tides, resistant waves, Thy Spirit on the waters,

the spirit of the inerrant will,

striving with the currents that are also Thine.

We bless Thee.

O Lord: How marvelous are Thy works. In majesty hast Thou created them. Amen.

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A few years ago, a friend gave me a book of Celtic Daily Prayer, which offers a guide for morning, mid-day, and evening prayers. These prayers come from the Northumbria Community on the Holy Island of Lindisfarne in Northeast England. I have found the Celtic tradition with its emphasis on the basic goodness inherent in people and creation quite refreshing.

Within the liturgy of the morning prayer, there is a Celtic blessing that has become quite special to me. It could be used as a blessing for any departure - as you leave from a church service, part with a loved one, or even as you prepare to leave home for work in the morning. I leave it with you today as our daily prayer. Let us pray:

May the peace of the Lord Christ go with you,

wherever He may send you.

May He guide you through the wilderness,

protect you through the storm.

May He bring you home rejoicing

at the wonders He has shown you.

May He bring you home rejoicing, 

once again, into our doors.

In the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. Amen.

John O’Donohue once wrote, “We seldom notice how each day is a holy place where the Eucharist of the ordinary happens, transforming our broken fragments into an eternal continuity that keeps us.” 

Most days do not feel holy. They feel repetitive, unfinished, even disappointing. We move through conversations, errands, and routines without expecting anything eternal to occur. And yet, O’Donohue suggests that grace is quietly at work, gathering the broken fragments of our lives into a continuity that holds us.

Near the end of the Gospel of Luke, we read about two of the disciples walking away from Jerusalem, carrying disappointment and grief. Their hopes have been shattered. Nothing about their journey feels sacred. They are simply trying to make sense of a day that did not turn out as they had hoped.

Jesus meets them there—not in triumph, but in conversation. He listens. He walks at their pace. He opens the Scriptures as they move along the road. And still, they do not recognize him. Holiness, it turns out, does not always announce itself. It often arrives disguised as the ordinary: a fellow traveler, a shared story, a meal at the end of a long day.

It is only when Jesus takes the bread, blesses it, breaks it, and gives it to them that their eyes are opened. In that simple, familiar act, the fragments of the day are gathered. Confusion gives way to clarity. Loss is transformed into hope. What felt like an ending becomes the beginning of a new story.

The Eucharist of the ordinary happens there—at a table, with broken bread, at the close of an unremarkable day. The disciples discover that the risen Christ has been with them all along, weaving meaning through every step, holding their brokenness in love.

So it may be also with us. 

Let us pray: Gracious God, our days often feel scattered—marked by fatigue, missed connections, and half-finished work. Open our eyes to the holy in the ordinary, and to your presence walking alongside us, even today, even now. Amen.

Today I want to suggest an exciting idea - I want you to try giving yourself away. 

I once knew a man who suffered a nervous breakdown, during which he sat for months in gloom and mental darkness. One day I suggested he try to turn off his dark, depressing thoughts by practicing thanksgiving. I said, "Start thinking of people who greatly helped you in your life."

So, he wrote an elderly school teacher, a Miss Elaine Smith, who had been a positive influence on his life. A reply came, written in the shaky handwriting of an aged lady. "Dear Willy," she wrote, "When I read your letter I was blinded by tears, for I remember you as a boy, and as I think of you now I see you as a little fellow in my class. You have warmed my old heart. I taught school for fifty years. Yours is the first letter of thanks I ever received from a student, and I shall cherish it until I die." 

Friend of Dial Hope, writing a letter of thanks - a project like that - may involve taking a little time - but it's an opportunity to give a little of yourself, and really that's the best you can give. Strangely, when you give yourself, you find yourself. 

Let us pray: God of hope, we come to you when our hope is vanquished, and our faith is small. We come to you when the promise of the "good life" has been found lacking when clothes and cuisine, cars, and cappuccinos become insufficient nourishment for the hunger of the human spirit. We come to you because we have nowhere else to go. O God, save us from ourselves; from self-indulgence, and self-idolization. Heal us from the sickness of the body but even more from the sickness of the soul. May we get caught up in the current of your compassion, the flood of your forgiveness and so lose ourselves in the wide ocean of your love. In the name of the risen Christ. Amen. 

The Apostle Paul once wrote, “I have learned to be content with whatever I have. I know what it is to have little. I know what it is to have plenty. In any and all circumstances, I have learned the secret of being well-fed and of going hungry, of having plenty, and of being in need. I can do all things through him who strengthens me.”

When I was in Seminary, I served a small church as a student pastor. Part of my responsibility was leading the youth group. The students loved this passage, “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me.” 

This was their verse, and it was meaningful for them. But sometimes they misused it. They would say things like, “We can win that volleyball game, or I will pass that test because Christ will strengthen me!”

What Paul was saying is actually more along the lines of this: Whatever you happen to be dealing with right now, even if you feel like you are hanging on by the last thread of hope, Christ is with you. Whether you win or lose that volleyball game, whether you pass or fail that test, whether you are the most popular kid in school or feel like the biggest loser, whether or not you get that job, or mend that relationship, you have entrusted your life to Christ, and he will give you the strength to get through it. 

To affirm the promise, “I can do all things through Christ who strengthens me” is to place our lives—wins and losses alike—into Christ’s care, trusting that his presence will be enough, whatever today may hold.

Let us pray: God of Grace, today, even now, we entrust our lives again to you. We turn over to you our worry, our concern, our anxiety, our burdens. Meet us at the deepest point of our need. Fill us with your Spirit, and grant us your courage and strength. We ask in Jesus’ name. Amen.