I always thought I was half-English and half Scots-Irish. Fond as I am of all things Brit -- like the great social novels of the 19th century, tea the drink, tea the meal, vine-covered cottages, the BBC, the royal family-- I wasn't too proud of being half-English. There's the Empire, for starters. And being American, and a history buff, there's the way the English colonists treated the people who already lived here, a scandalous story that we gloss over with our Thanksgiving myth. I also lived in Brooklyn, the greatest city on earth, for ten years, and I came to appreciate, if that's the right word, how bland an ethnicity is English...You can't taste it, smell it, sing it, turn it into a festival (at least, not unless there's a royal wedding). There's a reason why, too: that old ruling class that dictated English ways in America become our cultural "norm," colorless and pervasive as the air we breathe. Whereas I love Indian food, Italian markets and Irish music.

So imagine my joy at getting around to a spot of genealogical research a year ago, and discovering (through a solid source, an entire book on my family in America, written by a Naval officer and currently in the Library of Congress, online to boot!) that my surname is NOT English. My ancestor, going back to the early 17th century, was a Scotsman, who changed one letter in his name to anglicize it, probably a career move in 1640. I am Celtic through and through. That explains a lot! Including my earthly soul mates, my beloved late husband and my current companion, as Irish as they come. And my broodiness.

Which brings me to my faith. Recently I've reconnected with my Christian upbringing, which was not evangelical, for sure, but no one back then was clear about the important idea that that, as Marcus Borg puts it, the Bible can be taken seriously but not literally, that its truths don't depend upon taking it as historical fact, and faith is not a litmus test, but an orientation of the heart. My parents were a strong example of the meaning of church as community and public service, but short on theology, and though I joined their church as a youngster, with so many unanswered questions I soon drifted away.  Eventually I found the UU denomination, a noble hodgepodge of essential values  I now describe as "necessary, but not sufficient," since it's all too easy in some congregations to play with the trappings of world religion (in my case, Buddhism lite) without really being spiritual at all. (One warning sign would be when you discover a coterie of imported second-home-owning millionaires running things, no mention of God or Jesus, all the music is politically correct African spirituals or un-singable "PC" versions of old hymns with new lyrics and no harmony, and all the sermons are about politics or "mindfulness," code word for "feeling good about being me." I exaggerate a bit, but that's mostly accurate. )

Now I have discovered a deeper experience in a UCC church, one that is moving toward what's now described as the "emerging church," or "progressive Christianity." (There's the joke that UCC stands for "Unitarians Confused about Christ," and its liberal approach is actually closer to the kind of Christianity embraced by the original Unitarians and Universalists than what you will likely find in a UU church today.) I've already mentioned the influence of Borg, not only on the name of my blog, but on my ability to see Christianity as something quite apart from any church, or the horrible things done in its name, to see the real meaning of Jesus, the historical Jesus, the real man, in his message and life example: "Go and do likewise." And that brings me to an early experience of Christianity that is part of my new-found heritage, Celtic Christianity.

I had a wonderful guide in Kenneth McIntosh, in his new book, Water from an Ancient Well: Celtic Spirituality for Modern Life. The author explores in each chapter a different aspect of the Celtic worldview and how that was expressed in their folkways and  faith both before and after becoming some of the earliest converts to Christianity. He discusses the Celtic sense of the inter-connectedness of all beings-- captured in so many beautiful designs on stonework, jewelry, artifacts of daily life, texts, and the Celtic Cross, for they valued artistry and craftsmanship as part of everyday, not a luxury; the sacredness of the natural world; music as a bridge to the divine; the power of story and of scripture, to express truth symbolically in a way that reaches our hearts; the need for community (a fairly egalitarian one, at that, especially for women)...I found myself saying, Yes! Yes! and feeling delight at the notion of my kinship with these ancient peoples. 

Two chapters were a bit of a struggle for me, in the sense of stretching my mind around them, though unquestionably they focused on significant aspect of Celtic Christianity it would have been remiss for the author to ignore: their belief in miracles, and in "angels and demons." I do have an open mind to the possibility of a supernatural aspect of existence (one powerful personal experience of it), but I'm not about to accept the reconciliation of miracle and physics offered by C.S. Lewis, an Irishman himself. My favorite chapter was about the Celtic concept of a "soul friend," who acts as a confidante with a loving care to nurture one's spiritual growth.

McIntosh uses stories from his own life, along with retellings of the lives of the Celtic saints and legendary heroes, to make his points, all  interspersed with Celtic prayers and sayings. Each chapter ends with suggestions for ways to bring this spiritual dimension into our everyday practice.His prose is graceful and inviting, and while I read this as an e-book, I wish I had the hard copy, as it is filled with the striking Celtic designs. His work is thoroughly documented with chapter notes and references, making it a valuable introduction to a topic I will want to explore for a long time to come. That's a good effect to have upon a reader!