A Celtic Summer Curriculum: An Invitation

join me for twelve weeks of nature and Spirit

This time a year ago, I was preparing to begin my sabbatical.

I know this because the calendar tells me so, but I’m also feeling it in my bones. Last May, I was tying up loose ends, creating email autoresponders, finalizing details for a trip to Scotland, and setting intentions for the three months before me. There’s a dull ache in realizing I won’t be doing that again; alas, sabbatical is not a yearly phenomenon. I spoke to a colleague last week who took a sabbatical at the same time I did, and she talked about a grief that began following her around a few weeks ago. She couldn’t pinpoint the source, until she finally realized: My body wants to be stepping away from my work. She wants to rest. But this year, the work continues. 

Summer has always been tricky for me, especially as a parent. I always find myself longing for the barefoot vibe, the heat slowing one’s pace into a sultry stroll. But I’m a working mother. Despite the yearning for flip flops and afternoons stretched out reading on a blanket, summers were typically a chaotic mess of day camps and swim teams and spreadsheets and checklists to manage everything. Who’s doing dropoff and pickup? Did we pack a change of clothes and a lunch? Where’s the trombone sheet music?

Summer is no longer the logistical puzzle it once was. My kids are old enough, and we have enough drivers’ licenses, that I’m not the cruise director any more. Even so, the summer can easily gallop by if I’m not careful. I want to pay attention to my body’s yearning for a different rhythm. I can’t replicate last summer, but I’d like to make some space to downshift, to do things a little differently… and maybe recapture a smidge of that sabbatical feel, even as ministry continues.

That’s where you come in. 

Last summer, in honor of my pilgrimage to Scotland with Robert, I did a deep exploration of Celtic spirituality. It was an ideal frame for our two–week walk on the John Muir Way, but also for the entire sabbatical experience. Celtic spirituality is ancient and indigenous, affirming the sacredness of the natural world and the reverence of our human bodies in connection to the community of all living things. Celtic spirituality is an aspect of the Christian tradition, but also transcends it. It helps connect us to our creatureliness, and for that I am grateful.

July 2022, just a couple miles away from the end of the John Muir Way. This year, a different kind of journey.

Summer’s a very embodied season for us in the Northern Hemisphere, no? We sweat. We don bathing suits, our imperfectly glorious bodies on display. We travel. We get into a parked car and feel the heat pressing in on us. We savor the chilly plunge into a pool, or a lake, or the ocean’s swell. Some of us garden. We crave juicy berries, cool puckery gazpacho, homemade ice cream. 

Anyway, this summer I want to revisit that Celtic wisdom, and I’m inviting you, my supporting subscribers, to come along. Each Monday I’ll share a brief reflection, an image, a practice, and a simple invitation/suggestion for making the practice your own. We’ll chat in comments and see where the journey takes us.

A quick word about format. My pledge to you as supporting subscribers has been to offer two additional posts per month. Since I’m doing this every week, I’m aware of the potential for overwhelming you. I hope that won’t happen, and that you give yourself the freedom to read what’s of interest but not to be a completist about this. No is a complete sentence, and the delete key is a wonderful way to say No. 

For my part, I pledge to keep each week of our Celtic Curriculum short and focused. This is a bit of an experiment, and a way to keep myself accountable to greater intentionality for my non-sabbatical summer. I value your input and companionship as we go along!

We’ll begin next Monday, June 5 with our first practice: the practice of thresholds.

Steady on.