Morning Ritual 3: Lighting My Lamps

After opening the blinds, blessing the day and singing of the goodness of God, I make my way on around the Duncan Phyfe dining table left to me by my great aunt Mea when she passed away in 1984. I enter the foyer, careful not to stumble on the rockers of a chair that belonged to my great grandmother and which made it from Sand Mountain, AL on the back of a covered wagon. Next to the wooden rocker a lamp rests on a small side table made by daddy a number of years ago. A picture of him as a curly head boy sits next to it. Things that make a house a home.

We should not nor cannot romanticize the prayers of the Celts. They were prayed by people who lived in very harsh circumstances. In Celtic culture, it was the woman’s responsibility to get up each morning and kindle the home fires in a dark that would have been darker and a cold that would have been colder than most of us have experienced. She would have awakened before dawn in a house without electricity or heat. This was a necessary duty in order to provide food and comfort for her family. Her routine was her prayer. And she gave it words.

I light my first lamp of the morning and announce with her:

I kindle my fire this morning

In the presence of the Holy Trinity,

In the presence of the holy angels, and

In the presence of the holy saints,

Without malice, without jealously, without envy,

Without fear, without terror of any living thing under the sun,

but the Holy Son of God to shield me.

I find comfort in acknowledging not only the presence of God in my life but also of His holy angels and that great cloud of witnesses written about in Hebrews. It’s easy to forget how thin the veil is. Here I am reminded.

I also will be the first to admit that I am not one without malice, jealously, or envy. In fact, these all are constant struggles within me on a daily basis. Speaking these words with these women of old reminds me that I truly need God in very specific places in my life. It also lets me know my struggle was their struggle and they, too, needed this prayer toward holiness.

I move to the other side of the foyer where a hummingbird sips nectar from my mother’s small fluted lamp and the kindling turns to prayer.

O God, kindle Thou within my heart

A flame of love to my neighbor,

To my foe, to my friend, to my kindred all,

To the brave, to the knave, to the thrall.

O Son of the loveliest Mary,

From the lowliest thing that liveth,

To the Name that is highest of all,

Kindle Thou within my heart a flame of love.

Is this not the Great Commandment … to love the Lord with all our heart, soul, mind and strength, and our neighbor as ourselves? This calls to mind my dearest loves as well as those with whom I might be in conflict. It is not a sentimental or emotional love but one that expresses Christ’ love not only for those who walk in valor and truth, but also the unprincipled and untrustworthy. A love for those who are enslaved or in bondage, whether it be mentally, physically or emotionally. Again, I am reminded I don’t get to pick and choose who or how I love. I ask for a kindling.

Whoever thought turning on a morning lamp could so sacred?

Just an ordinary moment.