DEEP PEACE

When visiting London years ago, I stayed in the shadow of Buckingham Palace in an old Inn on Grosvenor Place. On my first evening there, I walked the mile to Westminster Abbey, past the Mews and along St. James’s Park. Doubtless, the same path traveled by the royals for centuries. I wanted to make sure I knew how much time the walk would take and the exact route. On the same brightly painted sign as the hours for services the next morning were the words “All Are Welcome”. I continued my walk up past Big Ben taking the Westminster Bridge across the Thames before heading back to the hotel.

The next morning, I retraced my steps to attend the scheduled service at that esteemed cathedral. However, as I approached, I could see that things would be different that morning. Ignoring all the obvious obstructions, I walked towards those famed doors. I was immediately halted by security and told that I could not attend services here this morning. My protestation with evidence pointing to the welcome sign was not convincing, nor were the guards in any mood to allow me to state my case any further. Instead, I was welcomed to attend services at St. Margaret’s Church, a “chapel” just across the street. It is no slouch. St Margaret's was rebuilt to its current glory from 1486 to 1523. The church was founded much earlier in the twelfth century so that local people who lived in the area around the Abbey could worship separately at their own “simpler” parish church.

You see, the royals were attending the morning service at Westminster Abbey and unless you were a vetted guest, there was no admittance. I reluctantly took my seat in a pew at St. Margaret’s. And, I am glad I did. The service proceeded predictably enough, until the sermon. It was riveting. There were references to the Gaelic Prayer, which I had not fully heard before, skillfully woven into the message. After the service, I approached the rector and told him how inspired I was and asked about the prayer. He reached into his breast pocket and gave to me the neatly typed sermon with his hand-written marginal notations.

I knew then that I would deliver this prize to our rector back home and present an enthusiastic version of the story I have just told. He was in the church when I arrived. As I entered our very modest building, I could hear the organ music, as our director was practicing for the upcoming weekend services. He was also whispering the lyrics to the new song he was rehearsing. It was the same prayer that I heard in London with the words on that document I was about to hand over! I couldn’t believe it. We three huddled near the altar as I recounted my story.

The Gaelic Prayer

Deep peace of the running wave to you.

Deep peace of the flowing air to you.

Deep peace of the quiet earth to you.

Deep peace of the shining stars to you.

Deep peace of the gentle night to you.

Moon and stars pour their healing light on you.

Deep peace of Christ, of Christ, the light of the world, to you.

Deep peace of Christ to you.

Last night as I was driving home from work, I heard these words in a beautiful version of this song by Katherine Jenkins, as the memory of this story flooded back. I watched her video and recognized immediately that it was filmed at the ruins of the Holyrood Abbey in Edinburgh, a peaceful and spiritual place I had also visited. Seeing her singing in this ancient ruin only crystallized for me the specialness of this memory.

I simply and reverently wish for you this coming year a deep peace.