My discussion with a Christian about ancestor worship led to him asking a very thought-provoking question: “Do you think that you, yourself, are worthy of being worshipped? That if you had kids and/or grandchildren that they should worship you?”  At first, I just smiled and shook my head, because I could see immediately where the disconnect we were having was: as a Christian, he has a very different concept of “worship” than we do.  But, as I thought about the question, I had a reaction I doubt he was expecting: I was moved to tears at the beauty of it.

I had never really thought before about the fact that we would be part of the ancestors that are honored just as we honor them now.  The thought that we might still be able to watch out for our children and our children’s children, and guide them, and that they would remember us, honor us, and turn to us when they have problems is very touching.  I described this to my wife, and she was misty-eyed, too.  Driving our son home from school, I told him that I loved him, and that I would always love him, even after I’m gone.  Yes, it was a very moving thought, indeed.

We do worship our ancestors, but I not in the same sense that Christians worship.  We relate to our dead relatives pretty much the same way we do to our live ones: with respect and familial love.  My grandmother is ninety years old.  We go out of our way to visit her, spend time with her, and honor her as the matriarch of my family.  We relate to our Gods the same way, too.  We invite them into our lives, praise and honor them, offer them gifts of gratitude and caring, and seek their advice and wisdom and assistance. I can think of no nobler way to live.

I was recently asked about ancestor worship in a forum I frequent.  Yes, I think it’s fair to say that I worship my ancestors.  As a modern part of the Gaelic diaspora, my ancestors were kings, heroes of legend, even gods.  Their blood flows through my veins.  Yes, I honor them greatly and pray to them frequently.

The Celts had an understanding of three types of spirits: Gods, ancestors, and nature spirits.  The thing is, these are not three very distinct categories, and the line, if there is one, between Gods and ancestors is very unclear.  Celts consider themselves direct descendants of the Gods and clans would trace their lineage to one or more of the deities.  So, Gods are really very ancient, very powerful ancestral spirits.  Also, there is some intermarriage between “nature spirits” and gods and humans, so even that distinction is not a very sharp one.

We worship our ancestors (and Gods) because, among other reasons, we owe them our very existence.  As I see it, countless people have lived, struggled, and died just so that I could be born and live today.  And I struggle and work to protect, nurture, and teach my child so that he grows up to be a good man and the line continues on.  As my favorite wisdom triad says, there are three to whom our debt can never be repaid: a good teacher, our parents, and the gods.  That sense of obligation and reciprocal duty drives much of my understanding of Celtic spirituality.

So, I honor my ancestors by inviting them to my rituals, making offerings to them, remembering them as best I can, and passing on that memory to my child.  At Samhain (Halloween), for example, we sat down and drew a family tree, telling stories of the ancestors we knew of who died in our lives before our son was born.  We wrote letters to them and sent the letters to them in our ritual fire.  It was a beautiful thing.  I also try to honor them by living a virtuous life, but that’s a whole other story.

In return, they have helped me tremendously.  I can’t tell you the number of times that something happened in which we are sure some guardian spirits are watching over us.  Our legal practice, for example, has been struggling, but every time things look bad, something happens, some “lucky coincidence” happens, to pull us through.  There may be fantastic luck once or twice, but when it happens with such seeming regularity, we cannot help but feel that our Gods and ancestors are looking out for us.

…which reminds me, I need to work on a ritual to thank them for the blessings we have had just recently…

I’ve come to call my daily meditative ritual “grove tending,” and is a practice I would like to share with you. The practice is something of a combination of light gardening, walking meditation, journaling, and ritual. It is a quiet and peaceful means to connect to nature and the spirits around us, and to exercise our responsibility for our surroundings.

Druidic spirituality belongs in the outdoors as much as possible. Much of my early practice in druidry (well, early early practice. I’m still in my early practice.) was simply the kind of Zen practice I had pursued for years, only moved outside instead of facing a wall. It’s amazing what a difference that small change made. “Grove Tending” integrates that meditative discipline into what I consider a more complete druidic daily ritual.

As druids, we have many kinds of groves. We have the inner, spiritual groves we call upon in our meditative rituals, we have the formal circles of trees that we might hold larger rituals in; we have our small, private gardens. My concept of “grove” is very encompassing. It is any collection of plants, in some proximity to each other, with which we have a spiritual relationship.

We draw spiritual strength from the plants of our grove, and in return, we have a duty to nurture and protect those plants that give so much to us. This kind of grove can be the trees on the side of the road, the landscaping of a nearby commercial property, the vegetation of a public park, or a combination of all of those. It might spread across various artificial boundaries such as roads and fences. It might not be discernible as a grove by anyone but yourself, but it is a small parcel of the natural world you have chosen to build a bond with.

I am fortunate to have a yard that is almost an ideal grove. We have about a half an acre with a number of oak trees, a magnolia tree, a plum tree, and a wide variety of other shrubs and bushes. If I were not so fortunate, I would make a “grove” of whatever public park or bit of nature I could. If you do have a yard, or access to one, look at planting a wide variety of plants and bushes. In an urban environment, consider doing a bit of guerrilla gardening, building your grove and beautifying the blighted landscape. If your grove has to be indoors, try to have a variety of indoor plants. Variety is important.

To prepare for the grove tending, have all the tools you might need on hand with you as you walk. You don’t want to interrupt your walk by fetching this and that. I bought a light tool apron for $0.98 which holds my pruning sheers, journal, gloves, and other items. I might also carry a watering pitcher.

You start by slowly walking a circuit around the grove, clockwise. This is creating a sacred space, just as casting a circle in ritual. It may be very large, and not maybe not very “circular,” but that doesn’t matter so much. This “circle” takes whatever shape the grove has. Mine, for instance, is vaguely ‘L’ shaped. But, by completing the circle, the grove is sanctified and the bond between us and the land strengthened.

When I say to walk slowly, I mean slowly — barely a shuffle. This is a walking meditation where you open yourself to the pulse of life around you. In Zen, it is called kinhen and has similar meditative qualities to the usual sitting practice. Go barefoot if the weather permits. Be aware. Feel the wind, the earth, note the sway of the trees, the call of the birds.  Gently and smoothly place each step in rhythm  with your breathing.

Breathe deeply and slowly.  Note your own thoughts as they flow by. Visit the plants and trees as you make your round. If and when you feel there is a need a plant has, do your best to fill it. Trim and prune, water, clear away dead branches or weeds, pick up trash.

The tending activity should be gentle. It shouldn’t involve hacking, or macinery like a lawn mower. At the most active, it might involve a little sweeping or raking. I leave the machete I might take on more active wilderness adventures and stick to my small pruner, which is as much a magical ritual tool as any I have.

When I’ve completed my circle, I am at the spot I normally perform outdoor ritual. There I make an offering to the gods and spirits and sit in quiet meditation for a bit. If so inclined, I might sit with a tree and journal a while.

It seems simple. It is, but simple is good. We need to keep things as simple as we can. We need to slow down. We need to develop our relationships with the land and spirits, and this exercise does all that in one small, elegant package.

An Chuallacht Ghaol Naofa (Fellowship of Sacred Kinship) recently opened their virtual doors to the online community. As it is a very rare thing that I visit Beliefnet’s CR community, where I found their posting, I can’t help but feel the spirits have led me there. Although my information on them is scant, I have yet to see any indication that they are not exactly the kind of group I have long been waiting for.

I currently belong to several “druidic” organizations, most of which I have posted about at some time or other. None of them have the combination of “features” I find in CGN. (Yes, part of me is sad that one basically has to “shop” for religion much as buying a new car. Something seems fundamentally wrong with that, but it is what it is.)

CGN is a Celtic reconstructionist group focused, as I am, on the ways of the ancient Irish. They are “dedicated to the practice and promotion of a modern, viable religious tradition rooted in pre-Christian polytheistic Gaelic spirituality.”

Their mission statement, and brief statement of belief is one I fully endorse. An important point, since it is the first religious organization I have found that I can really say that of. In fact, I have scoured their site for what information I could find about them and not only did I not find anything off-putting, but their approach to the “reconstructionist/traditionalist” divide is quite promising. I have long considered myself to be somewhere in between the two approaches and I thought I was about alone in that preference. Apparently, I am not, and I feel much uplifted by that discovery.

So, I look forward to learning more about this community and organization, and if it is everything it seems to be, I will be quite involved with them.

A Celtic Wisdom triad names three fears that weaken our hearts: fear of speaking the truth, fear of wretched poverty, and fear of evil being done us.

I was pondering what to do in my local community and when I read these words, they seemed a message from the gods. These are exactly the three fears that have kept me fairly “in the closet” with my faith. I have been afraid of what would happen if I “spoke the truth” openly and freely about my faith. I have been afraid of business for our small law practice drying up, people slashing our tires and egging our house, picking on my young son at school.

Those are the things I fear by coming out. But, living with those fears has its own price, too. I know what the triad means by “weakening the heart.” I feel it.

So, I intend to move forward with my plans to make Cypress Nemeton a real place and a real presence in the community. That will be a long time coming, but it will happen. Some day, maybe soon, all of this will attract the attention of someone — the local media, the local church, who knows. It will happen. And I will not be afraid.