The Celtic Pilgrimage of Penance

“Therefore confess your sins one to another, and pray for one another, that you may be healed.”  James 5:16

“A person without an anamcara is like a body without a head.” Brigid

Lent, which officially began this past Wednesday for the Western Church and this upcoming Wednesday for the Eastern, is a time of repentance.  Ugh, that word!  I used to hate it.  Oops, I used the word hate, so I suppose I need to repent of that! Seriously, it used to have an extremely negative connotation for me.  For repentance involved a spiritual form of self-flagellation, a payment of penalties through penance or purgation, or an obsessive and unhealthy focus on one’s sins—as if I needed any help with that! Oh yes, I used to dread Lent until I discovered a new perspective, A Celtic perspective.

Though an essential part of their faith life, the Celts had a distinct perspective on penance.  It was not a means by which to avoid punishment from God, to punish oneself or others, but as a means by which to be drawn closer to God, and to have one’s love for and faith in God purified.  There were three distinct elements to Celtic penance that made it beneficial rather than a burden.

First, it was seen as a pilgrimage.  The Celts saw repentance as part of the journey of faith.  They viewed it help them better recognize God and to have their eyes opened to The Way of the cross by seeing more clearly the reality of their sin.  It was seen by them as a means by which to be drawn closer to God. Thomas O’Laughlin describes it this way:  “The challenge that the Christianity of the early medieval Celtic peoples offers us—and this is something that is distinctive to them—is a view of sin and healing, and the idea that Christian living is a journey where we have to take up our pack each day and set out in discipleship. . . it recognized that one did not become a disciple in one or two dramatic moves, but in a whole series, where ‘downs’ followed ‘ups’:  the whole process should be seen as ongoing therapy rather than punitive repayment of debts.”[1]

This leads to the second element of Celtic penance, namely that it was NOT about punishment and pain, but about health and healing.  Penance was a green martyrdom for the Celts. The color gives us a clue as to how they viewed it, for green is the color of life, and that is what penance did; restored a person to life.  Sometimes this meant starting a new life by going to another place.  This was true not only of Columba, but many others as well. But more common was simply being aware of the life that one was living in and through and for God. The Celtic perspective of repentance was much more spiritually healthy because it was seen as an opportunity to restore the soul to health and well-being.

Third, and most importantly in my opinion, a key part of penance was the presence of an Anam Cara. The practice of having a soul friend came from early Egyptian monasticism, which heavily influenced Celtic practices.  In monasticism, each monk was to have another with whom they were close.  So close that they sometimes shared the same cell.  “The eighth century Rule of Tallaght  prescribed that . . . their role was ‘to correct all impiety, without harshness, without shame; correction of all the proud with humility and with laughter.”[2] One’s Anam Cara was a soul friend, a kindred spirit, a kind and caring and compassionate companion who accompanied their friend along the way.  They were the one with whom the penitent could be completely open and honest and vulnerable with, leading to a life of true spiritual intimacy not only with one another, but with God as well.

What I just wrote makes me sad.  I’m sad because it occurs to me that even though Jesus sent the disciples out two-by-two there are so many people who are walking The Way—especially the way of repentance—alone.  Alone with our sin, alone with our shame, alone with our guilt, alone with ourselves.  We have no one with whom to be genuinely ourselves with.  Someone with whom we can share everything without fear of rebuke, reprisal, or rejection.  Someone with whom we can be fully human and humble.  Someone with whom we can cry and laugh.  

Think about how nice that would be. Do you have such a person? Is there someone like that walking with you on your pilgrimage of penance . . .  and love?   Maybe that type of person, that type or relationship is what we can seek out during this time of Lent, turning it from a time of mere remorse to one of robust rejoicing.


[1] From “Following the Celtic Way” by Ian Bradley, p. 98

[2] “Following the Celtic Way” by Ian Bradley.  P. 99

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