A Parish Reflection for Proper 7

For Sunday 21 June 2026.

There are times in the life of any parishioner when the world feels like a bit too much. Whether it’s the weight of a quiet grief, the exhaustion of daily demands, or that sudden, creeping feeling that we’ve lost our bearings, we all know what it is to walk through a dry stretch. We live our lives right on the edge of those “thin places”—those moments where the veil between our ordinary, messy struggles and the deep peace of God grows incredibly porous.

The Lectionary scriptures this week don’t shy away from these heavy realities. They speak of exile, vulnerability, and the high cost of living an authentic life of faith. Yet, when we bring these texts into conversation with the old Celtic ways of seeing God, we find a proper sanctuary for the whole community.

1. The Desert’s Aching Light: Finding the Well Together

In the book of Genesis, poor Hagar finds herself cast out into the blinding, fierce heat of the wilderness. Her water is gone, her strength is spent, and she sits down to weep. It’s a picture of utter human exhaustion—a place any of us can find ourselves in when health fails, a relationship breaks, or the worries of life simply pile up until we are clean banjaxed.

Yet, we are reminded that Christ is the “Christ of every thin-place pathway.” God doesn’t stand over Hagar telling her to catch a grip or pull herself together. Instead, He meets her right in the middle of her weeping and opens her eyes to a hidden well.

It’s the assurance that when we are at the end of our own road, God provides a well of comfort right where we are.

2. A Universe that Hums: Trusting the Father’s Care

Psalm 86 is the cry of a soul that feels completely vulnerable, begging for even a small sign of the Lord’s favour: “Incline your ear, O Lord, and answer me.” When we look at the state of the world, or when our own inner strength stalls entirely, it is very easy to feel small and broken.

In Celtic tradition, rowan and hazel often appear as signs of protection, wisdom, and blessing. Their presence in the hymn reminds us that creation itself bears witness to God’s care. We don’t have to manufacture our own peace; we are invited to trust the Father’s rhythm the way the “otter trusts the river”—surrendering our anxieties to the steady current of His love, knowing that He holds the whole parish in the palm of His hand.

3. The Sword of Division: The Courage to Be True

In the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus doesn’t sugarcoat the Christian life. He speaks of a truth that “divides the day” and a path that is “keen”—sharp and challenging. He warns us that choosing the way of the Gospel will sometimes set us at odds with the culture around us. Standing up for what is right, choosing kindness in a harsh world, and living with true honesty always comes at a cost. It can feel like a small death to our comfort.

But St Paul reminds us in Romans that this dying is the only way to an authentic rising. When we stop trying to please the crowd and instead let Christ’s cross become our compass, something changes. We are lifted up like the “red deer on the height”—standing tall, full of hope, and taking up our rightful, God-given space as a community of resurrection.

4. The Wild Goose Spirit: Guiding Our Steps

While we often think of the Holy Spirit as a gentle, predictable dove, the old Celtic tradition notes the Spirit as the Wild Goose (An Geadh Glas). A wild goose is unpredictable, strong, and calls us out of our comfort zones into deep adventure.

As a parish, our lives don’t always follow a straight, neat line. We face unexpected sorrows, and we navigate deep shadows. But the Spirit is the “pulse within our footsteps / When the narrow path grows keen.” Like the seal navigating the deep water or the swallow cutting through the blue, the Holy Spirit gives us the grace to move through every season of life—not in our own strength, but carried by the breath of God into a life made whole and new.

The Takeaway: Faith is not about pretending we have it all together just to keep up appearances. It’s about walking the pilgrim path as a community, knowing that in our ordinary lives, our shared struggles, and our quiet trust, our parish becomes a “thin place”—a spot where the world gets a glimpse of the wild, colorful, and life-giving genius of God.

Christ of every thin-place pathway

1  
Christ of every thin‑place pathway,
Where the lapwing wheels in flight,
You who found the lost and weeping
In the desert’s aching light,
Be our anam‑cara guiding,
Bind our hearts in hope again;
For your voice still stirs the heather,
Calling life from grief and pain.

2  
God whose mercy glows in rowan,
Red with promise through the rain,
God whose wisdom hums in hazel,
God whose breath revives the slain,
Wrap your mantle round the wandering,
Shield the weak, restore the worn;
As the otter trusts the river,
Lead us through the breaking morn.

3  
Christ who walks the pilgrim’s turning,
Where the truth divides the day,
Christ whose cross becomes our compass
When we lose the ancient way,
Shape our dying into rising
As the red deer on the height;
For the dawn you bring from darkness
Sets the broken world alight.

4  
Spirit, wild‑goose wing above us,
Breath that stirs the alder’s green,
Be the pulse within our footsteps
When the narrow path grows keen.
As the seal swims through the shadows,
As the swallow cleaves the blue,
Lead us through our deepest sorrows
Into life made whole and new.

Hymn information

First line: Christ of every thin-place pathway
Text: Michael McFarland Campbell
Metre: 87 87 D
Tune:
Theme: Proper 7 (Year A)

© 2026 Michael McFarland Campbell. Permission granted for local church use with attribution. Not for commercial reproduction without permission.

Inspired by the readings for Proper 7 (Year A):
Genesis 21: 8-21
Psalm 86: 1-10, 16-17
Romans 6: 1b-11
Matthew 10: 24-39