Brigid's Well

Brigid's Well (Imbolc) – Inmany countries February 2nd is celebrated as Candlemas or Dia de la Candelaria. Starting on the Eve of the 2nd, other parts of the world celebrate St. Brigid’s Day or Imbolc, and for the non-religious there is Groundhog day! Wells are particularly sacred to Brigid, a goddess of transformations, and wells and springs are lifegiving places. How do we fill our buckets from the well? And what shall we do with this, complex, painful, beautiful, unfathomable, time we have been given?

YouTube videos will be made to order


Walking in Music -tbd

Welcome (Introduce Amy) - Congregation Rep

Call into the Circle of Love and Justice/Land Acknowledgement - The Reverend Amy Beltaine

Chalice Lighting* - Worship Associate

*Hymn - “Way to the Well” by Starhawk - AV

We need each other, and so we come to this place
To work and dance and laugh and cry and think.
We call ourselves a religious community,
Not because this place is in itself holy ground,
But because what we do here and say here
And are here make it so.
So let it be.

Time for All Ages - “Have You Filled a Bucket Today?” by Carol McCloud, David Messing (Illustrator) or Imbolc: Queen of Four Fires, from The Storyteller's Goddess, by Carolyn McVickar Edwards. - Amy

Pastoral Moment/Prayer - Amy

Pastoral Hymn* - TBD

Responsive Reading* - “Water Flows” by Thich Nhat Hanh - AV

Homily I-Brigid’s Sacred Well- The Reverend Amy Beltaine

*Interlude - “(Living) Like a Tree” by Betsy Rose - body prayer AV

Homily II - Groundhogs Day

*Blessing Hymn - “Waters of Bliss” by Abby Spinner McBride -VIDEO


Offering - Worship Associate

Offertory - tbd

Chalice Extinguishing* - Worship Associate

We release this flame, but not the light of truth.

We release this flame, but not the warmth of this community.

We release this flame, but not the fire of our commitment.

These we will carry in our hearts until we meet again.

- Words by Elizabeth Selle Jones, Adapted

Benediction - Amy

Walking out music

**Suggestions for HYMNS








Gift of Love (Hymn 34)

Though winter winds yet blow and freeze,

The sap is stirring in the trees;

New lambs are bleating on the glen,

And cubs now warm within the den.

The fire in the forge ablaze

Proclaims the Lady Bridgit’s praise;

Deep in her well, the waters flow,

And life bides safe in ground below.

The plow and seed beside the hearth

Await the turning of the earth,

So bless the candles that we bring

And hearts prepare to greet the spring.

**Suggestions for PERFORMED (or recorded) Music

*Suggestions for READINGS (chalice lighting, extinguishing, etc.)

Chalice Lighting*- responsive reading by Addae Krabba - We hear the Heart Beat of Mother Earth

Call to 4 directions for chalice lighting: from Julie Conrady

East - Hail & Welcome East, Element of Aire. We ask that with Bride you bring to our Imbolc celebration new beginnings, inspiration and communication to carry our words on the winds. So mote it be.

South - Hail and Welcome South! Element of FIRE! We ask that with Briga you bring to our Imbolc celebration the Sacred Flame that cannot be extinguished for it burns eternal in our hearts.

West - Hail and Welcome West! Element of Water! We ask that with Breed you bring to our Imbolc your flowing waters of Healing that we may be renewed and refreshed by them.

North - Hail & Welcome North, Element of Earth. We ask that with Gran Brigitte you bring to our Imbolc the death of winter and cold so that we may find Spring, its rebirth, healing and fertility within You. So Mote it Be.

Guardians of the North, Powers of endurance and strength, guided by Earth, we thank you for watching over our rites. May you be forever blessed.

Guardians of the West, Powers of passion and emotion, guided by Water, we thank you for watching over our rites. May you be forever blessed.

Guardians of the South, Powers of energy and will, guided by Fire, we thank you for watching over our rites. May you be forever blessed.

Guardians of the East, Powers of knowledge and wisdom, guided by Air, we thank you for watching over our rites. May you be forever blessed.

Marge Piercy:

Blessing of candles for Imbolc by Kendyl Gibbons

Blessed be the sacred fire that lives deep within each of us;

May we cherish its light.

Blessed be all that is contained and enclosed.

Blessed be this time of isolation, so that we may share health.

Blessed be the future that grows, protected, within the womb

Blessed be the milk that is prepared to nurture new life.

Brigid, ancient spirit of the Imbolc season --

Bless our hearth fires and our homes with warmth and love,

And let there be mercy for those who are without.

Bless the risk of birth, by which life continues;

Let there be pity when it goes awry, and solace for its losses.

Bless the tools of our labor, and the transforming heat of the forge;

May justice be the anvil on which our days are wrought.

Bless these candles that connect us one to another in community,

May they remind us that all flame is your flame;

That all flame is one;

That even when we are separated, we are not alone.

And from this flame of personal light and covenant community,

I kindle now the chalice of our faith heritage,

that takes its shape from the prophetic words and wisdom of many traditions,

From the human response to mystery and wonder,

to reason and compassion,

to the infinite abundance of divine creativity and love,

and to the unending cycles of renewal and change in nature.

[light chalice]

May it stand as a beacon to all who seek to know the fullness of life.

Imbolc by Kenyl Gibbons

It’s the time of milk, and birth;

Herbs, and the weird magic of wells –

Naturally, the goddess of hearth fire and candles.

But there is a working, and a blessing, for men as well.

The forge, too, is a contained fire,

And you will find Brigit there

In the spell of heat and metal from which a good tool is born.

Where the iron is wrought and tempered into something trusted --

A hammer, a plough share, an axe head --

A thing that moves as the worker moves

In harmony where the habits of the earth meet the human will;

The furrow turned to receive the seed, the timber dressed for building,

The marriage of upright and crossbeam that shapes shelter.

The long cold winter twilight is for sharpening the saw blade,

Truing the cutting edge, resetting the handle to the sledge, and the harrow.

The tools, like all created things, long for our blessing;

Warm in the presence of our respect and care,

They will labor with father and son and grandchild faithfully, in earnest --

A little oil, the touch of a whetstone, broken leather mended,

Is a reasonable sacrifice of reverence and gratitude.

While the snow lies deep, and the bear’s dreaming grows restless,

And the sap begins to stir, and the milk tightens in the udder,

Brigit, dazzle us with the quickening of new life,

The highest miracle.

But hear our prayer for these our humble tools,

that serve as we serve, unbegrudgingly,

the common purposes of the year.

When the World as We Knew It Ended


We were dreaming on an occupied island at the farthest edge

of a trembling nation when it went down.

Two towers rose up from the east island of commerce and touched

the sky. Men walked on the moon. Oil was sucked dry

by two brothers. Then it went down. Swallowed

by a fire dragon, by oil and fear.

Eaten whole.

It was coming.

We had been watching since the eve of the missionaries in their

long and solemn clothes, to see what would happen.

We saw it

from the kitchen window over the sink

as we made coffee, cooked rice and

potatoes, enough for an army.

We saw it all, as we changed diapers and fed

the babies. We saw it,

through the branches

of the knowledgeable tree

through the snags of stars, through

the sun and storms from our knees

as we bathed and washed

the floors.

The conference of the birds warned us, as they flew over

destroyers in the harbor, parked there since the first takeover.

It was by their song and talk we knew when to rise

when to look out the window

to the commotion going on—

the magnetic field thrown off by grief.

We heard it.

The racket in every corner of the world. As

the hunger for war rose up in those who would steal to be president

to be king or emperor, to own the trees, stones, and everything

else that moved about the earth, inside the earth

and above it.

We knew it was coming, tasted the winds who gathered intelligence

from each leaf and flower, from every mountain, sea

and desert, from every prayer and song all over this tiny universe

floating in the skies of infinite


And then it was over, this world we had grown to love

for its sweet grasses, for the many-colored horses

and fishes, for the shimmering possibilities

while dreaming.

But then there were the seeds to plant and the babies

who needed milk and comforting, and someone

picked up a guitar or ukulele from the rubble

and began to sing about the light flutter

the kick beneath the skin of the earth

we felt there, beneath us

a warm animal

a song being born between the legs of her;

a poem.