A Liturgy of Hiraeth

Hiraeth: a Welsh term for a deep homesickness for a place one has never been

O God, God of Adam and Eve, God of humanity. We are homesick. 

Homesick for a place we have never been, and yet long for deep in our souls.

Hiraeth. 

There was a time when the skies were newly formed and the rocks and trees cried out your name. We were with you. We were with each other. 

We walked in the garden in the cool of the day, with each other. 

With you. 

You took the dust and knitted us together. 

There was communion, unbroken and unharried, with each other. 

With you. 

In our first home, the swell of noise was small:

your gentle voice and your people, together, speaking to the wind and the waves,

In communion with your creation, in communion. 

With you. 

Hiraeth. 

O God, God of the weeping, God of humanity. We are homesick. 

Homesick for a place so different from where we are now. 

Hiraeth. 

Today, the sky is blue. The trees are red and gold.

Birds have had a summer of making their homes within the leaves; 

they chirp from their perch. 

In the cool of day, they call back and forth to each other in birdsong, in communion with each other.     

With you. 

Creation hearkens us back to home, the place we have never been, 

and yet long for deep in our souls. Summer has passed and yet 

our hearts have been frozen in an endless winter of languishing. 

These days, we cry out, 

“Our God, our God, why have you forsaken us?” 

We have had a long season of feeling alone, siloed in our own houses or circles spray painted on park grass. The swell of noise on social media from our man-made devices cries out to every perpetrator: 

CRUCIFY THEM! 

A cacophony of burdens too heavy for any one person to bear alone. 

And yet, here we are, pummelled by over four hundred days of anguishing news: plagues, racism, genocide. 

Death.

We fear our bodies returning to dust, lives torn apart. We are divided. 

Broken and harried. We weep with each other. 

With you. 

For 

broken bodies 

broken souls 

broken relationships 

broken creation 

broken communion. 

We are lonely. 

Hiraeth. 

O God. The God who weeps, God of humanity. 

Were you homesick? Homesick for the place you left? 

That day, on the sixth hour of that day, the skies became dark. 

The swell of noise that had chanted, “CRUCIFY HIM!” became a deafening silence. 

A cacophony of silence from the Father too heavy for one person to bear alone. 

And yet, there you were. 

MY GOD, MY GOD. WHY HAVE YOU FORSAKEN ME? 

Alone. 

Siloed off from the Father with whom you had always been, 

Blood painting the wood, pummelled by the weight of humanity’s brokenness. 

Your flesh torn apart. 

Divided from the Father. 

Broken and harried, 

your broken body 

your broken relationship 

your broken communion. 

A broken veil in its stead. Our broken communion no more. Unbroken communion. 

With you.

Hiraeth. 

O God, Our God, there is a tomorrow that awaits us. 

Remind us of a tomorrow where the skies are endless, 

where the sun no longer scorches and the winter no longer leaves us languishing. Where the only swell of noise will be the sounds of those who once wept. 

Those who were once homesick, returning home and being greeted by the One whom they have known and longed for deep down, but whose face they have not seen. 

And we will worship together in 

our unbroken bodies 

unbroken relationships 

unbroken creation 

unbroken communion. 

With you. 

Hiraeth. 

Text: Lydia Low-Yeung