URC Daily Devotions 29 August 2025

The Moon in Lleyn

The last quarter of the moon
of Jesus gives way
to the dark; the serpent
digests the egg. Here
on my knees in this stone
church, that is full only
of the silent congregation
of shadows and the sea’s
sound, it is easy to believe
Yeats was right. Just as though
choirs had not sung, shells
have swallowed them; the tide laps
at the Bible; the bell fetches
no people to the brittle miracle
of the bread. The sand is waiting
for the running back of the grains
in the wall into its blond
glass. Religion is over, and
what will emerge from the body
of the new moon, no one
can say.
                  But a voice sounds
in my ear: Why so fast,
mortal? These very seas
are baptized. The parish
has a saint’s name time cannot
unfrock. In cities that
have outgrown their promise people
are becoming pilgrims
again, if not to this place,
then to the recreation of it
in their own spirits. You must remain
kneeling. Even as this moon
making its way through the earth’s
cumbersome shadow, prayer, too,
has its phases.

From Collected Poems 1945-1990 (Phoenix Giant, 1993)
R S Thomas © Elodie Thomas

Philippians 4:4-9

Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice. Let your gentleness be known to everyone. The Lord is near. Do not worry about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God. And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.  Finally, beloved, whatever is true, whatever is honourable, whatever is just, whatever is pure, whatever is pleasing, whatever is commendable, if there is any excellence and if there is anything worthy of praise, think about these things. Keep on doing the things that you have learned and received and heard and seen in me, and the God of peace will be with you.

Reflection

The parish church in Aberdaron, where R.S. Thomas once served as priest, is as close to the sea as any one could dare. It’s easy to imagine him kneeling in the empty church close to the shore, reflecting that no people are coming to the summons of the bell. He writes in three stark words that ‘religion is over’, and that no one can say what will emerge. It was easy for him to believe, for a moment, that Yeats was right, Yeats who wrote lines that have become well known: ‘Things fall apart; the centre cannot hold; Mere anarchy is loosed upon the world’. And perhaps he is also remembering a poem by Matthew Arnold, Dover Beach, that describes the ‘melancholy, long, withdrawing roar’ of the sea of faith. 

Arnold and Yeats are unrelenting in their gloom, with notes of sadness and even terror. But this poem by R.S. Thomas is quite different. He hears a voice that challenges his dismay, that tells him to remain kneeling, and to believe that prayer, like the moon, has its phases. It is striking that the second part of the poem does not deny the reality of the first part, but invites him to keep on praying, to wait and to trust. 

Is Paul saying something similar to the Christians at Philippi, when it might have seemed to them that the game was up and that faith was over? ‘Rejoice always’, he says and ‘Keep on doing the things that you have learned and received…’ Many of us have also known what it feels like when the tide is going out. We may have prayed in silent churches and wondered what will be. But could we also, encouraged by R.S. Thomas, yet ‘remain kneeling’ and wait to hear the voice that will keep us faithfully there? 

Prayer

God, 
be with me when I wonder
about the world 
and the church. 

I long for you to speak to me,
sounding in my ear,
clear as a bell. 
If that is not your way with me, 
then show me,
through the scriptures and your saints,
where you are working, blessing
and bringing hope. 

And I will remain kneeling,
and keep on doing and learning
what I have received of the faith, 
always. Amen.