The procession in the Botsford Recreation- al Preserve in Scio Township reminds me of fifth-grade school hikes. But instead of youthful explorers on a field trip, the partici- pants in this summer solstice celebration are mostly middle aged. I’m visiting Shining Lakes Grove, a congregation of Druids who worship mostly outdoors.
The Ann Arbor–based group formed in 1994 is a branch of Ár nDraíocht Féin, A Druid Fellowship, Inc. (ADF). The Druid reli- gion in ancient Britain and Ireland revered na- ture and venerated multiple gods before Christians drove it underground, calling its adherents pagans who worshipped idols and conducted human and animal sacrifices. To- day, ADF is part of a small international neo- pagan movement, with nearly sixty groves in the United States, Canada, and Britain. It seeks to revive the polytheistic pagan and Druid practices (minus the live sacrifices) for modern people. We don’t have backpacks and we’re not shouting “Valderi, valdera” as we tramp along, but we are chanting:
—
Come we now as a people
Together, to gather at the sacred well. . . .
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Reverend Rob Henderson’s bright saffron- and-maroon robe and sandals make him look like a colorful Friar Tuck. Grove members dispense the blessings of the sky, sea, and land—accompanied respectively by a waft of incense and a dab of water and then red clay on our foreheads. We then intone to Ana, the goddess of the land:
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We are one with the Mother,
We are one with the earth.
We are one with each other
By our lives, by our birth.
—
As we stand and smile at one another, a member breaks sugar cookies and throws the
Senior Druid Rev. Rob Henderson presides over ancient rituals in
the woods.
chunks outside the circle to appease the Out- siders, the forces of chaos and change, and thank them for keeping away from the cere- mony. A novice gives a heartfelt but weak at- tempt to sound a conch shell to invoke Man- annán mac Lír, the Lord of the Dead, to guide and protect us in the Otherworld. After applause and some good-natured teasing, Henderson trumpets the same shell into the forest canopy.
The Ancestors, the ones who have gone before us; the Nature Spirits of the land and its creatures; and the Deities or Shining Ones, the gods of the Druid tribe, are then invited to the celebration. Henderson holds aloft a sun wheel—a grape wreath adorned with roses, daisies, and light blue ribbons—as our voices give praise and thanks. The wheel is then passed around the circle for private reflection and recognition.
The fire hisses as we each toss a handful of cornmeal into it as a sacrifice to the sun. The sun wheel, olive oil, and whiskey are also thrown into the flames. Rodney Cox, the as- sistant senior Druid, casts runes—small wood pieces he has carved with symbols used by the ancients for magic and later for writing— to discern whether the gods are satisfied with our offerings. A cheer goes up when he de- clares the gods are pleased. Then members place personal written requests to the gods into the fire as we sip lemonade in Dixie cups.
After the ceremony, the members gather to welcome the conch-blowing acolyte into their fellowship. High fives and “Go slugs!” may not register as standard religious responses, but the beaming smile of the new member as he emerges from the huddle is as soulful and sincere as any “Amen” or “Alleluia.”