[For Lugh and Brighid, the gods of our house:]
Spear above the door, protector
Ward the boundaries of our home.
Fire on the hearth, nurturer,
Hold the centre of our home.
Watch our goings out and comings in,
Beneath the turning of the moon and sun.
All around me, Lugh, are those that are around you.
Your mother Eithne in her pole star bower,
Your foster-mother Tailtiu and her sacrifice,
Your foster-father Manannán who is my foster-father too.
But yet, I reach out and you are not there,
Or perhaps you listen, distantly, never speaking.
I can call to you on behalf of the folk,
And you speak to them. For that, I am glad.
Speak to them, Lugh, speak to your devotees,
But let my prayers strengthen you even so.
Lugh, loose your spear to the Sun,
Pierce the baleful eye
And bring the cooling rains.
Stretch out your long arm,
Brighten the sky with lightning,
Heralding in the harvest season.
You are the Lord of the Harvest,
Not because you are the grain,
But because you are the folk that sow it,
Because you are the folk that reap it,
Because you are the folk that bake and share it.
Lugh, Master of All Skills and Lord of Community,
Bless this gathering of folk.
Lugh, help me to find the best of myself.
In all that I do, I strive towards mastery,
Knowing the value in all skills.
[For this Sunday’s Lughnasadh rite:]
Lugh, I call upon you to bless and empower this spear.
This spear I consecrate to you,
By the power of the nine duile, [sprinkle with whiskey]
By the power of the hearthfire, [smear with hearthfire ash]
And by my own power. [breathe on it]
Lugh, as you slew Balor on the plain of Mag Tuired,
Let me slay this heat, bringing forth your cooling rains.
My sight is true and my aim is just,
My long arm will extend as yours,
To bring the changing of the seasons and herald in the harvest!
As you came to your son in his time of need,
I pray that you come to me,
Not to solve this challenge I face,
But to remind me to respond as a warrior.