Long before I was Catholic I was enthralled with Celtic knotwork, including crosses. I didn’t collect crosses but I admired them. Looking intently at the weaving, the criss crossing where two lines meet. Knotwork is a most appropriate description. I look at the twists and the turns and the loops and all I can picture is a knotted rope. Thick, muslin colored, braided rope, fringed and frayed at the ends but the beauty in the center never ending. Never ending, like a circle, but more elaborate, each one different from the other.

Look at any Celtic cross and tell me how it’s not the perfect blending of artistry and spirituality.

It’s a good note to end this week on.