August: On the Mountain, By the Sea
August feels like a deep breath in the year: fields full, air warm, time stretching a little slower. In the Church calendar, it holds the Feast of the Transfiguration (6th August), when Jesus leads a few friends up a high mountain, and for a moment they see Him differently: radiant, unhidden, glorious.
But the story doesn’t end on the mountain. They go back down. Back to dust, crowds, hunger, ordinary life. The gift of Transfiguration is not escape, but perspective, a glimpse of light that helps us live more faithfully in the valley.
August invites us to linger with God in beauty: long evenings, quiet hills, salt-worn coastlines, not to run from reality, but to see it more clearly. To let wonder do its quiet work. To remember that even the ordinary world carries glory, if only for a moment, in the corner of the eye.
From the Earth
The land in August is full and humming. Blackberries darken on the bramble, sweet and sun-warmed. Heather blushes purple across the moors, and fields of wheat lean golden in the breeze. Swallows gather on telegraph wires, practising their departure.
In the evening, the light turns honeyed, stretching shadows long over dry stone walls and barley fields. The earth feels tired and content: work done, fruit offered, seeds hidden for what comes next.
Those Who Went Before
St Aidan of Lindisfarne (Feast Day: 31st August)
St Aidan, a monk from Iona, was sent in the 7th century to Northumbria, where he founded the monastery at Lindisfarne, the Holy Island. He travelled barefoot across the land, speaking with shepherds, kings, and children alike.
Aidan’s way of mission was gentle: walking, listening, blessing. He built no walls between sacred and ordinary, he taught scripture under trees, prayed by the sea, rescued enslaved children, and gave away whatever he owned.
When asked how he converted so many, one monk replied simply: “He lived as he taught.”
Aidan belongs to August because he reminds us that holiness does not require noise, only love, presence, and an open road.
A Prayer in Action
Spend some time outside this month at a viewpoint, a hill, a coastal path, a quiet lookout, even an upstairs window. Sit or stand where land meets sky or sea.
Say this short prayer:
“Lord, help me see as You see.”
Then say nothing more. Just look. Notice. Let the view become its own kind of prayer, not to escape the world, but to love it more truthfully when you return.
“And He was transfigured before them; His face shone like the sun, and His clothes became as white as light.”
