In the stillness before dawn, when the world seems to hold its breath, you rise. Slowly, your pockets heavy with slumber’s sands, you make your way to the church’s doors, each step deliberate, every movement bringing you closer to something vast and ancient. Inside the vestibule, the brethren are already gathered, faces weathered by time, their silence heavy with expectation. You join them, feeling the weight of centuries pressing in, the prayers of those who walked this path before you still hanging in the air like incense.

The one who presides steps forward, his voice low and steady as he reads a Psalm, followed by the Gospel. The words hit you differently today, sharper, more real, like arrows aimed directly at your soul. There is a prayer, but it’s not the kind you rattle off without thought. It’s a cry from a deep, raw place, from the gut. You feel every word spoken as if it’s caravanserai trekking across your tongue. Then you make the Sign of the Cross, your hand tracing a pattern older than the world, and the ritual begins.

You turn to the west, the direction of darkness, where the sun sets, and the light disappears into the unknown. This is where shadows gather, where the monsters of the world roam freely. You stretch out your hand toward them, feeling the tension between the Light and darkness, and you speak: “I renounce thee, Satan, and all thy ways.” The words carry the weight of your rejection, of turning your back on every illusion, every temptation that has ever been whispered in your ear. You spit on the ground, a final severing, a physical act of defiance against the forces that have tried to claim you. It’s the moment that reaches back through time, back to stories of warriors and kings, saints and hermits, anchorites and martyrs, who faced down the darkness, the monsters, and the world.

Here, at this moment, your pilgrimage brings you into the court of Gwyn ap Nudd. He was the ruler of Annwn, the underworld, and guardian of lost souls. As the elders tell of it, he would lead the Cŵn Annwn, the hounds of hell, across the skies in the dead of night, hunting those whose hearts had succumbed to darkness. But Gwyn was not wholly evil. He was tasked with keeping the balance, ensuring the boundary between the world of men and the world of spirits. There is a story about how he battled for the soul of a man who had lost his way, caught between the forces of life and death. In the end, it was not Gwyn’s might that decided the man’s fate but the man’s own choice. He renounced the darkness, spitting on the ground as a sign of his rejection of Annwn’s pull, and by this act, he was saved. The remnants of that ancient choice linger in the air now as you renounce the same forces, having been chosen by the Light, that Ancient Good, to renounce the things of the abyss.

Now you turn to the east, to the rising sun, the direction of hope, of new beginnings. The Light beckons, and with him, the promise of Life renewed. You stretch out your hand toward the Light, speaking again, but this time with a heart opened by God’s Spirit: “I believe in Thee, Christ, my God, and I believe in Thy saving Word.” These words are not just spoken—they are a declaration, a vow, a surrender. You are facing Christ, the Light, but more than that, you are stepping into a marriage with him, a bridal relationship that fills up the places that the darkness once claimed.

And then, you are baptized. The water surrounds you, drowning the old self, the sin, allowing you to slip out of the chains that held you. You descend into it, like a warrior descending into the underworld, but when you rise, it is not as the same person. You rise reborn, washed clean, the Light now living within you. At that moment, to the ears of faith, you can hear the cries of heaven—the angels rejoicing at your rebirth. And in the shadows, you can listen to the wails of the wicked angels, demons, and abysmal monsters gnashing their teeth because they have lost one of their captives.

Like Gwyn ap Nudd, the forces of darkness have tried to claim you. But now, in this ancient battle between the Light and darkness, you have been chosen by the Light. The Holy Spirit moves through you, a wind that cannot be seen but is deeply felt. Your guardian angel stands by your side, wings outstretched, sword in hand, cutting down the wicked angels and monsters that seek to pull you back. This is no ordinary moment. This is no minor skirmish. This is the battle of the soul, and with each step, you are led deeper into the Light, each step a hammer-fall that crushes the very heart of the enemy.

The ancient tales are not just stories. They are mirrors of reality, the truest truth about our battles. Just as the man in Gwyn ap Nudd’s tale chose the light and was spared from the darkness, so are you moved by the divine Spirit to choose the Light today. The forces that rise against your soul are scattered because you are not alone in this fight. You stand with the God-man, with Christ Jesus, and with all the hosts of heaven that go before, beside, behind, and with you into the Resurrection, into Paradise.