OMNIUM SANCTORUM HIBERNIAE

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  • 'A Vessel of Wisdom and a Man Full of the Grace of God': Saint Adamnan of Iona

    September 23 is the feast of Saint Adamnan, a seventh-century Donegal saint who was the ninth abbot of Iona and one of the most prominent churchmen of his time. I recently treated myself to a copy of a new book on the saint by Brian Lacey, Adomnán, Adhamhnán, Eunan: Life and afterlife of a Donegal Saint, published by Four Courts Press in May of this year and look forward to reading a modern scholar’s reappraisal of this fascinating man. Although he is generally best known as the hagiographer of and successor to Saint Colum Cille of Iona, there remains a more local aspect to the cult of Saint Adamnan who is the co-patron of the Donegal diocese of Raphoe, a connection which has a chapter of its own in Lacey’s book. In the seventeenth century Micheal O’Clery compiled The Martyrology of Donegal, whose entry for this day contains a summary of what had been handed down about local hero, Adamnan. It presents him as an abbot, ascetic, and mystic who is sustained by a vision of the Christ child for three days and who is further associated with an apocalyptic vision of heaven and hell. It concludes with a reference to the List of Irish Parallel Saints in which our native holy men are viewed as local equivalents of major Christian figures, with Saint Adamnan likened to Pope Sylvester:

    23. G. NONO KAL. OCTOBRIS. 23.

    ADAMNAN, son of Ronan, of the race of Conall Gulban, son of Niall, as to his stock. His mother was of the race of Enna, son of Niall. Ronat was her name. This is the Adamnan who was six and twenty years in the abbacy of I-Coluim-Cille. On a certain day that he was at Hi, he meditated in his mind to remain for three days and three nights in his church alone praying to the Lord, and he remained to the end of that time without coming to the monastery at all. They sent some mature men to the church to know how the cleric was, for they thought he was too long absent from them. They looked through the key-hole, and they saw a little boy with brilliance and bright radiance in the bosom of Adamnan. And Adamnan was thanking and caressing the infant; and they were not able to look at him any longer by reason of the divine rays which were around the boy. They were certain that it was Jesus who was in the shape of an infant, delighting Adamnan in this manner, and also that he was his satisfaction and gratification during these three days and nights.  He was a vessel of wisdom, and a man full of the grace of God, and of the knowledge of the holy Scriptures, and of every other wisdom; a burning lamp which illuminated and enlightened the west of Europe with the light of virtues and good morals, laws, and rules, wisdom and knowledge, humility and self-abasement. These are his churches, namely, Rathbhoth, Druim-Thuama, in Cinel-Conaill; The Scrin, in Tir Fhiachrach Muaidhe and other churches besides. Seventy-seven years was his age when he sent his spirit to heaven, His body was interred with great honour and respect at Hi, and his body was removed to Erin after some time.

    It was to Adamnan were revealed the glory of the kingdom of heaven and the pains of hell, as contained in the Vision of Adamnan,which was copied from the Leabhar-na-hUidhre.  And thenceforward it was the glory of heaven and the pains of hell he used to preach. The Life of Ciaran, of Cluain, states, chap. 47, that the order of Adamnan was one of the eight orders that were in Erin.

    A very ancient old-vellum-book, of which we have spoken at 1st of February, at Brighit, and at 17th March, at Patrick, and at 9th of June, at Colum Cille, &c., states, that Adamnan was, in his habits and life, like unto Silvester the Pope.

    J.H. Todd and W. Reeves, eds, John O’Donovan, trans. The Martyrology of Donegal: A Calendar of the Saints of Ireland, (Dublin, 1864) pp. 255-257.

     Dr Lacey comments:

    The Martyrology entry doesn’t tell us anything new or even anything very interesting about Adomnán, made up as it is of extracts from earlier texts and stock hagiographical phrases. But it does tell us how the great seventh-century Donegal intellectual and scholar, Adomnán,was perceived by one of the greatest intellectual and scholarly Irishmen, also from Donegal, about a thousand years later.

    Brian Lacey, Adomnán, Adhamhnán, Eunan: Life and afterlife of a Donegal Saint (Dublin, 2021), p. 214.

     

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  • The Prayer of Saint Atty

    A couple of days ago I reprinted a poem by Philadelphia resident Patrick J. Coleman on the founding of the diocese of Achonry by Saint  Nathy.  Now we have another of his poetic offerings, this time in praise of Achonry’s female patroness Saint Attracta and her role as peacemaker and protectress.

    THE PRAYER OF SAINT ATTY.*

    A LEGEND OF ACHONRY

    KING Connor made an edict old:
    “A royal palace I will build;
    Tribute I order of the gold,
    From every clan and craftsman’s guild.

    “Tithings of scarlet and of silk,
    Curtain and screen of regal woof
    Deep-uddered heifers, rich in milk,
    And bronze and timber for the roof.

    “From Leyney’s lord, in token due
    Of fealty, I will ordain
    A hundred masts of ash and yew,
    A hundred oaks of pithy grain.”

    “Saint Atty, keep us safe from scath
    And shield us in the battle crash!
    For roof of royal house or rath
    We will not render oak or ash!”

    Thus lowly prayed the Leyney clan,
    While sang the birds in bush and brake.
    As fast they mustered, horse and man,
    To face the foe by Gara’s lake.

    For, wroth’ at heart, came Connor’s clan;
    Ah, Christ! they made a horrid front,
    With red spears bristling in the van.
    And shields to brave the battle-brunt.

    From wing to wing in wrath they rolled,
    Crested with helmets all afire.
    Of burnished bronze or burning gold.
    To martial measures of the lyre.

    A dreadful war! the blessed saints
    Defend to-day the Leyney clan!
    For they must reel before the steel
    Of such a hosting, horse and man.

    From sounding sheaths the swords flamed out,
    The clattering quivers echoed loud,
    From their dark ranks the battle shout
    Broke out, as thunder from the cloud.

    “Saint Atty, keep us safe from scath!”
    Thus made the Leyney men their prayer ;
    When lo! adown the forest path
    Trooped, lily-white, a herd of deer!

    Broke from the branching thicket green,
    While mute the watching warriors stood;
    Such gracious deer were never seen
    In Irish fern or Irish wood;

    And, mighty marvel, on their backs.
    Bound by a maiden’s tresses gold.
    Clean-hewn as if by woodman’s axe.
    The tribute of the wood behold !

    Nor paused the sylvan creatures sweet,
    But gliding onward, like to ghosts.
    Cast off the wood at Connor’s feet
    In wondrous wise betwixt the hosts;

    Then vanished in the forest green.
    While mused amaze the king and kern;
    And nevermore from then were seen
    In Irish wood or Irish fern.

    Down dropped the sword to thigh and hip,
    “God’s will be done, let hatred cease!”
    Rose up the cry from every lip.
    And harps attuned a chord of peace.

    Yea, “blessings broke from every lip,
    To God and to His saints above.
    And hands that came for deadly grip
    Were mingled in fraternal love.

    ” ‘Gainst scath or scar our battle-shield
    Is Atty, saint of Leyney’s clan!”
    They sang, as homeward from the field
    They hied, unscathed, horse and man.

    For in her chapel in the wood
    The boding war had Atty seen,
    And for the people of her blood
    Made prayer amid the forest green.

    And men do say that on that day
    She saved the Leyney clan from scath,
    Such power there is when lowly pray
    The pure of heart and keen of faith.

    And still when autumn gilds the lea,
    And scythes are shrill in meadows ripe,
    The rural pageant you may see
    Sporting with jocund dance and pipe.

    The village women you may mark
    In Leyney, at Saint Atty’s well.
    Ere yet hath trilled the risen lark
    In golden mead or dewy dell.

    PATRICK J. COLEMAN.

    *Saint Atty is the loving name of the people of Achonry for Saint Attracta, the patroness of the diocese.

    The Irish Monthly, Volume 18 (1890),80-82 

     

     

    Content Copyright © Omnium Sanctorum Hiberniae 2012-2021. All rights reserved.

  • The Founding of Achonry

     

    Today is the feast of Saint Nathy, patron of the Diocese of Achonry. Below is an 1889 poem by an Irish-American contributor to the Catholic press of his day, Patrick J. Coleman, which recounts the founding of the diocese and the part played by Saint Finnian of Clonard in its establishment. Saint Finnian is depicted in hagiography as a teacher and guide to other Irish monastic saints and his Life includes the episode on which the poem is based. The idea of a monastery’s location being decided by divine intervention is a common trope in hagiography and here it provides the context for the relationship between the senior saint, Finnian, and the junior, Nathy. Modern scholars suggest that such stories really reflect the church politics of the time when the saint’s Life was written. Nathy himself is not the subject of a written Life but his small foundation was sufficiently important to merit the recording of its establishment in the Life of Saint Finnian:

    THE FOUNDING OF ACHONRY *



    THUS saith the legend of the bard: 

    To do the holy will of God, 

    To Leyney’s land from old Clonard 

    Afoot the saintly Finnian trod. 


     
    Then laid on Nathy in his cell, 

    Below the hill, anointed hands; 

    And gave him crozier, book, and bell. 

    As bishop-prince of Leyney’s lands. 


     
    With knitted brows of doubt he frowned 

    Where he should set the comer stone 

    Of Nathy’s church,— on level ground, 

    Or on the purple mountain cone ? 
    


    So Finnian slept, revolving deep, 

    And while he slept, an angel face 

    Of glory whispered in his sleep, 
    
“Lo, Nathy will appoint the place” 
    


    Because of comfort of the words, 

    Soul-glad went Finnian o’er the land, 

    About the singing of the birds 

    Of dawn, with Nathy hand in hand. 


     
    And while they went, behold, a field 

    Through which a silver stream did run,
     
Shone like a warrior’s golden shield 
    
In battle opposite the sun. 


     
    The lark sang shrilly o’er the trees, 

    The finch and linnet in the bowers; 

    There was a drowsy drone of bees, 
    
Gold-girdled in among the flowers. 


     
    And since his heart was pure, and he 
    
Loved all things for their native worth, 

    “Lo,” Nathy said, “God giveth me 

    Unto mine own this plot of earth. 
     
    

“Here will I build my church, and make 
    
Mine altar and my lowly cell. 

    Where morning music of the brake 

    Will mingle with my matin bell.” 


     
    And even as he spoke there came, 
    Knee-deep in flowers across the ground,

    The master of the field, aflame 

    With anger, at his side a hound; 


     
    And laid rude hands upon the twain. 
    
On Finnian and on Nathy mild,
     
Who stood with eyes upon the plain

    And simple-hearted as a child. 


     
    Then sudden wrought a mighty sign 
    
Unto the master of the plot,

    That so by miracle divine 

    For God he might possess the spot. 


     
    A spear’s cast from the place there lay 

    A rock, in stature like a man, 
    
A swarthy crag of mossy gray. 

    And many cubits in the span. 
     
    

Nor thinking any thought of ire. 

    Nor saying aught of mild reproof, 
    In heart with holy zeal afire, 

    Went Nathy from the man aloof. 


     
    Then raising psalms of prayer, while sweet, 

    Dim glory shone about his face. 

    He blessed the rock, which, at his feet. 

    Broke sundered to its flowery base. 


     
    Prone at the feet of Finnian fell 

    The prince, and gave the field; and so 

    Was builded there Saint Nathy’s cell 
    
In Ireland’s golden long-ago. 
     
    

And well in woe have clung to God 
    
The shepherds, who have bravely prest 

    O’er paths that Nathy’s feet have trod
     
In sweet Achonry of the west.

    Patrick J. Coleman.

    Philadelphia, April 30, 1889. 

     * The diocese of Achonry, which takes its name from a small village in
    County Sligo, includes portions of Sligo, Mayo, and Roscommon. St. Nathy
    (whose feast is the 9th of August) was the first bishop of the diocese,
    about the year of our Lord 630. The legendary circumstances of his
    consecration by St. Finnian of Clonard, whose disciple he was, are
    narrated in these verses. His present successor is the Most Rev. John
    Lyster, D.D. The name of Leyney still survives in the barony Leyney, in
    Sligo, originally the patrimony of the Clan O’Hara.  

    The Irish Monthly, Volume 17 (1889), 315-317.

    Content Copyright © Omnium Sanctorum Hiberniae 2012-2021. All rights reserved.