OMNIUM SANCTORUM HIBERNIAE

Tag: Saints of Wicklow

  • Saint Kevin of Glendalough, June 3

    Míl Críst i crích nÉrenn,
    ard na-ainm tar tuind tretan,
    Cóemgen cáid cáin cathair,
    i nGlinn dá lind lethan.

    A soldier of Christ into the border of Erin,
    a high name over the sea’s wave:
    Coemgen the chaste, fair warrior,
    in the Glen of two broad loughs.
    Thus does the Martyrology of Oengus record the feast of Saint Coemgen (Coemghen, Caoimhghin, Kevin) of Glendalough on June 3rd. Whilst Saint Oengus has devoted his entire quatrain for the day to Saint Kevin, the prose Martyrology of Tallaght simply records Caemgin ab Glinne da Locha, Kevin, abbot of Glendalough. Saint Marianus O’Gorman starts his entries for the day with just the saint’s name Caemgen, but the entry in the seventeenth-century Martyrology of Donegal incorporates many of the traditions which had grown up around Saint Kevin in the intervening centuries. It also references the saint’s genealogy which places Saint Kevin among the people of the Dál Messin Corb, who controlled the Leinster kingship in the fifth century.
    Despite being one of the most well-known and well-loved of Irish saints, remarkably little historical information has survived about Saint Kevin. In his classic study of the sources for early Irish Christianity, J.F. Kenny wrote:
    GLENN-DÁ-LOCHO (GLENDALOUGH) AND ST. COEMGEN

    Glenn-dá-locho,”Valley of two lakes” (Glendalough), a lonely and picturesque valley in the midst of the mountains of Wicklow, contains some of the most noteworthy monuments of pre-Norman ecclesiastical architecture in Ireland. These, and the many references in the annals and elsewhere indicate that Glendalough was an important centre of Irish religious life from the sixth to the twelfth century. The reputed founder of the monastery of Glendalough was Coemgen, or Coemghen (anglice Kevin), who was, we are told, of the royal race of Leinster. He retired to the glen to lead a hermit’s life, and the disciples who gathered around him formed the monastery. The death of Coemgen is entered in the Annals of Ulster under 618 and 622, but the record is doubtful. He is given an age of one hundred and twenty or one hundred and thirty years, which may be a misunderstood chronological datum.
    There are five versions of the Life of Coemgen. The first, in Latin, is quite extensive. The second is much shorter, being an abbreviated text prepared at a late date for lectionary or homiletic use in some monastery. The Irish texts are late, and are not closely related to the Latin. Plummer’s conclusions regarding these documents may be summarised as follows: Version iii is an incomplete and somewhat careless summary of an earlier Life; Version iv is a composite production, based in part on material similar to that used by iii; Version v is derived mainly, but not entirely, from iv. The date of the first version seems to be the tenth or eleventh century.
    J F Kenny, The Sources for the Early History of Ireland: Ecclesiastical (1929), 403-4.
    The three Irish Lives of Coemgen translated by the Rev. Charles Plummer in his Bethada Náem Nérenn collection are available to read through the Internet Archive here. His edition of the Latin text of the Vita Sancti Coemgeni can also be found there. All of the surviving Lives portray Saint Kevin as a strict ascetic in the tradition of the Desert Fathers who relishes solitude, subsists on herbs and follows a strict programme of ascetical practices, praying whilst up to his waist in the waters of the lough, praying crois-fhigill, ‘cross-vigil’, where the arms are outspread in imitation of Christ’s position on the cross and sleeping in a cave. Scholar A.P. Smyth also notes:
    The hagiographical lore relating to Kevin living in the tree-tops and praying in the trees owes something to the motif of the wild man in early Irish literature, as well as to the stylite movement among ascetics in Syria  and elsewhere in the Near East.
    A.P. Smyth, ‘Kings, Saints and Sagas’ in K. Hannigan and W. Nolan eds., Wicklow – History and Society – Interdisciplinary Essays on the History of an Irish County (Dublin, 1994), 52.
    Given these connections to the traditions of the Desert Fathers, it is perhaps no surprise to see that on the twelfth-century List of Parallel Saints, which equates Irish saints with those of the Universal Church, Saint Kevin is given as the equivalent of Saint Paul the Hermit. This third-century Egyptian saint, hailed as the first hermit, actually made his way onto the Irish calendars at January 25 as well as having a cameo role in the Navigatio of Saint Brendan. I have previously written about this here.  Saint Kevin’s ascetical reputation is also reflected in the hymn of Saint Cuimin of Connor on the characteristic virtues of the Irish saints. In telling us what Saint Kevin loved he wrote:
    Caoimhghin loved a narrow cell,
    It was a work of mortification and religion,
    In which perpetually to stand,
    It was a great shelter against demons.
    The temptation of a hermit by a demon in female form is also a topos found in the traditions of the Desert Fathers. The Latin Life depicts Saint Kevin as repelling the unwanted advances of his temptress by arming himself with the sign of the cross and then striking her with bundles of nettles, after which, in true hagiographical fashion, she sees the error of her ways and commits to a life of sanctity.
    In time however, the solitary ascetic of the Upper Lake attracted a community around him and moved to the Lower Valley to found his monastic civitas. As is usual in hagiography, the establishment of any new monastic site requires some supernatural intervention. Canon O’Hanlon, in Volume V of his Lives of the Irish Saints, narrates the story of how Saint Kevin was persuaded to make this move, according to the Latin Life:

    An Angel of the Lord came to St. Kevin and said: “O saint of God, the Lord hath sent me with a message, that you may be induced to go to a place he hath appointed for you, eastwards from the lesser Lake. There you shall be among your brethren, and it shall be the place of your resurrection.”

    Saint Kevin, however, is initially reluctant to move saying:

    “If it would not displease the Lord,  I should wish to remain to the day of my death in this place, where I have toiled for Christ.”

    So the angel adds a further inducement:
    The Angel answered: “If  you, with your  monks, go to that place  indicated,  many sons of light shall  be always in it and after your time, the monks shall have a sufficiency of earthly possessions, and many thousands of happy souls shall arise with you, from that place, to the kingdom of Heaven.”

    After further reassurance about the future fame and prosperity that Glendalough will enjoy and with his objections to the stoniness of the new proposed site dealt with by the angel, Saint Kevin and his heavenly advisor ‘walked upon the waters of the Lake, towards a locality indicated’. Then:

    Not long afterwards, the same Angel appeared to St. Kevin. He said: “In the name of our Lord Jesus  Christ, arise with thy monks, and go to that place, which the Lord  hath ordained for thy resurrection.” After pronouncing these words, the Angel departed.

    The move to the Lower Lough does not signify any lessening of Saint Kevin’s commitment to the ascetical life, as this verse from the Metrical Irish Life, the second in Plummer’s list, confirms:

    Coemgen was among stones
    On the border of the lake on a bare bed,
    With his slender side on a stone,
    In his glen without a booth over him.

    He may no longer have been sleeping in the original ‘Kevin’s Bed’ cave site on the Upper Lough, but the new site still saw the saint committed to a hard and stony resting place and still at the mercy of the elements. None of the Lives date to the lifetime of the saint but instead reflect the realities of succeeding centuries when Glendalough had expanded to become an important site of both pilgrimage and burial. The moving away from the original sites on the Upper Lough associated with Saint Kevin is dealt with in this later hagiography by having the saint persuaded by an angel that this relocation is God’s will. It may well be though that in the discussions between Saint Kevin and the angel we can discern an echo of the actual discussions that would have taken place within the community at Glendalough about the expansion of their monastic ‘city’. When exactly the move from the Upper Lough to the Lower took place is not known, but Smyth suggests that it may have been in the eighth century.

    Saint Kevin died in 622 and his ultimate resting place is still debated. In between the original site at the Upper Lough and that of the monastic city on the Lower lies the church of Reefert, Ríg Ferta, ‘the Cemetery of the Kings’. Saint Oengus the Martyrologist in the Prologue to his calendar of the saints declares ‘the cemetery of the west of the world is multitudinous Glendalough’. Reefert is one possible location for Saint Kevin’s tomb, although his remains may well have been translated from their original burial place and enshrined with great ceremony in the monastic church at a later period. The Annals of Ulster record at the year 790 the comotatio of the relics of Saint Kevin. This term refers to the taking of relics on circuit, most likely to other churches associated with Glendalough and would support the likelihood that the founder’s relics were housed in a richly-decorated shrine for public veneration.

    In the centuries following Saint Kevin’s death Glendalough became an important centre of pilgrimage, his Latin Life claiming that it was one of the four main pilgrimage sites in Ireland. His monastery found a place in a Litany of Irish saints preserved in the twelfth-century Book of Leinster and published in the 1925 collection Irish Litanies also translated by the Rev. Charles Plummer. Litany I invokes ‘Forty saints in Glen da Loch with Coemgen, noble priest’. In our own times Saint Kevin has become something of a poster boy for the ‘Celtic Christianity’ movement which attributes to our native holy men and women a special relationship with nature and the animal creation. Whilst I do not share this movement’s interpretation of our native saints, nevertheless the animal stories associated with Saint Kevin are perhaps specially appropriate, since they too owe their origins to the Desert Fathers. I have looked at a couple of the legends involving birds and the founder of Glendalough here.  Finally, since there is no translation of the Vita Sancti Coemgeni available, I have posted some selections from Canon O’Hanlon’s reading of it here.  This is how he describes the ending of Saint Kevin’s Life:

    When St. Kevin had consoled his monks and imparted his benediction, his thoughts were solely devoted to preparation for his departure from that place, so endeared to him by religious associations; and, he now turned his mind, on the abiding home he sought for in Heaven. He then received Christ’s most Sacred Body and Blood, from the hands of St. Mocherog. His monks stood around, in tears and lamentations, when their venerable superior breathed his last. Having lived, in this world, according to common report, for the extraordinary and lengthened period of one hundred and twenty years, he departed to join choirs of Angels and Archangels, in the Heavenly Jerusalem. The Third of June Nones is the date assigned for his death; and on the 3rd of June, accordingly, his festival is celebrated.
    Rev J. O’Hanlon, Lives of the Irish Saints, Vol. VI (Dublin, 1875),  p.71.

    Note: This post, first published in 2024, replaces the former blog entry on Saint Kevin from 2014.

    Content Copyright © Omnium Sanctorum Hiberniae 2012-2024. All rights reserved.

  • The Larks of Glendalough

     

    June 3 is the feast of Saint Kevin of Glendalough, a saint in whom there has been a revival of interest in recent decades thanks to his status as a poster boy for ‘Celtic Christianity’. This movement claims that our native saints were especially in tune with the natural environment and as a result enjoyed a special relationship with the animal creation. And no anthology of ‘Celtic Christianity’ is complete without a reference to one of the most famous episodes from Saint Kevin’s hagiography – the sheltering of a nesting bird in his outstretched, praying hands until her young have fledged. It is a theme which has also inspired poets (including the late Seamus Heaney), and below is a 1905 example, The Larks of Glendalough, by Thomas Walsh. It is striking that Walsh has chosen the lark here for most retellings of this tale, which originated in the History and Topography of Ireland by the twelfth-century chronicler, Gerald of Wales, identify the avian as a blackbird. I am left wondering therefore if Walsh has conflated the story of the blackbird which nests in Saint Kevin’s palm with another legend of Glendalough which seeks to explain why the song of the lark is never heard over the site. This lark legend is bound up with the construction of the Seven Churches of Glendalough and here it is as told to a mid-nineteenth-century traveller to Ireland by his guide, a Mr. Winder:

    Among the portentous events that my friend Mr. Winder told me was this,— that for 1,300 years the skylark had never been heard to warble over the lake, because St. Kevin prayed that it might never have the power to do so; and the reason was, that the men who were building the city where the Seven Churches stand had made a vow to commence their work each day as soon as the lark rose, and not to leave off till the sun had set. They kept their vow, and were in consequence so worn out with fatigue, that many of them died; when St. Kevin, out of compassion, offered up his prayers that no lark should henceforth rise into the air — the prayer was granted, and ‘the plague was stayed.’ All this is firmly believed. Subsequent to this, a man, who was driving me in a jaunting-car, told me that it was as true as we were sitting in the car that the skylark was never heard to warble over the lake for 1,300 years, though it was heard commonly outside the Seven Churches, at the distance of a few hundred yards. I asked him, if he did not think that skylarks preferred warbling over cornfields rather than over lakes?”

              The tourist’s illustrated hand-book for Ireland, (London, 1854), 42. 

    The lark legend thus seems quite distinct from that of Saint Kevin and the Blackbird. I have not been able to find out any more about our poet Thomas Walsh but, whether or not he has confused his Glendalough bird legends here, his poem at least has the merit of depicting Saint Kevin as someone engaged in the monastic life. Indeed, Walsh seems to be describing Saint Kevin using the ancient prayer posture known as crois-fhigill, cross-vigil, where the arms are outspread in imitation of Christ’s position on the cross. Overall, although it is typical of the sentimental verse published in the popular religious press of this time, I find The Larks of Glendalough charming:
     
    The Larks of Glendalough
    By Thomas Walsh

    All night the gentle saint had prayed,
    And, heedless of the thrush and dove,
    His radiant spirit still delayed
    To hear the seraph choirs above.

    So still he knelt — his arms outspread,
    His head thrown backward from his breast —
    A lark across the casement sped,
    And in his fingers built its nest.

    The angel music from his soul
    Receded with the flood of day;
    Through Glendalough the sunlight stole
    And brushed the mists and dews away.

    ’Twas then the saint beheld the bird
    Serenely nesting in his hand,
    And murmured, “Ah, if thou hadst heard
    The matins in that seraph land!”

    Then, soft again he turned to pray;
    Nor moved his arm at even close
    Or matin call from day to day
    Until their nestling voices rose.

    And when his loving task was done,
    Above his cell he heard them cry: —
    “O Kevin, Kevin! Gentle one !
    We bear to heaven thy soul’s reply!”

    The Rosary Magazine, Volume 26, (January-June 1905), 18.

    Content Copyright © Omnium Sanctorum Hiberniae 2012-2022. All rights reserved.

  • The Deer-Stone: A Legend of Glendalough

    Saint Kevin of Glendalough, whose feast is celebrated on June 3, is one of the Irish saints whose cult has taken on a new lease of life due to the modern ‘Celtic Christianity’ movement. There he is viewed as the supreme exemplar of the supposed unique relationship the Irish saints enjoyed with nature and animals. In general, I am uneasy whenever I see people of earlier ages being seamlessly cut and pasted into the agendas of contemporary movements. That is not to deny that stories of ‘saints and beasts’ figure in the hagiography of Irish saints and in native folklore, but there is a particular context in which these tales are framed, one that does not necessarily reflect current ‘green’ concerns. Irish poet, Dora Sigerson Shorter (1866-1918), wrote about one of these legends, the story of how Saint Kevin saved the life of an abandoned infant by getting a female deer to leave her milk in a hollow stone for the human baby. In The Deer-Stone, she first begins by relating how the young wife of Colman Dhu is poisoned while nursing her baby by a jealous and evil maidservant. Her distraught husband then opts to join his wife in death, now the witch has only to wait for the infant to succumb. I have picked up the text at the point where Saint Kevin enters the scene, for me the moral of the story is not that Saint Kevin is some sort of Doctor Doolittle who can talk to the animals, but that as an Irish saint living a life of asceticism, prayer and repentance, he can talk to God and manifest the divine power to punish the wicked and save the innocent. The poem ends by telling us that people can still point to the ‘Deer-stone’, this is a common phenomenon at Irish holy sites where natural features are cross-referenced to episodes from the lives of saints. A picture of the Deer-stone of Glendalough can be seen here.




    THE DEER-STONE

    A LEGEND OF GLENDALOUGH

    It was the good St. Kevin went,
    All bowed and lost in prayer,
    And as he paced his lonely path
    The young witch met him there.

    And in her gown the poison cup
    She did most quickly hide,
    But spoke the good saint unto her,
    And would not be denied.

    “What evil thing is this?” he said,
    “That you must put away?
    It is no gracious act indeed
    That fears the light of day.”

    “It is but bread,” the witch replied,
    “From my small store I take,
    To feed a poor deserted babe,
    I go for pity sake.”

    “Now, be it bread,” the priest replied,
    “I pray it multiply;
    But if it is an evil thing,
    Full heavy may it lie.”

    And then the priest, all deep in prayer,
    Went forth his lonely way,
    While stood the witch upon the path
    In wild and deep dismay.

    For in her robe the poison cup
    Did all so heavy grow,
    She scarce could stand upon her feet,
    And could but slowly go.

    Now when she reached the rugged rock
    That held her hidden home,
    The waters threw their magic up
    And blinded her with foam.

    She gave a sharp and sudden cry
    And fell within the lake,
    And so may perish all who sin,
    And evil vengeance take.

    But good St. Kevin, deep in prayer,
    His holy way did go.
    Soon came to him the sound of grief,
    Soft cries of bitter woe.

    There in a dark and lonesome place
    A little babe he found,
    And, close beside, a lovely pair
    All cold upon the ground.

    “Movrone, Movrone,” the good saint cried,
    “What evil deed is here? ”
    And for their beauty and their youth
    He shed a bitter tear.

    He dug for them a lonely grave,
    A grave both wide and deep;
    “And slumber well,” he softly said,
    “Till God shall end your sleep.”

    He knelt him down upon his knee
    Their lonely bed beside,
    And then he saw the little babe
    That weak in hunger cried.

    He raised it up in his two hands,
    And held it close and warm;
    “O Christ,” he said, “your mercy give
    To keep this child from harm.

    ” Oh, pitiful indeed is this
    Poor little one alone,
    Whose dead lie peaceful in their sleep
    While he doth make his moan.

    ” O Mary, who in Bethlehem
    Held once upon thy breast
    A tender babe, look down on this
    Who is so sore oppressed.

    “I have no food for this poor child,
    Who must with hunger die.
    Thy mercy give,” the good priest prayed
    With many a piteous sigh.

    He looked across the waters deep,
    And to the hills so brown,
    And lo! a shy wood creature there
    All timidly came down.

    And thrice it sprang towards the west,
    And thrice towards the east,
    It was as though some hand unseen
    Drove forth the gentle beast.

    But when the little child it heard,
    That still with hunger cried,
    It sprang before the guiding hand,
    And stood the babe beside.

    And in a hollowed stone it shed
    Its milk so warm and white,
    And then, all timid, stood apart
    To watch the babe’s delight.

    And at each eve and every morn
    The gentle doe was there,
    To find the little babe, and see
    The saint, all deep in prayer.

    In Glendalough the stone lies still
    All plainly to be seen,
    And many folk will point the place
    Where once the milk had been.

    Content Copyright © Omnium Sanctorum Hiberniae 2012-2018. All rights reserved.