The Voyager
a meditation for Saint Brendan the Navigator
On May 16th, the Celtic world observed the remarkable life of Saint Brendan the Navigator, one of Christendom’s strangest saints.
Truth be told, I find the stories of Saint Brendan hard to connect with, and I always have. On the one hand, they are a lot of fun to read because they are so odd. They have a similar feel to The Voyage of the Dawn Treader by C.S. Lewis, these strangely episodic tales of journeying through uncharted and fantastical seas. Islands inhabited by birds and beasts and angels, waves teeming with giant sea monsters. They don’t really feel like the kind of stories one associates with Christian sainthood, but with fairytales and folktales. They are a perfect microcosm of the Celtic imagination.
Even so, I find connection with Brendan difficult because his search for holiness expressed itself as an insatiable desire to travel, to never feel fully rooted in one place. He put his entire trust in God to steer his little boat, to provide him with sustenance for the journey, and to lead him safely home again.
As an avowed homebody, this does not appeal to me.
However, if I squint, I can find myself in Brendan. Because we are all voyaging, each in our own way, even when we’re sitting still. Our souls, our hearts, and our minds embark on constant voyaging. We are never fully settled. We are not “at home” in this world, and God alone is responsible for our care and keeping and the movement of our little boats, tempest-tossed though we may be.
No matter what we encounter—and we will encounter much, if we haven’t already—we can trust the One Who Steers.
I wrote the following poem last year as a tribute to Brendan; in 2022, his feast day fell on the same day as the Full Willow Moon. My prayer for each of us is that we would find our way safely home, day by day, lifted by the tide of God’s good grace.
Yes, even when faced with the most ferocious of sea monsters.
O God of the springtime tide and this little vessel and me; O God of the moon and her attendant stars who bathes my little boat with grace; You who made the willow soft supple strong strengthen me; You who made the moon strong supple soft soften me; steer me in the way I should go, guide me in the path I should take; fill my little boat with Your moonlight graces, a pale fire surrounding me; keep me safe in the softness and strength of Your arms, and move me on these springtime tides to follow the moonpath home.
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Wonderful poem! You should read the book A Desert in the Ocean: The Spiritual Journey According to St. Brendan the Navigator by David Adam. It's about entering fully into the eternal in the midst of the everyday. The author invites us to consider whether God is calling us to live more adventurously, to extend ourselves, to seek new horizons. Sometimes that adventure is a physical trip, other times it can be seeing our backyard with newfound sight.
I'm curious about your statement, "We are not “at home” in this world." This seems, to me, similar to the expression "this world is not our home," which I disagree with and actually don't think is Scripturally supported. What's your take? Are you expressing the same sentiment, or something else? Your devotional poetry is, as always, beautiful!