St. Ciaran's Clonmacnoise
by Edward C. Sellner
Ancient peoples recognized that places where roads,
paths, and trackways meet are significant sites of
mysterious numinous powers. Hermes, the Greek god of
fertility and of healing, was associated with
crossroads, and his statue, know as a “herm,” used to be
set up at those locations to remind travelers that he
would, if called upon provide protection and guidance.
Romans, to show their respect for crossroads, frequently
built little chapels at such locations which were
dedicated to the Lares or guardian spirits of the place,
where sacrifices could be offered or gifts left behind
in order to obtain favor for the direction in which one
chose to travel. The ancient Celts believed that spirits
were everywhere, inhabiting the entire landscape, but
that certain geographical sites were especially sacred,
including junctions of rivers and roads.
In the center of Ireland, on the banks of the River
Shannon, at the crossroads in medieval times where the
Eiscir Riada or “Great Road” met which linked east and
west, stand the ruins of one of the most famous
monasteries of the Early Irish Church. Once possibly the
site of some pagan sanctuary, since a beautiful gold
torc, or neckring, of eastern French or Rhenish origin
[c.300 BCE] was discovered there, this place was also
made holy by early Christian Celts. In 544 or 543 CE
[scholars differ on the exact date], St. Ciaran founded
a monastery there that came to be called “Clonmacnoise,”
one of those liminal places where the living presence of
the past is encountered first-hand, and where one finds,
as modern pilgrims do, intimations of a dynamic
spirituality that is still very much alive.
The precise dates of Ciaran’s life are unknown [some say
he lived from 512 to 545, others from 516 to 549 CE] but
he is considered to be one of the earliest monastic
founders, all of whom were given the distinguished title
of the “Twelve Apostles of Ireland” and were said to
have been educated by St. Finnian of Clonard. Ciaran
himself is described in an early hagiography or life of
the saint as “a soul friend, a wonderworker, a man whose
brilliance in miracles and marvels, virtues and good
deeds, lit the Western world.” Unlike other Irish saints
who are usually portrayed as coming from the ranks of
the nobility and eventually ordained bishops, Ciaran was
the son of a craftsman or “carpenter,” and always
remained a simple priest. Both women and men were drawn
to Ciaran because of his reputation for holiness, but
another factor may also have helped. The same
hagiography describes him as “very attractive, for he
was physically more handsome than anyone else his age.”
For whatever reason, accounts confirm that he was
recognized, early in his life, as someone with
tremendous potential as a spiritual leader.
There is a story, for example, about how his mentor, St.
Finnian, perceived the future greatness of Ciaran and of
another of his students, Columcille, who later founded
monasteries at Durrow and Derry in Ireland, and Iona,
off the coast of Scotland:
Once a vision appeared to Finnian in which two moons
arose from Clonard, a golden moon and a silvery moon.
The golden moon went into the north of the island,
lighting Ireland and Scotland. The silvery moon went on
until it reached the Shannon, lighting the center of
Ireland. The first, Finnian realized, foretold
Columcille’s wisdom and the grace of his noble kin; the
second had to do with Ciaran’s monastery at Clonmacnoise
and his many virtues and good deeds.
Finnian quite obviously had great affection for both of
his students, but it was Ciaran whom he called “little
heart” and “dear one” whom “I love”, and upon whom he
wished “an abundance of dignity and wisdom.” But Finnian
wasn’t the only one of his mentors to foresee, and help
foster, as good mentors do, Ciaran’s leadership and the
important monastery he was to found at the crossroads.
According to another story, one that also includes an
account of a visionary experience, Ciaran left Clonard,
“after learning scholarship and wisdom,” and lived with
St. Enda for a time:
Ciaran went to the island of Aran to commune with Enda.
Both of them saw the same vision of a great fruitful
tree growing beside a stream in the middle of Ireland.
This tree protected the entire island, its fruit crossed
the sea that surrounded Ireland, and the birds of the
world came to carry off some the that fruit. Ciaran
turned to Enda and told him what he had seen. Enda, in
turn, said to him: “The great tree you saw is you,
Ciaran, for you are great in the eyes of God and of all
humankind. All of Ireland will be sheltered by the grace
that is in you, and many people will be fed by your
fasting and prayers. Go in the name of God to the Center
of Ireland, and found your church on the banks of a
stream.
Besides the acknowledgement of Ciaran’s greatness and
that of his future monastery in this story, the
inclusion of the tree symbolism is highly significant.
Trees denote fertility, immortality, and wisdom, as well
as a person’s roots and spiritual heritage. Many world
spiritual traditions consider the tree to be a symbol of
the axis mundi, the center of the world, and to be near
a tree is to be in touch with the life of the cosmos.
The pagan spiritual leaders of the Celts, the druids and
druidesses, associated trees, especially the oak, with
sacredness and power, and it is interesting to note in
the lives of the early Irish saints how many of them
built their monasteries on sites near oak groves.
[Kildare, which St. Brigit founded, for example, means
“church of the oak”, and Columcille’s Durrow and Derry
had been sites of oak trees.]
According to the vision, then, that Ciaran and Enda
shared, Clonmacnoise obviously was to be a special
place, a “thin place” reflecting a wealth of wisdom and
a depth of spirituality that would not only affect the
island of Ireland but be carried to other parts of the
world. Like the twentieth-century Oglala Sioux shaman,
Black Elk, who had a similar vision of a great tree,
filled with singing birds, that inaugurated his own
ministry, shaped his entire life, and , in his last
days, haunted him so much that he cried out that it
might bloom again for his people, this Celtic vision
acted as an invitation for Ciaran himself to embrace his
vocation as a spiritual leader and to bring into being
what the vision – and Enda’s helpful interpretation of
it – had revealed.
It is not known how long Ciaran stayed with Enda on
Aran, but eventually, led by a stag [whose antlers, we
are told, had been used by Ciaran as a book-stand!], the
younger monk traveled to Hare Island in Lough Ree where
he lived for three years before settling, with eight
companions, at Clonmacnoise. Ciaran decided upon the
latter site because of its natural beauty, and as he
said, because “many souls will go to heaven from here,
and in this place there will be communion with God and
God’s people forever.” Less than a year later, on
September 9, Ciaran died unexpectedly at the age of
thirty-three, possibly a victim, like his tutor Finnian,
of the yellow plague that was sweeping Ireland.
Because of his youthful age at the time of his death,
some early writers of his life compared Ciaran to St.
John, the disciple whom Jesus loved, while others to
Jesus himself. According to a nineteenth-century
scholar, John Healy, a bishop of Clonfert, “There was no
saint more beloved by his own contemporaries – by Enda,
and Kevin, and Finnian, and Columcille. They all loved
him dearly whilst he was with them; and their hearts
were sore at his departure …. There is no saint whose
name is held in more affectionate remembrance than the
founder of Clonmacnoise.”
Ciaran’s words about the site as the “place of
resurrection: for him and many others were extremely
accurate. Clonmacnoise, after his death, became on of
Ireland’s oldest and most prestigious monastic
communities. Of all the monasteries which emerged in the
Golden Age of the Irish saints [the sixth and seventh
centuries], it was second only in ecclesial importance
to Armagh in Northern Ireland, and yet probably
surpassed even that site in terms of its artistic,
literary, and educational achievements. Its monastic
inhabitants, at one point, numbered at least a thousand,
probably more, and, like some of the other Irish and
British monasteries, Clonmacnoise consisted at one time
of both male and female inhabitants. Untold numbers of
missionaries were trained there who planted or replanted
the faith in Britain and continental Europe at a time
when Germanic tribes were destroying the churches and
libraries that contained much of the classical and
religious culture of the West. In Clonmacnoise’s
scriptoria, the scribes produced some of the earliest
vernacular Irish histories, including the Book of the
dun cow [now in the Bodleian Library, Oxford, England],
which contains the Annals of Tighernach as well as the
earliest extant version of the Irish epic, The Cattle
Raid of Cooley. Two prominent theologians studied at
Clonmacnoise: Alcuin [c.735-804], a Northumbrian who
took his learning to the court of Charlemagne where he
came to be recognized as one of the greatest scholars in
Western Europe, the inspirer of the Carolingian
Renaissance; and, John Scotus Erigena [c. 810-877] who
was administrative head and teacher at the Palace School
of Charles the Bald in Laon, France, and whose
controversial writings on nature, original sin,
predestination, and free will are still being discussed
today.
During the middle ages, precisely because of its
prominence and its accumulation of rich and ornate
religious objects [i.e., the beautiful Clonmacnoise
Crozier, considered to be one of the fines ecclesial
items to have survived, is on view at the national
Museum in Dublin; the finely decorated metalwork shrine
of the Stowe Missal was also made Clonmacnoise],
Ciaran’s monastery was increasingly assaulted by native
and foreigners alike. In 769 CE, in one battle with a
nearby Columbian monastery, Durrow, the latter suffered
the loss of two hundred men. Almost a hundred years
later, the King of Cashel, Felim Mac Criffan, plundered
Clonmacnoise three times; one of these times, in 833, he
is said to have ‘butchered the monks like sheep.”
Evidently Mac Criffan experienced some sort of
conversion experience, however, for, following a life of
attacking other monasteries, such as Durrow and Kildare,
he is listed in the Annals of Ulster as optimus Scotorum,”
“the best of the Irish – as scribe and an anchorite.”
Clonmacnoise was also plundered and burned on at least
ten occasions by the Vikings. In 884, one of these
Viking leaders, Turgesius, burned down the monastery,
after his wife, Ota, danced naked on the high altar and
engaged in other lewd and idolatrous acts. Between 832
and 1204, it was attacked thirty-three times and finally
reduced to ruins by the English in 1552 when it was
claimed, according to an annalist, “not a bell, large or
small, an image or an altar, a book or a gem, or even a
glass in a window, was left which was not carried away.”
A hundred years later, to add to this tragedy, the
notoriously vicious Cromwell himself returned with his
army and cannonaded the site.
Still Clonmacnoise was never really destroyed. At one
time listed as one of the four most sacred of pilgrimage
sites in Ireland, it actually has a longer history of
pilgrimages than any other. [The first pilgrim recorded
at Clonmacnoise was noted in the annals as having died
in 606 CE.] The burial place of many named and unnamed
Christians, pilgrims, monks, and kings, including Rory
O’Connor, the last high king of Ireland, Clonmacnoise
continues to attract thousands of pilgrims each year.
For the modern pilgrim who wants to know more about its
long, rich, and tragic history, there are now scenes
from that history painted on the wall of the new Visitor
Center that was constructed in the early 1990’s. As one
walks down the hall and follows the historical scenes
chronologically, it is difficult not to be amazed at
Clonmacnoise’s ability to endure!
As a pilgrim, I first visited St. Ciaran’s Clonmacnoise
in 1984 when I was beginning to do more research into
the history of the Early Celtic church and its tradition
of the anamchara, a Gaelic term meaning “friend of the
soul” or simply “soul friend;” that is, someone who acts
in a variety of roles, such as being a teacher, mentor,
confessor, or spiritual guide. Clonmacnoise had come to
my attention, initially, when I had watched , along with
millions of television viewers worldwide, John Paul II
celebrate Mass on that site in 1979, with thousands of
people in attendance. I was intrigued that the Pope had
decided to go to that particular place, so early in
pontificate. I was also fascinated with what I heard
from commentators about how Clonmacnoise had educated
both clerical and lay leaders, missionaries and ordinary
Christians for over a thousand years. One other factor
contributed to my desire to someday visit Clonmacnoise:
when I read how it had housed a community of religious
women for centuries, a fact that I found particularly
intriguing, considering how the church on the continent
of Europe had increasingly isolated communities of women
during medieval and post-Protestant Reformation times.
Thus, my anticipation when I arrived in Ireland in late
May of 1984. At last I was going to have the opportunity
of visiting Clonmacnoise as well as other sites
associated with the Irish saints. Of course, for me, any
visit to Ireland – for whatever reasons – is like going
home. Although of Irish, Germanic, and Norman roots, I
believe I have an Irish soul, and for me Ireland is, as
Yeats’ says so poignantly in his poetry, “the home of my
fathers [and mothers], the home of my heart.”
I should say to that, as long as I can remember, I have
been fascinated with he lives of the saints, especially
those of the early desert and Celtic traditions. My soul
resonates with their stories. Along with Jesus and his
mother, Mary, they have become, over the years, my
mentors, teachers, spiritual guides, soul friends. They
inspire me with their struggles and heroic acts, but
also, perhaps most of all, by the simple and courageous
ways they lived their lives, one day at a time; they
teach me of the importance of certain values, such as
hospitality, compassion, creativity, persistence. They
have become sources of support in times of depression
and despair, and often, in prayer, have come to offer
their help through a presence that is almost tangible.
From my experience and, really, contrary to my own
expectations, they do not judge me when my life has
strayed, but only offer their encouragement, as true
soul friends do, by accepting me where I’m at rather
than where I “ought to be.”
From the time my mother first read to me as a child,
while sitting on her knee, I have found myself caught up
in the stories of these spiritual leaders. When I grew
older, the nuns and priests who were friends of my
parents visited our home, taught me in the classroom,
accompanied me to Scout camp, showed me how to pray, and
perhaps most of all, reinforced this trait, this love of
the saints. Years later, after becoming a theologian, a
teacher, and a writer, I am still haunted by their
stories. As I began to research and write about them, I
also became convinced that, if I am to understand them
and what they have to teach people today, I not only
need to read their own writings and what others have
written about them, but I need to visit the places where
they themselves lived and worked. As Kathleen Norris has
described so well in her book, Dakota, it is our
environment, our physical surroundings, our landscape
that has such a profound impact on our ideas of the holy
and Holy One [our theology] and the ways we seek to
acknowledge and celebrate the holy in our lives [our
spirituality]. Journeys to the places associated with
the saints become pilgrimages when we open our eyes –
and ears and hearts – to what they have to teach us. At
the same time, as many can attest, pilgrimages and not
without hardships, annoyances, or just plain
frustrations. The latter characterized my first visit to
Clonmacnoise.
At Dublin’s main bus depot, I had signed up for a
one-day tour that, in addition to a boat ride up the
Shannon River and a visit to some other places in
central Ireland, Promised to spend a significant amount
of time at Clonmacnoise. Unfortunately, what was
advertised and what actually occurred were not quite the
same. The bus driver, evidently new to route, spent a
great deal of time, once we’d left the city, scratching
his head, consulting a map as he drove, and muttering to
himself. By the time we actually reached Clonmacnoise,
he made an apologetic announcement that he had gotten
lost, and because we were so far behind schedule, we
would only have twenty minutes there. Since it had been
the primary reason why I had chosen this particular
excursion, I was, shall we say, a bit disappointed!
[since then, after a number of other disappointments,
including my arriving at Jarrow, England, just five
minutes after the main exhibit on the Venerable Bede had
closed, I have learned that such disappointments can be
interpreted as invitations, that is, “excuses” to
return.]
But that was my frustration at Clonmacnoise: my having
to literally run from one part of the monastic ruins to
another, from what is called “the Nuns’ Church” to the
medieval Cathedral, from round towers to high crosses,
in a short amount of time, taking as many pictures with
my 35 mm camera as I could. Still, I was excited and
exhilarated at finally being there, able to see at last
this place associated with St. Ciaran that had already
touched my imagination.
What I was most struck by, as I headed first for the
ruins of the twelfth-century Nuns; Church which are
located some five hundred yards east of the main
settlement, was the beauty of the landscape itself.
There, within eyesight, were the blue waters of
Ireland’s largest river, the Shannon, with two round
towers clearly visible, on lush slopes of varying shades
of green. The sun, on that hot summer day, was actually
shining [contrary to almost every subsequent visit I’ve
made when it rained], its rays reflecting on the brown
and white stones of the monastic monuments and high
crosses, as well as the smaller crosses, marking
numerous, more modern graves. [Every local person seems
to want to be buried here, since it is believed, from
early times, that if one is interred in this holy
ground, one guaranteed a place in heaven.]
When I reached what remains of the Nuns’ Church, with
its Romanesque style, I quickly snapped pictures of its
famous, beautifully carved west doorway and chancel
arch. While both are decorated largely with abstract
carvings, on the chancel arch itself are small animal
heads, with wide eyes and grinning faces that look, for
all the world, as if they were carved by Walt Disney.
There also on the chancel arch, I observed, a female
figure with her naked legs parted, displaying herself.
Although I had no idea at the time what this lascivious
figure was about, I learned later, from my reading about
sheela-na-gigs, that these fertility images were
introduced into Ireland at the time of the Norman
invasions, at least six centuries after St. Ciaran had
founded Clonmacnoise. Placed above doorways and windows
in castles and some church buildings, these female
figures were considered by the medieval Irish as
fertility symbols,, warnings against lust, and, like the
gargoyles on the cathedrals in France, protectors from
harm.
As I quickly wandered back toward the main area, I was
drawn to a smaller, strangely contorted stone structure,
its walls slanting inward, as if about to collapse. I
stopped at its front doorway, and read a brief notice,
telling me that this tiny oratory was the presumed site
of St. Ciaran’s grave. This was the place which once
contained the relics of the monastic founder where so
many pilgrims, throughout the centuries, had come for
inspiration, healing, and forgiveness. Grateful for
having stumbled, almost literally, upon this holy site,
I recalled that here was where one of the most moving
stories about soul friendship had originally occurred.
According to this story, when Ciaran was about to die:
The angels went to meet his soul, filling as they did
all the space between heaven and earth. He was carried
back into his little church, and raising his hands, he
blessed his people. Then he told the brethren to shut
him up in the church until Kevin should come from
Glendalough … [When Kevin arrived] the elders … opened
the little church to him. At once Ciaran’s spirit
returned from heaven and re-entered his body so that he
could commune with Kevin and welcome him. The two
friends stayed together from the one watch to another,
engaged in mutual conversation, and strengthened their
friendship. Then Ciaran blessed Kevin, and Kevin blessed
water and administered the eucharist to Ciaran. Ciaran
gave his bell to Kevin as a sign of their lasting unity.
The symbolism of this story is profound, revealing how
strong the bonds of such intimate relationships are,
able to endure even death itself. The reference to the
exchange of gifts between friends also symbolizes the
mutuality many people experience when one is or has a
soul friend. Meditating quietly there for a moment, I
prayed for my family and friends who had given me so
much for which to be grateful. I prayed to St. Ciaran
too who, as a result of this visit – no matter how
rushed – was becoming even more of a soul friend.
Then, aware of time running out, I reluctantly moved on
to the much larger building not far from Ciaran’s
gravesite. Another plaque identified it as the
Cathedral, a simple rectangular structure with a wide
expanse of space within. Again this church was a much
later addition to the monastic community begun by St.
Ciaran, probably first built in the thirteenth century
when the Early Irish Church, as a more independent
ecclesial reality, had come to an end. This building,
like the Nuns’ Church, has more elaborate doorways
probably added about the same time the church for the
nuns was built. What caught my attention immediately, as
I approached the main door, were the carved figures of
three men, one headless, dressed in different types of
religious garb. As I focused my camera on them, I asked
myself who they might be. Obviously, I thought, they
must have been important saints to have been placed in
such a prominent position. Only later did I discover
that they were, in fact, depictions of St. Francis and
St. Dominic, with St. Patrick standing between them. The
figure of St. Patrick, elevated slightly above the two,
represents the coming of Christianity to Ireland in the
early fifth century, while the other two symbolize those
religious orders from the Continent which eventually, in
the twelfth century, superseded the older monastic
communities found throughout Ireland, including that at
Clonmacnoise. It was during this same century that Rome,
increasingly seeking uniformity in dogma, ecclesial
structures, and liturgical practices, divided the Early
Irish Church into dioceses and appointed bishops to rule
over them. All Of these changes had been when the
Cathedral and Nuns’ Church were first built.
From the Cathedral, I quickly ran to the three high
crosses which were then located nearby. [In order to
protect them from further deterioration and harm, all
three were moved into the new Visitor Center in 1992-93
and replaced by replicas which, at least at this point,
look exactly like the originals.] Of all the ruins at
Clonmacnoise, these three crosses, in particular,
represent visually what the stories of the saints
express verbally. They truly are stories in stone, and,
in their own way, “thin places” in which one encounters
a transcendent reality. If Celtic Christians living in
Brittany believe that their elaborate crosses as they
constructed them, are ladders to heaven, it is also true
that, like the tree imagery found in Ciaran’s and Enda’s
vision, Irish high crosses are representative of the
axis mundi, of being centered, grounded, in touch with
both heaven and earth. No wonder a number of the key
stories about the Irish saints locate them praying or
teaching near high crosses – or climbing them! One of
the most moving stories, found in the life of St. Maedoc
of Ferns, expresses well how high crosses are associated
with mystery and numinosity, and, once again, how
enduring are the ties between soul friends. According to
this story, Maedoc returns to Ferns, his monastery
located in southeastern Ireland, following a visit to
Clonmacnoise:
Sometime later Maedoc was teaching a student by a high
cross at the monastery of Ferns. The student saw him
mount a golden ladder reaching from earth to heaven.
Maedoc climbed the ladder, and when he returned sometime
later, the student could not look in his face because of
the brilliance of his countenance. Maedoc told him,
“Never tell anyone about what you have seen.” “If that
is what you want,” the student replied, “I will not tell
anyone.” “Columcille has died,” Maedoc told him, “and I
went to meet him with the family of heaven. He was my
own soul friend in this world, so I wanted to pay him my
respects.” The student told this story only after
Maedoc’s death, when he had become an adult and a holy
man himself.
Probably like the one that appears in Maedoc’s story,
many of the high crosses of Ireland, especially the most
famous of them, the “Cross of the Scriptures” at
Clonmacnoise, are probably products of the Celi De
Reform movement that swept Ireland and other parts of
the British Isles beginning in the eight century. This
occurred at the time that the hagiographies and stories
of the saints were first being written down. The Culdees
or Celi De, a term that means “friends” or “servants” or
“people of God”, were committed to preserving the
spiritual heritage that was being threatened from both
within the church [i.e., as the monasteries became
wealthier, they also became more corrupt], and without
[i.e., the Norsemen or Vikings had begun their assault
of the monasteries in the late eighth century]. This
Celi De movement had a tremendous influence on the
growing devotion to the saints, liturgical reform, the
revitalization of monastic studies, and the increasing
emphasis on having an anamchara or soul friend, a form
of ministry eventually associated in the Western Church
with ordained male priest in the sacrament of
reconciliation, or “confession.” In these earlier
centuries of Celtic Christianity, however, such
relationships were open to lay people as well as the
ordained, women as well as men. Much of the inspiration
of the Celi De movement was found in the spiritual
history of the early Celtic heroes, like Patrick,
Brigit, Columcille [the “holy trinity” of Irish saints],
Finnian, Ita, Kevin, Maedoc, and Ciaran himself. It was
also influenced by the ascetic ideals of the desert
fathers and mother who had lived in Palestine, Egypt,
and Syria during the fourth and fifth centuries, and
whose sayings and stories were expressed in the writings
of Athanasius and Cassian, among others. Clonmacnoise
along with other monasteries, such as those at Tallaght,
Finglas, Louth, Lismore, Terryglass, Clonfert, Ferns,
and Clonbroney had members of their communities that
were dedicated to these reform ideals. Certainly many of
the high crosses carved when the Celi De movement was
popular were influenced by their love of the saints, in
general, and of soul friends, in particular. One of the
sayings associated with Oengus, a leader in the Culdee
movement, has him exclaiming, “O God of heaven, whoever
creates a song of praise for the saint, great will be
that person’s glory!”
On this first visit to Clonmacnoise, I did not know the
history of the Celi De when I approached the high
crosses, but I was immediately impressed with the
figures that were carved on them and spirituality these
stories in stone reveal. The first one I encountered,
the tenth-century Cross of the Scriptures, was standing
before the west door of the cathedral. Perhaps the most
beautiful of any of the high crosses in Ireland, except
for Muiredach’s Cross at Monasterboice, it is unusual
not only for its slender proportions, but because its
arms tilt slightly upward towards the heavens. On this
high cross are dramatic scenes taken from salvation
history, including one panel that may depict the Irish
King Diarmaid helping St. Ciaran build his first church
at Clonmacnoise. On the east face, below the depiction
of Christ at the final judgement, surrounded by the
blessed on one side and damned on the other, are scenes
from the Hebrew Scriptures, with two chariots and three
horsemen carved on its base. On the west face, various
stories from the passion of Christ are portrayed, and on
its base a scene of the resurrection that includes two
women at the empty tomb. On the south side of this cross
are two representations, the kiss of Judas above a
hunting scene, while on the north side, at its base, are
shown fabulous animals, including a unicorn. The north
side, on the shaft of the cross, also contains three
other scenes, at least one of which portrays the desert
hermits Paul and Antony, representatives of the desert
tradition that the Celi De loved so well.
The second high cross, the ninth-century “South Cross”,
has fewer depictions of the stories from Scripture and
more circular, interweaving designs, similar to the
patterns found on the gigantic rock outside of the
entrance to Newgrange and in the illuminated pages of
the Book of Kells. In its simplicity, this cross
reminded me of some of the earliest high crosses that I
had seen in Ireland at the Ahenny cemetery, south of
Kilkenny. Certainly more abstract in design than the
other two crosses, this one, too, expresses important
aspects of Celtic spirituality, primarily the ancient
Celts’ sense that the soul moves in circles and that
time, rather than linear, is cyclical; that our lives
are not so much moving ahead as they are returning,
renewing, repeating, circling, deepening. Many of the
“circling” or “encirclement” prayers for protection that
originated with the pagan Celts were “baptized” by
Christian Celts and used on a daily basis:
Circle me, Lord; keep fear without, keep joy within.
Circle me, Lord; keep complaining without, keep peace
within.
Circle me, Lord; keep despair without, keep beauty
within.
Circle me, Lord; keep deceit without, keep mercy within
All these simple prayers reflect this theology of time
and an awareness that the circle, rather than the
pyramid, more closely epitomizes wholeness and the
sacred, Christian communities and the Holy One. It is no
wonder that the circular design itself stands at the
center of most Celtic high crosses.
I almost missed the third high cross at Clonmacnoise, at
that time standing north of the Cathedral [hence, its
name, “the North Cross”], as I continued my quick
circuit of the ruins. [The bus driver by this time was
shouting for us to return to the bus!] I practically
bypassed this ninth-century cross precisely because what
remains of it is really no more than the shaft minus the
circular cross-beam. In many ways, though, this cross
fragment proved to be the most interesting of them all.
On its three sides are carved interweaving designs, with
the fourth side, totally blank. But what caught my
attention immediately, as I stopped and stared at one of
the panels, was a very strange looking human figure
sitting with crossed legs in a Buddha-like pose. This
artistic representation appeared to be more “eastern”,
more like art from India, than any of Celtic origins;
certainly more pagan than any Christian design that I’d
seen. What was this figure doing on a Irish high cross,
I wondered aloud, one that usually contains only
biblical and saintly figures, along with those of
Christ? With my curiosity raised to a high degree, while
aware too of the rapid passing of time, I quickly
snapped a picture of this strange phenomenon. Then I
headed back toward the bus where the other, more
“obedient” and, I might add, less enthusiastic occupants
were awaiting my return, along with the driver.
Years later, I discovered that the mysterious figure on
the North Cross is none other than Cernunnos, the wild
pagan Celtic god of nature, fertility, and plenty, the
Lord of the Animals and guardian of the doorway between
the natural world and the Otherworld. His name means
“horned one,” and he is often artistically depicted
seated cross-legged, having antlers, and accompanied by
other animals, including a stag and a ram-horned
serpent, both symbols of sexual potency and rebirth.
While Christians on the European continent demonized
this figure, replacing his stag horns with a tail,
cloven feet, and devil’s horns, Celtic Christians
appreciated the positive side of what he represented:
the kinship we all can and should have with nature, with
passion, with our own bodies and sexuality. These
values, represented by Cernunnos, a predecessor of the
Green Man, an archetype of nature mysticism that emerged
in the middle ages, are reflected in the stories of the
Irish heroes, CuChulain and Finn MacCool, the beautiful
nature poetry of the Irish hermits, and the stories of
Ciaran himself which, like those of other Irish saints,
are filled with references to animals and natural
environment. Intimations of the continuing presence of
Cernunnos are also found in the later stories of Robin
Hood, Merlin, and St. Francis too, the latter who was
raised [as was the medieval mystic, Hildegard of Bingen]
in lands to which Irish missionaries had traveled
centuries before.
Since that first visit to Clonmacnoise, I have been back
numerous times, bringing college students and other
pilgrims to this holy site which the Irish scholar, John
Ryan, describes as “the greatest of Irish Monasteries.”
In discussing with them its rich history, I point out
those things that caught my attention years before, and
discuss how much of Celtic christian spirituality is
reflected in its stone monuments and high crosses. This
spirituality, a unique synthesis of both pagan and
Christian elements, is characterized by a deep love of
stories, of nature, and of friendships so intimate and
enduring that they are associated with the soul.
Clonmacnoise, located at the center of Ireland and at
the crossroads, truly is a "“thin place” where, with the
help of St. Ciaran’s leadership, a lasting spiritual
legacy took root and grew, awakening many people to the
beauty of the landscape and of each other, the
sacredness and fragility of our lives, and the
importance of love, forgiveness, and gratitude.
Suggested readings on Clonmacnoise:
Harbison, Peter. Pilgrimage in Ireland: the Monuments
and the People. Syracuse University Press, 1992
Healy, Most Rev. John. Ireland’s ancient Schools and
Scholars. Dublin: Sealy, Bryers & Walker, 1890
Manning, Conleth. Clonmacnoise. Dublin: Office of Public
Works, 1994
Richardson, Hilary, and Scarry, John. An Introduction to
Irish High Crosses. Cork, Ireland: the Mercier Press,
1990
Sellner, Edward. Wisdom of the Celtic Saints. Notre
Dame, IN: Ave Maria Press, 1993
Tubridy, Mary, ed. The Heritage of Clonmacnoise. Dublin:
Trinity College, 1987
Copyright 1997 by
Edward Sellner. All rights Reserved. Used
with permission.
ABOUT THE
AUTHOR
Edward C. Sellner is a professor of Theology and
Spirituality at St. Catherine University in St. Paul,
MN.
His published works include:
Wisdom of the Celtic
Saints (Ave Maria Press 1996, Bog Walk Press, 2006)
Finding the Monk Within: Great Monastic Values for Today
(Ambassador Books Inc,2008)
Pilgrimage: Exploring a Great Spiritual Practice (Sorin
Books,2004)
Stories of the Celtic Soul Friends: Their Meaning for
Today (Paulist Press, 2003)
The Celtic Soul Friend: A Trusted Guide for Today (Ave
Maria Press, 2002)
Mentoring: The Ministry of Spiritual Kindship (Cowley
Publications, 2002)
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