I still have many things to say to you, but you cannot bear them now. But when the Spirit of truth comes, he will guide you into all truth… and he will tell of things to come, and he will glorify me and take of Mine all things and declare it to you. John 16: 12-15
The annals say: when the monks of Clonmacnoise
Were all at prayers inside the oratory
A ship appeared above them in the air.
The anchor dragged along behind so deep
It hooked itself into the altar rails
And then, as the big hull rocked to a standstill,
A crewman shinned and grappled down the rope
And struggled to release it. But in vain.
‘This man can’t bear our life here and will drown,’
The abbot said, ‘unless we help him.’ So
They did, the freed ship sailed, and the man climbed back
Out of the marvellous as he had known it.
Seamus Heaney
The last time I was in Ireland I went to Clonmacnoise and found this very monastery that had been built in the 6th century.
It’s now a ruin that sits alongside the River Shannon in County Offaly.
When I was there it was pouring with rain – and in the muck and mud of this monastic ruin I actually stumbled across the oratory, a small chapel.
There’s no roof over the ruin so I walked about the chapel, in the rain, touching the walls and thinking about Seamus Heaney and this sonnet and the monks and the sailor who nearly got stuck in our world.
The storm overhead made it dark in that little ruined chapel, but it was also quiet and somehow full of anticipatory excitement.
And I saw, or thought I saw, a ship hovering just metres above me … so I suspended my disbelief as this wonder hooked itself mid-air.
Then I heard the screech of the anchor catching hard against the wooden altar rail and to my astonishment I saw the sailor shimming down the rope in an attempt to release the anchor.
And somewhere I heard, or thought I heard, a truth that this sailor would drown if he stayed here in my world!
And that’s when I realised: I am the one at the bottom of the sea, I am one in the fathomless darkness.
So, what did I do?
I responded! And the moment I did – everything was possible!
The anchor was unhooked.
The ship was freed.
The sailor returned.
And the ship sailed on…
Heaney is reminding me that even in the darkness – the marvellous, the luminous, the epiphany is possible because the Holy Spirit is among us, and I am called to respond.
Later that day, when I had left the monastery of Clonmacnoise, and driven back to my girlfriend’s farm, I sat down with her and her three young farm hands to have supper.
And, as we sat in her warm kitchen to eat, I began to tell them about what I had seen when I had stepped inside the ruins of the chapel at Clonmacnoise.
Then one of the young farm hands, just off the cuff, recited Heaney’s sonnet, completely off by heart, he just reeled it out – between his slab of soda bread and a brown egg.
Out of the marvellous as I had known it.
Dr Elizabeth Guy’s scholarship is in Literature. She is a published author: The Alchemy of Poetry, Take Ink & Weep and Abandoned by God. Elizabeth currently teaches at Monte Sant Angelo, North Sydney.