Showing posts with label Monks. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Monks. Show all posts

Jul 26, 2010

What the Monks Did



Much of what is known about the early Celtic period comes from the early Christian era (mostly the 5th-10th centuries) because that is when writing was introduced in Ireland. The Norse raids that began in the 10th century brought some of the work to a halt and destroyed countless volumes of what remained in Ireland. Thankfully, the Irish monks brought many manuscripts to the European continent where they survive today.

The Celtic monks took the work of writing and reading on as a sacred duty and produced numerous hand-written manuscripts in the scriptoriums of ancient monasteries. But that is not to say that these people did not have stories previous to the introduction of reading and writing. They certainly did and they were passed down generation to generation. Oral storytelling was so revered that the role of the poet, the gatekeeper of the stories, was highly respected, especially in ancient Ireland. He who holds the stories of the past, holds the key to the people’s understanding of themselves.

May 5, 2010

Skellig Michael


photo creative commons by chb1848

In ages past a monk sat on a lonely stone precipice with a view of the turbulent northern waters of the Atlantic Ocean. The mainland, though only a mere eight miles away, was at most times unreachable due to poor weather conditions, and so he is isolated. He pulls his cowl tight around his head against the beating wind. Puffins and seabirds are his only companions, although he does not live on the island alone. His brothers are below him eking out a few vegetables from the bits of soil they created by hauling mounds of seaweed up the rocky slope.

Physical labor awaits him later; it is now his task to pray. The monks do not speak or socialize. Companionship is not the reason they came to this place. They work and they pray. They subsist on whatever God provides. They sacrifice their bodies to the harsh conditions, living in stone beehive huts that keep nature’s fury at bay just enough so that they might survive.

This scene was repeated by many generations of Celtic monks who came to Skellig Michael, a rocky island off the western coast of Ireland, between the 6th and 12th centuries.
photo via creative commons by Thomas Dimson
Today their stone huts still survive, as do the six hundred rock steps leading up from the landing point. The monks who lived there cloistered themselves voluntarily as a green martyrdom, meaning they sacrificed everything to embark on a journey that would lead them closer to the God they knew, the Creator of heaven and earth. They followed the example of the monks in ancient Egypt and Syria who chose the desert for their ascetic lifestyle. Ireland had no desert, but truly no place was lonelier than Skellig Michael, a place where one must truly put himself in God’s care.

Feb 24, 2010

The Ministry of Monks

©Cindy Thomson
This is something I’ve thought about while doing research for my books. The Irish monks were laborers. The ancient monasteries were centers of trade and learning at a time when they were no cities as we know them. The monks were artists, tradesmen, scribes, and farmers, but all that was—and still is in communities today—a matter of simple survival. Their real work was prayer.

There were regular times of prayer. They even woke in the middle of night to a call for a prayer. The prayers were certainly for themselves and their community—for spiritual growth and a desire to be closer to God, but what I tended to overlook when I began researching was the monks’ prayers for everyone else, for the whole world, for all of God’s children.

What a difference these communities made (and continue to make) because they devoted so much time for prayer. While the rest of the world bustles about, scarcely giving thought to the One who created us, there were (and are) men and woman interceding for us.

I was reminded of this just today when I read a Facebook message from a “friend” I have never met in person. She went to Lindisfarne on a spiritual retreat and while she was there she prayed for me, knowing that I have a great desire to travel to her side of the pond. I didn’t know she was doing this. I was probably asleep when she prayed due to the time difference. She was carrying on the work of those ancient monks. I want to do that too. I’m praying for you, right now as I write this.

Lord, Creator of all that is seen and unseen, bless my readers in their pursuits today. Make them aware of your touch. You created us. It is Your breath that we breathe, Your love that we share, Your wisdom that we seek to use in our work. Thank you for bringing us together through prayer. It doesn’t matter whether I know their names or their faces. They are Your children and my brothers and sisters, and I commend them to Your care today. Amen.


The LORD is a refuge for the oppressed,
a stronghold in times of trouble.—Psalm 9:9 NIV