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"Mungo: Tales of Kentigern" Translated by Father I.G. Capaldi SJ Copyright I.G.Capaldi 1995 Copies of the illustrated booklet (priced £5.00 inc. p.& p.) are available from Nunraw Abbey, Garvald, Haddington,
These Tales of Kentigern come from the pages of Joceline's Vita Kentigerni. To some extent they are straightforward translations from the original Latin of that minor classic; but I have not hesitated to clothe in many instances the bare bones of much of Joceline's story with a little more flesh and form, though still adhering more or less strictly to the substance of the original. If, however, I have taken too many liberties with his work I hereby tender my sincerest apologies to an author who has been dead for some 800 years. Several of the chapters of the Vita have been omitted from these Tales as being of little general interest. From several others I have taken what I considered suitable for my purpose as indicated in the title of this little book. In a few chapters I have given rather more rein to my imagination than Joceline might approve of. Two chapters of my Tales have appeared in print in The Scottish Catholic Herald. I am grateful to the editor of that weekly for permission to include them in this volume. They are A Plateful of Blackberries and Hazel Catkins. The text used by me for this translation and adaptation is that published in 1874, together with an English literal translation, by Alexander Penrose Forbes, D.C.L., in his Lives of St. Ninian and St. Kentigern, which formed volume 5 of the series The Historians of Scotland. Joceline. the author of the Vita Kentigerni, was a monk of Furness Abbey in A word about the miraculous element in Joceline's Vita may not be without its point here for the modern reader of that Vita, for whom miracles are, or might be, more or less anathema. I quote from Alexander Penrose Forbes' work already mentioned (pp. 345-347). It is true that what Forbes has to say is concerned with specific statements made by Joceline (see the chapter Harvest of Sand), but I think it is applicable to the whole question of miracles in this work. "That in a primitive state of society the Supreme Being should deem it right to interpose more manifestly in the affairs of everyday life than in more artificial states of society, where the arguments for His Providence ought to be better known, is surely no absurd notion; and correlatively, that men should see, in what we now know to be the working of the ordinary laws of nature, Divine interpositions, is still more to be expected. "Again, it is possible that, in the case of the conversion of a rude people, recourse may be had to those supernatural means whereby Christianity was commended to the world in its infancy, the more probably if the people were so barbarous as not to be able to grasp arguments addressed to the intellect. With every abatement for conscious fraud, unintentional deception, mythical accretion, there still remains the fact of the conversion of It should, however, be possible for the ordinary reader even of these highly sophisticated times to taste and enjoy the freshness and simplicity of these Tales of Kentigern without having to decide whether or not he believes in miracles.
Among all the pupils of that most holy and ancient man of God, Servanus, none was ever more dear to him than the boy Kentigern. So dear, in fact, was he to his Father in Christ that instead of Kentigern, Servanus used to call him, in his own strange tongue, Mungo, or "My Beloved One." Nor was it to be wondered at that Servanus should look upon the young boy with eyes of predilection. Ever since that wondrous day when as a tiny new born babe he and his mother had been brought to Servanus by certain shepherds who had found them on the seashore at Culross in Fife, some little distance from the monastery that Servanus had founded there for the instruction of the sons of chiefs and chieftains in the service of God, Kentigern had never ceased to fill the pure and spotless heart of Servanus with reverential awe and celestial joy surpassing all understanding. The manner of the boy's birth had been strange enough. His mother, the young and beautiful daughter of that most wicked and most pagan of men, Loth, King of the Lothians, had been cast adrift on the stormy waters of the Firth of Forth in punishment of a crime committed against her, and of which she, in her child-like innocence, had been unaware. Driven powerfully and unerringly by the winds of And there, on that bleak and desolate shore, as the sun was about to give birth to a new day, Thenog, the daughter of the King of the Lothians, had given birth to her child. At the very same hour Servanus had been at prayer in his cell in the nearby monastery. And as he prayed he heard a song of exquisite sweetness, a song as of Angels, echoing and re-echoing through the chill morning air above the song of the wind in the giant trees of the forest. Out of himself for wonder and joy, Servanus had called his pupils around him, had told them of what he had heard, and had exhorted them to join him in singing a Te Deum in praise of that God Who had so graciously sent His Angels to sing to them. A few hours later the shepherds had brought the child and his mother to the monastery. Yet, wonderful as had been the manner of Kentigern's birth, more wonderful still had been the manner of his life from the day that he had reached the age of discretion. God had taken a delight in pouring out the choicest gifts of His treasuries upon the young boy. He had given him a heart as docile and sweet as the doves that cooed through the long summer evenings on the roof of the monastery, an intelligence as keen and penetrating as the eyes of the eagles that soared high over the mountains of the north, a memory as tenacious as the limpets on the storm-battered rocks of the sea- shore, a tongue as rich as the corn-fields at the harvest time, and a voice that seemed to Servanus to have been fashioned to sing tirelessly the praises of its Maker, a voice that was high-pitched, clear and compelling as a trumpet, yet sweet as wild honey, harmonious as the voice of the nightingale, and gentle and tender as the breaking of dawn. And as the golden crown and perfection of all these gifts God had manifestly given Himself to the young boy in a measure far exceeding that in which He is wont, or is able, to give Himself to children of such an age. For all these reasons, therefore, the boy Kentigern was precious and dear to Servanus more than any other of his numerous progeny of pupils and disciples. So great indeed was the love of the holy man of Culross for the noble son of Thenog, princess of the Lothians, that it exceeded by far his love for all his other pupils together. But the more Kentigern was beloved of his master and Father in God the more was he hated by his companions, not one of whom, either in public or in private, ever had a good and kindly word for him. On the contrary, eaten up as they were by jealousy of him, they never ceased, night or day, to murmur against him, to set traps to ensnare him, and to blacken his good name in the eyes of their common master and Father. Now it so happened that a little bird, which because of the colour of its tiny body is commonly known as the Robin Redbreast, had begun about this time - no doubt at the command of that heavenly Father without whose knowledge and permission not even a sparrow falls to the ground - to take its daily food from the hand of Servanus. It had, moreover, become so familiar with the servant of God, and so tame, that not only would it perch itself now on his head, now on his upturned face, on his shoulders also and on his lap, as he prayed or read the holy Scriptures or the lives of ancient saints and anchorites, but it would also flutter around him, and with a flurry of its wings, or the inarticulate sound of its voice, or some other movement of its body, it would tell him of its love for him, much to that holy man's delight. Lest anyone, however, be scandalised that such a holy and perfect man as Servanus should have found pleasure and delight in watching the antics and movements of his little friend the Robin, let him know that even the saints of God must needs relax from time to time from their rapt contemplation of the mysteries of Heaven. The hunter, it has been gracefully and most truthfully said, must not keep his bow forever taut. If he forgets to slacken it from time to time, he will find that when he wishes to shoot his arrow there is no strength in his bow, none either in his string. Let him also remember that Servanus was holy enough a man and wise to be able to draw spiritual profit for his own soul and for the souls of his pupils from the antics of the Robin. For himself, indeed, since he could not but admire and praise in that fragile creature the infinite might of the Creator to Whom all things dumb speak as eloquently as the most talented of orators, and through Whom all things without reason behave as if they had reason. For his pupils, also, because he did not fail to make use of the Robin's instant obedience to his slightest beck or call to rebuke their disobedience. Nor should he be blamed for this since God Himself, we are told in Holy Writ, made use in ancient times of the voice of a dumb ass to rebuke the folly of His prophet; while that most wise and learned of mortals, Solomon, King of the Jews, exhorts the lazy man to go to the ant and by a careful consideration of that insect's labour and industry, learn to shake off the shackles of his own sluggishness and sloth. One hot summer morning, when his pupils were at play during an interval from their studies, Servanus retired to the hallowed solitude of the monastery chapel, there to offer to God the sweet smelling incense of his prayer. For some reason the Robin Redbreast did not follow him into the chapel, as it was wont to do, but remained outside, hopping about gaily from branch to branch in the hot sunshine and mingling its own humble song with the liquid melody of the thrushes and nightingales in the nearby forest. But not for long! One of the boys at play saw the Robin, and was at once filled with a great longing to hold it in his own hands, even as he had so often seen his master Servanus do. He called to it, therefore. All unsuspecting the little Robin came to him, and alighted, trustingly, on the palm of his outstretched hand. The boy at once grasped hold of it and began to stroke its feathers. The others, seeing what had happened, crowded around, and soon all were clamouring to be allowed to touch the tiny creature and to hold it in their hands. "Let me touch it!" cried one. "No, let me touch it first!" cried another.!" Me too!" shouted a fourth as he tried to force his way nearer to the captive Robin. "Oh, please let me hold it!" pleaded yet another, the tears in his eyes. "No, give it to me!" commanded a sixth. "No, no, to me, to me!" protested his companion as he snatched the bird from the hands of the boy who had caught it. "I was first!" He did not hold it long. A bigger boy snatched it from him. And so it passed from hand to hand, its feathers ruffled and torn, its tiny body trembling, its beak wide open and uttering shrill cries of mortal terror. And in their hands, and by their hands, the light of its life was suddenly put out. For as they strove first to touch it and then to snatch it from one another's eager hands, they wrenched its poor head from its quivering, blood-red body. Gasps of dismay burst from the boys at the sight of their cruel handiwork. Frightened and knowing not what to do they stood as if frozen into silence. Only their eyes moved, darting now to the mangled body of the Robin still clutched in the blood- stained hands of the boy who held it last, and now to the head lying in the dust at their feet where it had fallen from the hand that wrenched it off. Then, as if at a prearranged signal, the younger boys ran off, crying bitterly, into the monastery where they hid themselves for they knew how severely they would be punished by their master and Father in God. At the same time the older boys withdrew in a disorderly and silent group to the shadow of the great pines on the fringe of the forest, while the boy who had been holding the dead body of the Robin threw it to the ground beside its head, and ran off to a nearby burn to wash its blood from his hands. It was then that Kentigern emerged from the forest at the far side of the clearing, and, seeing his companions under the trees, came towards them. They watched him in silence. Suddenly, he stopped, and they knew that he had seen the work of their hands on the ground before him. He fell on his knees beside the lifeless Robin, and gazed unbelievingly at the mangled remains of his master's little feathered friend. "Poor, poor wee thing!" he exclaimed as the tears welled up into his eyes and ran down his cheeks. "Poor, poor wee thing!" he repeated, as he raised his head and looked sorrowfully towards the silent group of his companions under the great pines on the fringe of the forest. They stared back at him resentfully, as if to tell him not to meddle in what did not concern him. One or two bent down to pick up a stone to throw at him, but were stopped from doing so by the loud creaking of the chapel door swinging back on its hinges. The stones dropped from their fingers as they saw their master Servanus coming out slowly into the bright morning sunshine. The old man seemed to sense that all was not well with his pupils for he came towards them at once, a look of anxious enquiry in his large kindly eyes. But as he caught sight of Kentigern, standing now, alone, in the centre of the clearing and gazing down at something on the ground, Servanus called to him. "Mungo," he said, "what is the matter? Why are you standing there?" Kentigern did not appear to hear him; but one of the boys under the great pines ran to Servanus and gasped out: "Oh, Father, your poor little Robin is dead! Look, there it is, on the ground there, at Mungo's feet." And he pointed accusingly towards Kentigern as if to indicate to Servanus that his friend the Robin had met its death at the hands of his "own beloved one." The rest of the boys exchanged swift glances of understanding and approval. To lay the blame for the death of the Robin on the shoulders of Kentigern, and thus to turn the keen edge of the anger of Servanus against his beloved Mungo, was a stroke of genius. It would serve a double purpose. It would spare the real culprits the painful consequences of the old man's natural resentment for the destruction of his little pet, and it would crush forever his extraordinary love for Mungo. The boys, then, were hardly able to conceal their delight when, at the words and the gesture of their leader, Servanus cried out angrily: "Kentigern, come here at once! At once , do you hear me!" But Kentigern paid no attention to the voice of his master and Father in Christ, did not appear even to have heard his angry command. Instead he fell on to his knees beside the mangled remains of the Robin, took them gently into his hands, and gently but firmly joined the head to the trunk. Holding them thus united in his left hand, with his right hand he traced, slowly and reverently, the sign of the Cross over the line of juncture, and raising his tear-dimmed eyes to Heaven he prayed. "O Lord Jesus Christ," he prayed aloud, "You Who hold in your gentle hands the life of every creature of your fashioning, the life both of the rational and of the irrational beings that You have brought forth from nothing, give back, I beseech You, to this little bird the breath of its life that your most blessed and holy Name may be for evermore praised and glorified!" Hardly had he finished his prayer than the bird in his hands shook itself as a bird does when awakening from deep sleep, fluttered its wings, and swift as an arrow rose singing into the air above the kneeling boy's head. There it wheeled on to its right side, and still singing flew three times round him, in ever narrowing circles, until it came to rest gently on his fresh upturned face. Lightly and caressingly it touched his open lips with its beak, and then sped, straight and true as any arrow, to where Servanus stood as if rooted in ecstasy, encircled him three times in ever narrowing circles, and, still singing, dropped gently on to his grey and withered cheek. Lightly and caressingly it touched his open lips with its beak, and then it rose into the sky, singing as no Robin ever sang before, wheeled into the morning sun, and, singing, vanished.
When, at the earnest and tearful pleading of His servant Kentigern, the Lord Jesus Christ worked the mighty miracle of bringing together in vital communication the severed head and body of the Robin Redbreast and of thus setting in motion once again the heart of that most fortunate of birds, He imprinted the seal of His approval on the son of Thenog, princess of the Lothians. Not for that, however, did the companions of the young and holy boy desist from their spiteful persecution of him. No, not even when the Robin that they had slaughtered and that he had miraculously restored to life, came back a few days later to its old haunts and its old familiarity with Servanus. It came back as if to confute their mounting accusations that Kentigern had deceived them all by means of some sleight of hand. He had, they said, worked no miracle as they and Servanus had imagined at the time. All he had done had been no more than to hide the dead Robin under his tunic, and then lead them, in some way that they could not understand, to imagine that they had actually both seen and heard the Robin restored miraculously to life! The return of the Robin silenced them and their accusations, deceit, and worse, for a few days. The Robin had been dead, for they themselves had killed it, and, lo, it was alive again! Kentigern, therefore, had not merely hidden its dead body in his tunic but had with the help of the prince of deceit and lying, led them to believe that he had worked a miracle. And when, in desperation, one of their number remarked sneeringly in the presence of Servanus and Kentigern that it was not the same Robin but another that had taken its place, Servanus lifted up the downy neck-feathers of the Robin, which he was at that moment holding and caressing, and showed the boys a vivid, jagged line running round its neck. Confused and convinced by the evidence of their own eyes, but in no way repentant the boys continued to plot and scheme against Kentigern, who, they were determined, must be made either to lose the esteem and love of Servanus, or else be driven from the monastery. Yet, rack their fertile brains as they might, they could not for a long time hit upon any scheme that promised them victory in their campaign against Kentigern. At last, however, their wits, sharpened beyond all believing by jealousy and malice, found such a scheme. It had long been the pious custom of Servanus to entrust to the boys under his care the duty of keeping in order the lamps and candles that burned before the altar of the most High in the monastery chapel during the daily celebration of the Divine Office and of the august Sacrifice of the It was also part of his duty to feed and to attend to the fire that burned in the monastery kitchen before he retired to rest, since it was from this fire that he had to light the lamps and the candles of the sanctuary next morning before the community assembled in chapel for the recitation of the Divine Office and the celebration of Mass. The boy Kentigern was appointed in due course to this duty when the icy blasts of Winter had swept for the last time through the giant pines of the forest and the glad voices of Spring had already for some weeks been heard in the land. Servanus, his master and Father in God, did not fail to impress upon the young boy the importance of the duties that were being entrusted to him. "It would be a most shameful thing," he told the boy, "if through any negligence on your part we had to celebrate the holy and sacred mysteries of our religion in darkness!" With this grave warning ringing in his ears Kentigern gave himself to his appointed task with all care and diligence. Every morning, when the rest of the boys were at play, he cleaned and polished the lamps and the candle-sticks of the sanctuary until they shone as brightly as the flames which in due course they would nurse and feed. Nor did he ever omit for any reason whatsoever carefully to clean and trim the wicks both of the lamps and of the candles. And every night, after his companions had retired to their dormitory and all the monastery was enfolded in silence and darkness, Kentigern would make his way to the kitchen through the deserted cloister by the faint gleam of a candle, there to bank up the fire for the night with pieces of carefully chosen peat. After this he would retrace his silent steps through the cloister, and make his way to the dormitory where he would fall at once into a deep and refreshing sleep. But at the first cock-crow he would be astir again and about, and before his companions had finished dressing themselves he was already lighting a taper at the kitchen fire and making his way through the still silent cloister to the chapel, there to touch into sudden life the lamps and the candles of the sanctuary before the brethren gathered to sing the praises of God in the Divine Office and to offer with Servanus the Sacrifice of the Holy Mass to the Father of Our Lord Jesus Christ, the Giver of all good and perfect gifts. Servanus was loud in his praise of the boy's industry and diligence in carrying out these duties, but this only added fuel to the fires of resentment and jealousy burning in the hearts of Kentigern's enemies. Unknown, therefore, both to Servanus and Kentigern, they began to weave once more the meshes of a net that would, they were sure, entrap Kentigern and undo him in the estimation of their common master. Or, failing that, it would force him to leave the monastery. It was agreed among them to put their plot into operation on the last day of Kentigern's week on duty, that is, on the Sunday. The solemnity of that day, they told one another with glee, could not but add to the seriousness of the offence which they were scheming to lay at the door of their hated rival. Ever mindful, then, of the warning of Servanus, Kentigern attended to his duties on the eve of the Lord's Day with more than his wonted care. Before retiring to sleep that night he examined once again the lamps and candles of the sanctuary, made sure that there was not a speck of dust or grease on any of them, peered into the lamps and saw that they were full to the brim with oil, and proved to himself that all the wicks were in perfect order, ready to spring into flame as soon as he should touch them next morning with the burning tip of his taper. Satisfied at last that everything was in order in the chapel Kentigern knelt down for a few minutes in the semi-darkness, lit only by the faint gleam of his own candle, and prayed earnestly that God might send His holy Angels that night to protect all who dwelt within the walls of the monastery from harm of soul and body. He would have lingered the whole night through in the peace and silence of his Lord's House, but he knew that to do so would be to go against the wishes of Servanus. He rose to his feet, therefore, after a few minutes, and left the chapel closing the door carefully behind him. Then through the dark and silent cloister he made his way to the kitchen where he attended to the fire, taking great care to ensure that it would continue to burn until the morning. When at length he stole on tip-toe into the dormitory and slipped quietly into bed, his companions were all fast asleep, or so it seemed to him, for not a sound was to be heard except the deep regular breathing of many persons asleep, and, now and then, the hoot of an owl from the giant pines of the nearby forest. Half an hour later, however, had he been awake Kentigern would have seen two shadowy figures creep stealthily out of the dormitory and disappear in the direction of the cloister. He would have seen them again, had he still been awake, fifteen minutes later as they crept stealthily into the dormitory and slipped into their beds, their work done. But he was fast asleep, and neither saw nor heard his enemies as they went out into the darkness and silence of the night to put into operation the scheme that was, they hoped, to bring about his downfall. The shrill-voiced cock had hardly finished greeting the first faint rays of the distant dawn next morning before Kentigern was on his feet and hurrying through the still silent cloister to the kitchen, a slender waxen taper in his hand. Who shall describe his astonishment and his dismay when he found on arriving there that the fire, which he had so carefully banked up only a few hours before, was now cold and dead? Dashing the sudden tears from his eyes he dropped on to his knees, and, by blowing on the grey and leaden ash of the peat, he tried to breathe new life into it. His efforts proved to be in vain. Suddenly he remembered that there were several other fires in various parts of the monastery buildings. Perhaps he could light his taper at one of these? They must be alight, he told himself, because they were banked up every night by one of the monks. But as he hurried in mounting anxiety from fire to fire he found that they were all cold and dead. He understood then what had happened, and saw clearly for the first time how keenly his companions resented his very presence among them, and how deeply they hated him. Very well, then, he told himself, he would go at once! He would not stop a minute longer where he was not welcome. But where could he go? His mother was long since dead. His father he had never known. He had no one in the whole world to care for him, no one to defend him against the attacks of evil- minded persons. He was alone. There was Servanus, but Servanus would very likely blame him and punish him for what had happened. He must go, and go at once, far from the presence of these unchristian companions of his, who in their determination to strike him down had not hesitated to raise their hands against him even when he was about the business of the Casting aside the now useless taper Kentigern turned and sped swiftly through the deserted cloister, threw open a small wicket-gate in the monastery wall, and ran out into the clearing where he had spent so many happy hours in the company of Servanus his master and Father in Christ. Sobbing now as if his heart would burst he stumbled across the clearing in the dim, uncertain light of the still distant dawn until he reached the protecting shelter of the giant pines on the fringe of the forest. There he stopped to look back at the grey, silent pile of the monastery, and in that instant, between stopping and turning to look back, he felt himself invaded as if by a new spirit. He would return, he told himself, and he would steel himself to bear for the love of God all the evil that his enemies might seek to work against him. Even as he spoke these brave words to himself he fell on to his knees and prayed earnestly for guidance and strength. He rose to his feet then, and moved by what impulse he knew not, he turned to peer into the dark and tangled undergrowth of the forest that lay before him silent as the grave and as forbidding. Still under the influence of that strange impulse, he stretched out his hands, grasped hold of the first branch that his groping hands felt in the darkness, and with a powerful wrench he snapped it off and pulled it to himself. In the light of the approaching dawn his eyes caught the bright brown colour of the branch in his hands. It was the branch of a hazel-tree. He ran his hand along its smooth surface and examined for a moment the golden cascades of its catkins heavy with pollen. Still holding the branch he again fell on his knees and besought God first to illuminate, with the abundance of His grace, the growing darkness of his own mind in the midst of so many dangers, and then to provide for Himself, in a new and unheard of manner, a light that would put all his enemies to salutary confusion and guide them back from the edge of the abyss of their hatred. After he had prayed thus he raised his right hand and traced the sign of the Cross on the hazel-branch in the most august Name of the Holy and Undivided Trinity, Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Then he breathed softly on the branch, and as he breathed the golden catkins on it burst into sudden flame. Long streaming tongues of fire shot through them from tip to tip, transforming them into clusters of molten gold, and lighting up the surrounding darkness under the giant pines of the forest like the first burst of the morning sun. Rising to his feet, and holding the hazel-branch with its clusters of flaming catkins swinging from it like lamps from a pole, Kentigern turned and sped swiftly back into the monastery, along the silent cloister and into the chapel where Servanus and the rest of the community were waiting impatiently for the candles and the lamps of the sanctuary to be lit. All heads were turned in wonder as the door of the chapel was thrown open and the golden glow of the burning catkins cast dancing shadows on the walls. Kentigern paid no attention to the exclamations of astonishment and awe that burst from the congregation as he passed silently and swiftly through their midst, still holding aloft for all to see the flaming hazel-branch. Without a word, without a glance to right or left, he went straight up to the altar. And there, with his strange and wonderful taper, he passed from candle to candle, from lamp to lamp, and as he passed he tipped them all with the glory of the fire that had come down from Heaven until the whole sanctuary and the whole chapel shone as brightly as the noonday sun. When he had finished Kentigern held the hazel-branch on high for a moment, and in that moment the streaming tongues of fire vanished from the golden catkins as suddenly and as completely as if the branch had been plunged into a pool of water, leaving behind not clusters of charred and smoking catkins, but a hazel-branch as fresh and as green as when Kentigern had plucked it from its parent trunk. In such wondrous fashion, then, did God vindicate for the second time the spotless innocence of the boy Kentigern. By the miracle of the burning catkins, moreover, He showed forth, plain for all to see who had eyes to see, how acceptable Kentigern was to Him, and how great were the things for which He was preparing the boy. Those, in fact, who beheld the strange and awe- inspiring vision of the hazel-branch that sent out streaming tongues of fire instead of pollen from its catkins and was not consumed or harmed in any way, could not but recall that in ancient times a similar miracle had been worked by the Lord for His other servant, Moses. And if from the searing heart of the bush that had burned but had not been consumed on the sacred mount of Horeb, God had shown Moses that he was to become the Leader and the Law-Giver of the Israelites, what mighty destiny for Kentigern did He not want men to see foreshadowed in the light of the miraculous catkins of the hazel-tree that had burned and had not been consumed? Lest, therefore, the memory of all these things should wither too soon and die in the hearts of men - for the heart of the creature is ever prone to forget the mercies of the Creator - God commanded His servant Servanus to take the hazel-branch from the hands of his spiritual child, Kentigern, and to go in solemn procession with lights and incense to a certain field of the monastery, to plant it there. It was His intention, he told Servanus, to increase and to multiply the branch until it should stand, a thick and fruitful wood for all to see and wonder at, in everlasting memory of the great things He had wrought that day in and through a few clusters of catkins from the humble hazel-tree for His well-beloved servant Kentigern.
Many years were to pass before the miraculous hazel-branch planted by Servanus in a field of his monastery would be transformed into the thick and fertile wood promised by God as an everlasting reminder to men of the holiness and greatness of Kentigern His humble servant. Long before then, however, the shepherds and fisher men who frequented the monastery were to make a most useful and astonishing discovery. They were to discover that the wood of the hazel-tree from which Kentigern had snapped off his miraculous branch had acquired from the touch of his innocent hands a strange virtue. If, in fact, at any time they had need to build a fire in an emergency, and men of their callings often have such a need, all they had to do was to set fire to it with a branch or even a twig from the hazel-tree. No matter how small it might be, no matter how green or how wet, they had but to hold it over a flame of any kind and at once it would flare up fiercely and turn a pile of damp wood or peat into a roaring furnace in the space of a few minutes. The first to make this strange discovery had been the monastery cook, a man of wide and long experience in the kitchen and a most excellent and generous provider of tasty and substantial dishes for hungry stomachs. He had stumbled on it quite by accident one exceedingly wet day when an incessant and heavy rain of several days' duration had so soaked his store of wood and peat that it was impossible for him to keep up a sufficiently hot fire to cook the mid- day meal for the community. At his wits' end to know what to do in these trying circumstances, he had picked up a hazel branch and with it had flicked impatiently and with great exasperation at the smoking and hissing pile that was his fire. Greatly to his surprise the fire had at once burst into scorching flame and he had been able to cook the meal with the greatest ease in the world. The following day the cook had used the hazel-branch for the same purpose. The effect had been as before; the sodden and smoking pile of peat had suddenly sprung to life as soon as the cook had thrust the branch into its heart. When this had happened on several other occasions the cook had made a further discovery: flames would spring up in the pile of peat or wood only if he touched it with the hazel-branch that he had used the first time. Every other branch that he used failed to produce any effect. Deeply intrigued now, and perhaps not a little frightened also, the cook exposed the whole matter to his master, Servanus. After much prayer, Servanus was inspired by the Spirit of God to reply to the cook's questioning that the hazel-branch which was producing such strange effects had been torn from the tree which had given the holy boy Kentigern his miraculous branch. Acting, therefore, on the advice of Servanus, the cook had at once gone to put the explanation to the test. He had taken branches from as many hazel-trees as he could find in the neighbouring forest, including one from Kentigern's tree, and had tried to light his fire with each one of them, one by one. One by one he had tried them, and one by one they had remained as cold and sodden as when he had snapped them off their parent trees. But when at last he had thrust the branch from Kentigern's tree, which he had very carefully marked on snapping it off, into the wet and smoking pile of peat and wood in his kitchen, a fierce flame had at once leaped high into the air, and in no time at all the pile was bringing his pots to the boil. It was not long before the whole neighbourhood knew of the discovery made by the monastery cook. So great became the demand for branches from Kentigern's hazel-tree on the part of the shepherds and fishermen, who came daily to the monastery to sell there the produce of their callings, that Servanus was forced to set a guard over the tree lest it should be plucked up bodily by the roots and carried off. He himself, moreover, doled out to all who came to the monastery seeking a branch of the miraculous tree, not a branch, but a twig! But when the branch that he had planted in his field at length began to grow into a tree and then to multiply, Servanus allowed the shepherds and fishermen, and others as well, to take what they wanted of the miraculous hazel-trees. In the meantime, however, the cook fell into a most grievous sickness, and after a few days of a most painful malady, breathed his last in the arms of Servanus his master. The heart of the venerable Servanus was filled with a very great sorrow, for he had been united with the bonds of a most tender affection to the dead cook, a man no less skilled in the ways of the spiritual life than he had been in those of the kitchen. Great also, and almost passing belief was the sadness that filled the hearts of the spiritual children of Servanus, his young pupils and his monks. They, however, were sad, not only because they had lost a man of God, but also because they had been deprived of the services of a most excellent cook, whose place would not easily be filled by another. The day after they laid the body of the cook to rest in the sacred soil of the monastery cemetery, they came to Servanus and pleaded with him that he might deign to command his beloved Mungo in virtue of holy obedience to raise the dead cook to life! Both those who were favourably disposed towards the boy Kentigern, and those who were jealous of him begged Servanus that he would do as they desired. Servanus, however, took care to point out that the heathen magicians of Egypt had produced wonderful signs from Heaven by means of trickery, that John the Evangelist had foretold how the followers of Anti-Christ would call down fire from the skies, that many sorcerers had worked stupendous deeds under the eyes of gaping multitudes by means of incantations and charms, but that no man, unless of consummate holiness, could ever command one who was really dead to tear himself from the clammy embrace of death to return to breathe once more the life-giving breezes of this world. For many hours that day they persisted in their demand that Servanus should do as they desired. They strove to persuade the venerable and perplexed man of God to put the holiness of Kentigern to the test by this means; nor did they fail to point out to him that the boy's fame would be sung by all future generations if he were to call back to life a man not only dead but also buried. The old man at first refused to listen to them. He could not, he told them, presume to impose on the young boy such an extraordinary and unheard of command. But at last he allowed himself to be overcome by the vehement importunity of their pleading. He approached the young servant of God, therefore, with bland words and many prayers about the matter; but he found Kentigern adamant because, as he pointed out to Servanus, he could see in himself nothing that could move God to work such a miracle. It was then that Servanus adjured him by the holy and tremendous Name of God that if there was anything at all that he could do in the matter he should at least try to do it. This he ordered him to do in virtue of holy obedience. The young lad was terrified by his adjuration. But he was convinced, too, that obedience is better than sacrifice offered to God and is also more acceptable to Him. He went, therefore, to the grave where the cook had been buried the day before. There he commanded that the loose earth covering the body should be removed and thrown to one side. When this had been done by some of the monks, Kentigern cast himself down on his face by the side of the open grave, and then, with his face wet with tears, he prayed aloud. "O Lord Jesus Christ," he prayed, "You who are the life and resurrection of all who sincerely believe in You; You who have the power to kill and to raise from the dead; You at whose command the souls of men descend to the lower regions and come back to the light of day; You whom both life and death obey; You who summoned Lazarus from the tomb where he had lain for four days, bring this dead man back to life that your Holy Name may be glorified, and blessed above all things for evermore!" Wonderful beyond all telling was the response of the living God to the prayer of his youthful servant. For even as Kentigern, prostrate in the dust of the grave, poured out his soul in prayer, the dead man suddenly came to life, and bound as he was hand and foot with the cerements of death, he sat up in his grave. Then, as Kentigern rose to his feet from prayer, the dead man rose from his tomb and stepped safely once again on to the shores of this mortal life. With swift, eager feet he followed Kentigern back to the monastery chapel, there to give thanks to God. The monks and the pupils of Servanus, awe-struck and dumb with terror, brought up the rear. When, however, they heard Kentigern tell the dead man to go back to his kitchen they burst into loud exclamations of wonder and admiration, and gave praise to God for the miracle He had worked through His servant Kentigern. Later that same memorable day, the dead cook, dead no longer but alive, related to all those who flocked to look at him from every village and hamlet for many miles around, what he had seen and heard in the world beyond the grave, the punishments, that is, of the wicked, and the joys of the just. In this manner, many who listened to him spell-bound were converted from their evil ways, while many others were strengthened in their resolve to live even better lives. There were some, however, who, not satisfied with the meagre information he had given to these others pressed him for further details of what had happened to him. To these he uncovered the fashion of his own resurrection. When he had been torn, with inexpressible pain and sorrow, from the land of the living, he told them, he had been led before the Judgement Seat of the mighty Judge; there he had seen many souls who had already had judgement passed on them either cast down into the nether regions or taken to the place of Purgatory, or lifted up through the starry skies to the joys of Heaven. As, with fear and trembling he stood there waiting for judgement to be passed on himself, he heard a mysterious voice that said he was the man for whom the beloved servant of the Lord, Kentigern, was praying. It was then that Someone, streaming with light, ordered him to be led back to his body and to be restored to his former life and health. And as he was being guided back to his body he was warned most earnestly by his guide that he must take great care to live a holier life. This the dead cook strove to do by taking of his own free choice the habit of a monk under the rule of Servanus, for he had been but a servant of the monastery. He profited greatly in this manner of life and ascended from virtue to virtue till the day of his new death seven years later. They buried him in a rich and noble sarcophagus this time, and on the lid of the sarcophagus they inscribed how he had been raised to life by Kentigern, so that all who saw the inscription then, and all who should see it in the centuries to come, might give praise to God who is glorious in His saints.
It was impossible to shut one's eyes to the holiness of life of the boy Kentigern, blazoned forth as it was by such stupendous signs as those just narrated. Nor was it possible for any man to ignore the sweet scent of his life, diffused as it was far and wide by the flowers of his many virtues. Yet in the nostrils of his enemies the wholesomeness of his life and the perfume of his virtues stank as with the smell of death, while the common opinion of his holiness, which drew many to imitate him, was for them a source of even deeper hatred for the servant of God. Kentigern was too far advanced in the ways of humble prudence not to see that the hatred of his companions towards himself had now reached a climax; not to see either that their hearts, torn and tormented by their inveterate, furious and implacable jealousy of himself, could never find peace. Nor did he consider that he could go on living any longer among those poisonous serpents without losing something of the interior sweetness of soul that God had granted him. Besides all this, he could not but be more and more sensible of the wind of popular acclaim that was playing ever more caressingly and sweetly around him, nor shut his ears to the cry of " Well done!" " Well done!" that greeted him on every side. He decided, then, in his humility, to take flight in order to get away from the machinations of those who hated and envied him, and also prudently to avoid all occasion of vain glory. But before he came to this decision he turned with very great fervour to prayer, imploring the Angel of Great Counsel to guide him through His Spirit along the right path, for he was sore afraid lest he should have been running in vain in the past or should do so now. The Lord, then, listened to the prayer of his young servant and revealed to him through the inspiration of the Holy Spirit that what he had in mind to do would be most acceptable to Him. Thus strengthened, Kentigern set out in the darkness of the night with God as the guide of his journey and the guardian of his footsteps. In the course of his flight he came to the Kentigern now crossed over. On the other side he turned and looked back and saw that the waters that shortly before had been piled up high on either side were already filling once again the bed of the It was then that in the clear light of the moon he saw his master, Servanus. The old man, supporting his ancient limbs with a stick, had followed him as he fled through the night and now stood, tottering, on the far bank, beckoning to him with his hand and crying out with a voice choked with tears, "Alas, my most dearly beloved son! The light of my eyes! The support of my old age! Why have you abandoned me? Why have you left me? Remember, I beg of you, remember past days, think of the years you have spent with me! Remember how I received you from your mother's womb, a newly-born child! How I have nourished you, taught you, formed you even to this very day and hour! Do not despise, do not be blind to my grey hairs, but come back to me so that soon you may close my eyes in death!" Kentigern, moved to tears by these words of the old man, but firm even in his tears, called out to him; " Do you not see, Father, that what has happened is from God? We must not, we can not, change the plans of the Most High, nor can we refuse to do His Will. In any case, this sea lies between us like some vast abyss, so that even if I wanted, I could not pass over it to you, nor could you cross over to me. I beseech you, my Father, forgive me!" But the old man cried back," I beseech you, my son, to pray as you did just now that these waters may be turned once more into solid walls, that the sea may be divided, that a pathway may be made through it, so that I, at least, all alone may cross over dry shod and come to you there! With all my heart I will cease to be a Father to you and become your son, cease to be your teacher and become your disciple, cease to be your master and become your pupil so that I may be your constant companion to the very end of my days!" And once again Kentigern, his face wet with tears, called out to him :" Go back, I beg of you, my Father, to your family, and by your holy presence instruct them in sacred doctrine, form them by your example, and convert them by your discipline. May He who rewards all reward you for the kindness you have shown to me, and, since you have fought the good fight, since you have almost run your course and have kept your faith alive and fervent, a crown of justice awaits you, a crown that soon the just Judge will give to you. As for me, I must go where He sends me, He who segregated me from my mother's womb and of His gracious kindness called me to do the work of an apostle." And so with these words, and having given one another their blessing, they parted, nor did they ever again see one another in this world. Each went his way. Servanus returned home and there awaited the evening of the day when in a good age he should be called to rest with his holy fathers, to receive from his Maker, like the diligent worker that he had been in the Lord's vineyard, the salary of an everlasting reward. Kentigern made his way to a nearby village called Carnock, guided there, as will soon appear, by the loving hand of God; and no one might follow him, for from that night of wonders the place where the young fugitive had crossed over became quite impassable. The River Forth, too, turned aside from its own course, flowing into the bed of the River Teith. In this way the two rivers, which up to that night had each followed a separate course to the sea united and mingled their waters in one common stream. Seal of Bishop of
The old man of Carnock, Fergus was his name, was a man venerable for the holiness no less than for the length of his life. For many years he had been tormented by a great number of grievous maladies of the body which had nailed him to his bed of suffering in the Such a longing was born in him then, that you would have imagined that the desire of Simeon had been renewed in him; for Simeon longed with great eagerness to see with his mortal eyes the Salvation of God, the Anointed One of the Lord, clothed in human flesh. So Fergus ceased not, with unswerving faith, unwavering longing and oft-repeated prayers, to beseech God that he might be allowed to see the servant of Christ his Lord, Kentigern. Christ heard the prayers both of Simeon and of Fergus, and God granted the desires of their hearts. The longing of Simeon was turned into joy on the day that Christ was presented in the temple in When, therefore, Kentigern came to the abode of the saintly and sick man in the early morning as the sun was rising, and knocked at the door, Fergus, inspired by the Spirit of God cried out from his bed of pain, " Throw open the door, for the Lord is with us! The messenger of my salvation is at hand, promised to me by God, long expected and now at last revealed to me. Throw open the door, and let him come in!" And when he saw Kentigern he raised his arms to heaven in the exultation of his heart, and giving thanks, he blessed God. "Do Thou now dismiss Thy servant, O Lord," he exclaimed, "according to Thy word, dismiss him in peace, for my eyes have seen the salvation which Thou hast prepared in the presence of many peoples, a light to reveal that True Light which enlightens every man coming into this world and to declare the glory of everlasting life to this and to many other nations of the earth!" Then he turned to Kentigern again and said, "Dispose of my house and of my life today, and tomorrow see to my burial according as you, under the inspiration of God, may think best." Thus it was that, guided by Kentigern, he distributed all his earthly possessions to the poor. He next made a sincere confession of all his sins to a priest of God and after he had been anointed with the Holy Oil of the Sacrament of the sick, he was strengthened inwardly by the Sacrament of the life-giving Body and Blood of Christ. And so, his hands and eyes raised to heaven, in the very act of prayer, he abandoned his soul into the safe-keeping of his Maker and Lord. The following day, Kentigern placed the body of Fergus on a new wain to which he had yoked a pair of fierce bulls, after which he knelt down in prayer; then, rising, he commanded the two brute animals in the Name of his and their Master to carry their burden to the place that God had provided for it. The bulls at once set out. They offered no resistance to the command of Kentigern, nor did they once stumble or hesitate but went, by a straight path through a trackless region to the place which is now called Carrying thus their burden of sacred dust, the body of Fergus, beautiful even in death, the bulls at last stopped with all gentleness near a cemetery that St. Ninian had long ago consecrated. Those who were present remembered how in times long past, God having overthrown and mutilated the statue of the god Dagon, had guided from Accaron to Bethsames the Ark of the Covenant won back from idolatrous people, and placed upon a new wagon drawn by two milch cows that had never been under the yoke. It was clear to them that in the same way the hand of God had protected no less mightily and guided no less miraculously to the gates of St. Ninian's cemetery the wagon bearing the mortal remains of Fergus. The body of Fergus was taken from the wagon by Kentigern, who then proceeded to celebrate the funeral rites, after which he buried Fergus in that cemetery in which no one had as yet been buried. His was, in fact, the first burial in that place to which afterwards many bodies were brought to be buried in the peace of the Lord. Great was the reverence paid to the tomb of this man of God, Fergus, nor did any but temerarious bumpkins ever presume to trample on it or to walk over it, for many who had done so or who had refused to treat it with due respect had been, within the space of a year, most severely punished, even with death, for their misdeed. In witness to the reverence due to the holiness of him who lies buried there, the tomb of Fergus is to this present day protected on all sides and delightfully sheltered by a dense circle of trees.
After the death of Fergus, Kentigern continued to live in Carnock with two brothers who were natives of the place. It had been revealed to him in a vision that it was the will of God that he should do so. He strove, then, to lead a life of great holiness, and in this manner of life he made progress towards perfection, striding like a giant from virtue to virtue. The names of the two brothers with whom Kentigern was commanded by God to live, were Telleyr and Anguen. Anguen received the servant of God as an angel sent to him by the Lord. He loved him with a most tender and sincere affection, and used to carry out his wishes with every reverence and veneration and soon placed himself completely at his disposal. Nor did he do all this in vain, for the servant of the Lord blessed him in the Name of his Lord to such effect that not only was he himself filled to overflowing with the sweetness of that blessing but almost all his descendants also were blessed by the Lord and were treated by Him with such mercy that they seemed to have a hereditary right to it! God magnified their name in the face of the mighty ones of the earth and gave them a name that was great above all the names of that land. They grew and multiplied to such an extent both because of their vast possessions and of their Christian piety that of them it was with justice said: "This is the race whom the Lord hath blessed through the prayers of His servant Kentigern." The other brother, who was called Telleyr, was a thorn in Kentigern's side for often he would, behind his back, sneer at his piety and belittle all that he did; or else he would resist him openly and treat him scornfully and contumeliously. By putting a sinister interpretation on all Kentigern's actions and words he tried in every way to detract from them or to pervert them and thus obscure the good that he did. Kentigern, however, that patient servant of God, had learned by long experience to be, like Job, the brother of dragons and the companion of ostriches, and like Ezekiel, to live with the scorpions! He, therefore, possessed his soul in patience and kept his peace with one who hated peace even when he tried to speak peaceful words to him and Telleyr attacked him without any reason, like the perverse and ingrate creature that he was. But God, the omnipotent Lord of vengeance and of retribution, did not let the insults paid to His servant go long unpunished. One day, after Telleyr had heaped many insults on Kentigern, he heaved onto his shoulder a log of exceeding great weight, far beyond his own strength to carry. Yet he was so proud of this strength that he used to feel full of elation and imagine he had won a great name for himself if he could beat even a donkey in carrying heavy burdens. On this particular day, then, after he had placed the log on his shoulder he began to carry it to the house. He had gone but a few steps when he tripped on a stone, fell, and was crushed to death by the log on his shoulder. And thus he found out the truth of that saying of Solomon, "Woe is he who is alone, for if he fall, he has no one to lift him up!" When Kentigern knew that his enemy was now dead he gave vent to his sorrow with great lamentation and attended to his burial. In all of this he imitated the example of that pious king, David, who before him had been filled with sorrow over the death of his persecutor, Saul, and had shed many tears over it. Now since, according to Solomon, when a fool dies a wise man becomes more prudent, it is clear that in the example of this wicked man we are warned not to sin against the servants and friends of God, nor to dare to molest them in any way, to be a burden to them or to injure them. The saints are temples of God and the Spirit of God has His abode in them. We must listen to them therefore, all the more readily, and the more willingly refrain from doing them any injury, since He who abides in them is so very powerful to avenge all injuries done to them, and so very just in doing justice to those who suffer injustice.
In spite of the wonderful things that God was working through Kentigern it was not until several years had passed that the slow-witted inhabitants of the village of Carnock began to waken up to the fact that they had a saint among them, a saint whose life was a continual outpouring of grace and virtue. But the day dawned when it was to please Him who had segregated him from his mother's womb for the glory of His Name, to let him hide his light no longer under a bushel but to place it upon a candlestick from where the saintliness of his life, shining forth like a beacon in the darkness, and the honesty of his dealings with God and with men blazing out like the sun at noon, could not but enlighten the members of the household of God. Moved thereto by a divine inspiration, the king and the whole clergy of the region together with the handful of Christians who lived in Carnock, met in council to discuss how best they might provide for the Church in their midst. With one accord, then, they decided to approach the holy man, Kentigern, to make him the shepherd and bishop of their souls. This they did, in spite of all his resistance and his many objections. He protested that his extreme youth was an obstacle to their choice of himself for such a mighty office. But they assured him that the manner of his life was an age old enough for them, not to mention the abundance of his wisdom and of his knowledge. He argued that he could not possibly let them, without a struggle, take from him his peace of soul and the sacred joy of his union with God. They replied that the peace of his Sabbath must give way for a time to the need of many souls to be saved. Finally he cried out that he could not but judge himself insufficient for such a mighty honour and burden. But with one voice they replied that God had, by many signs and wonders, made clear to all his sufficiency for such a task. Thereupon, they wished him a prosperous rule, blessed him in the Name of the Most Holy Trinity, committed him to the safe-keeping of the Holy Spirit, the Sanctifier and Distributor of all orders, offices and dignities in the Church; and thus they set him up on the episcopal throne, and having summoned a bishop from Ireland they had him consecrated as their pastor according to the custom of the Britons and Scots of those remote times. According to an ancient custom of these peoples bishops were consecrated simply by having their hands anointed with sacred chrism while the Holy Spirit was invoked over them, and they were blessed and received the imposition of hands. It was a custom that these peoples foolishly claimed to have come to them from God Himself, having been handed down to them, as they said, from the times of the Apostles. The law of the Church, however, lays it down that no man may be consecrated bishop unless by at least three other bishops, one of whom acts as a consecrator and recites the sacramental blessing and prayers over the candidate as he hands him the various regalia of his office, while two others, who, with the first, impose their hands on the candidate, act as witnesses, and hold the Book of the Gospels on his head. Yet it cannot be said that because the manner of consecration used by these ancient peoples seems to have been little in conformity with the sacred canons of the universal Church, it did not have the power or effect of a divine sacrament capable of raising a man to the office of bishop. It must not be forgotten that the sacred canons were unknown to the inhabitants of the lands that lie almost beyond the limits of our world, and are constantly exposed to the invasions of barbarian peoples. For these reasons the Church has made allowance for their ignorance and excuses them on this point. In our own times, however, no man would be allowed, without grave censure, to make use of such a manner of consecration. Kentigern, then, was made bishop according to these rites; but, as we shall see later, he was very careful afterwards to supply what had been lacking in his consecration. No sooner had he been made bishop than he set up his episcopal see in the place which was then called Glesgu, a name that means "the beloved family", but is now known as The kingdom of Strathclyde, over which Kentigern was now bishop, had already, in ancient times, under Pope Eleutherius and King Lucius, received the Christian faith with the rest of Britain. But the island had been, at various times, invaded and over-run by pagans under whose rule the native inhabitants had fallen into apostasy and thrown away the faith once received. Many of them, too, had never been washed in the saving waters of baptism. Many were infected with the disease of heresies of every sort. Many who were Christians in name only, were sunk in the filth of their vices. The greatest part of them had been taught by men who were themselves unskilled and ignorant of the law of God. All of them, then, were in need of the counsel of a good shepherd and of the guidance of an expert ruler. And so it was that God, who disposes and dispenses all that is good, sent them Kentigern as a remedy for all their ills, and as their example. He was then in his twenty-fifth year, and he would carry the burden of his mighty office for 135 years, till, at the age of 160 years, the Bishop of Bishops would call him to his everlasting reward.
The man of God, Kentigern, had, as we have already seen, gathered around him a great number of disciples. These he formed in the Sacred Scriptures and strove to lead, by example and word, to holiness of life. It was his intention to choose from among them some who would help him in the vineyard of his Master. All, without exception, were moved by a spirit of holy jealousy to emulate his life and his teaching so that they gave themselves over assiduously to much fasting and holy vigils, applying themselves to the singing of psalms, to prayer, and to meditation on the law of God, and occupying themselves at certain other hours of the day in manual labour. Yet they were well contented with a little food, modest board and a humble habit. Like the Christians of the early Church under the Apostles and their immediate successors, they had nothing as their own. They lived a most sober life in all justice, piety and utmost purity, and like Kentigern himself they dwelt each in his own little hut. This privilege, however, was not granted them until they were judged by Kentigern to be mature in age and in divine wisdom. From this custom of living each by himself, these men of God came to be commonly known as Culdees, that is hermits, or servants of God. Kentigern used to go out early in the morning to his work and remain at his task sometimes till dusk, labouring especially in the fields in order that he might not eat his bread in idleness but rather in the sweat of his brow, and also that he might give an example of hard work to his disciples, and at the same time have something with which to relieve the needs of those in want. It happened once that because he had no oxen to draw the plough the soil remained untilled. When he noticed this, the man of God lifted up his eyes and saw, at the edge of the nearby forest, a small herd of deer leaping lightly from rock to rock. He fell on his knees to pray, and after he had prayed he called the deer to himself in the mighty strength of his prayer, and commanded them in the name of the Lord, whom all brute and irrational creatures, the beasts of the wilds as well as the sheep of the fields, obey, to be yoked, two by two to his plough, and to till the soil. The deer at once obeyed the command of the servant of God, and before the startled eyes of Kentigern's brethren they began to plough the soil as if they were tame oxen long accustomed to such work. When they were unyoked they went off to feed in their usual manner but, at the appointed hour, they came back to their work just like tame and domestic beasts trained for this purpose. But once, as the deer were coming and going, one of them, tired by the hard work, lay down in the lush grass and began to feed. A rapacious wolf leapt on it as it lay there, tore out its throat, and filled its own hungry maw with the dead body. When Kentigern discovered what had happened he stretched forth his arms towards the forest and cried aloud, "In the Name of the Holy and undivided Trinity I command the wolf that has done this injury to me who did not deserve it to come out at once and to make satisfaction!" Astonishing as was the command, even more astonishing was the effect, for at the voice of the holy man the wolf came leaping out of the forest and ran to crouch at his feet with a great howl. There, in what way it could, it gave signs that it wanted to seek pardon and to make satisfaction for its crime. But the man of God would have none of it! With threatening face and voice he rebuked the wolf. "Get up!" he commanded sternly, " In the name of Almighty God I order you to take the place of the deer that you have devoured, the deer that was our helper, to take its place at the plough and to finish ploughing what remains to be ploughed of this little field!" The wolf did not hesitate. It obeyed the holy man's command, and, yoked with the deer to the plough, it helped them to finish ploughing the field, a full nine acres of it. Then, but only then, the holy man of God allowed it to return to the forest. A great crowd of people had gathered to see such an extraordinary spectacle, and they were all filled with awe by the miracle of a wolf yoked with deer. But that holy man of God, Kentigern, opening his mouth addressed them thus: " My brethren, why are you filled with astonishment at seeing what has happened? Believe me, before man became disobedient to his Creator, everything, not just the brute beasts but the very elements also, was subject to him. But because of his rebellion to his Maker every creature has been turned against man, so that now the lion rends him limb from limb, the wolf devours him, the snake bites him, rivers sweep him away, fire destroys his dwellings. The earth, made as hard as iron, torments him with hunger, and the very air about him is polluted. Nay, as if he were determined that no evil should be lacking against himself, man even deliberately rages not merely against other men, but against himself when, against himself, deliberately he sins. Yet there are many men who walk before God in true innocence of life, in true obedience, in faith, in love, in holiness, and in perfect justice. To these men has the Lord given back the dominion that man once had as his own natural primordial right, so that they are able to command with authority the wild beasts and the elements, diseases of many kinds, and death itself." Those who were present when the man of God spoke thus at great length were no less edified by his words than they had been astonished by the miracle that they had seen. Now when the time came to sow the field which had been ploughed in this miraculous fashion, the holy man found that he had no seed left; he had given the entire store of grain to feed the poor. He took refuge, then, in his usual stronghold of prayer. Hesitating not one jot in his faith he gathered up handfuls of sand and scattered it as if it were seed along the furrows of his field. In due course of time the sand sprouted, the seed germinated, the blade produced the head, and when the harvest came wheat was gathered from the field of Kentigern in such abundance and of such rich quality that all who saw it, or heard of it, were struck dumb with admiration, and the name of Kentigern, already so widely known, became even better known and loved. Kentigern, then, gathered a rich harvest of wheat from the sand that he had sown in his field, and he did so in virtue of that Grain of Wheat which, falling into the ground and dying, brought forth much fruit by rising again from the dead. But what is of greater wonder is that Kentigern worked to such good effect with the ploughshare of the Word of God in the rich and fertile soil of our Holy Mother the Church that he gathered a vast harvest of souls who had hitherto been unstable in mind and swept by every wind of false doctrine, and whose folly had been heavier than the sands of the sea-shore. These he helped, with the assistance of God's grace, to bring forth a harvest of salvation by means of good works done in faith and charity, so that the supreme Master of the House judged them worthy to be transferred in due course to His heavenly barns, and to sit at his table.
Some years after the events narrated in the story of the harvest of sand, a certain tyrant, Morken by name, took over the reins of government in the So it was that King Morken despised Kentigern, mocking him behind his back among his cringing courtiers, and sometimes going so far in his dislike of him as to resist him to his face, accusing him of dealings with the devil to carry out his miracles, and snapping his royal fingers at everything Kentigern did or said. It was to this king that the Servant of God took himself once when he was in dire need of food for the brethren of the community he had founded. Admitted at last into the royal presence he made known to the king his own need and that of his monks, and begged the king that he might deign graciously to help them by supplying for their want by his abundance, according to the warning of the Apostle. The king, however, would have none of it. Elated and cocksure of himself, he met the humble request of Kentigern with contumely, and his prayer for some small assistance with impious and blasphemous words. With a great show of irony he exhorted him to have confidence in God; " Throw all your confidence on the Lord and He will feed you," he said, lifting his eyes piously heavenwards. " That," he added, " is what you yourself have so often preached to others, is it not? Have you not assured them that nothing can be lacking to those who fear God, and that those who seek him shall not be deprived of any good? And you, you who fear God as you say you do, you who keep all His commandments and do His Will as you say you do, how is it that you lack everything, even the food to keep you alive? And I, I, who neither seek the Nor was he slow in drawing his own conclusions from his arguments. "You see, then," he added triumphantly, "that your faith in God is in vain, and your preaching is false!" But Kentigern was not to be beaten so easily. Fearlessly he spoke up, and by means of the Holy Scriptures, by means of vivid arguments and examples drawn from reason itself, he showed Morken how in this world it does not always follow that poverty and riches are proof of a man's true worth, and that in this life just men as well as holy men are often afflicted in many ways by poverty and want, while wicked men and the unjust are often honoured and praised to the skies because of their great possessions which enable them to enjoy all the pleasures of life. He went on to show the king with clear and strong arguments that the poor are in fact the patrons of the rich by whose generosity they are fed and clothed, for the rich stand in need of the assistance of the poor, much in the same way, he said, as the precious vine stands in need of the humble elm. The king, barbarian though he was, could not resist the wisdom and the Spirit of God speaking through His instrument, Kentigern; but, in place of yielding, he snapped angrily: " What is the use of going on? Look, if you are so sure of your God as you say you are, all the grain heaped and piled up in my barns is yours, most willingly do I give and make a gift of it to you! And in future I will lend a ready ear to your requests. But," he added with a sly look, "the grain that you take from my barns must not be touched by human hand!" So saying, he took himself off in great glee and high spirits, like one who had made the holy man look no better than a fool with such an impossible gift. That evening, however, as the sun was setting, Kentigern knelt down in his cell, and, raising his eyes and hands to heaven, started to pour out his heart to God with great devotion and copious flowing of tears. At the same hour as the tears welled up into the eyes of Kentigern from the bottom of his heart and flowed so copiously to the ground, the River Clyde which all day had been flowing gently and peacefully to the sea began to quicken its pace and to rise higher and higher still in its bed. Obedient to the Will of Him who holds sway in heaven and on earth as well as in the deepest depths of the ocean, it finally overflowed its banks, swept round the barns of King Morken which were situated nearby, and gently drew them on to its own bosom. Then with great speed it transported them to the place called Mullingdenor where Kentigern was living at this time. There it left them, high and dry before the doors of the monastery. And then, all at once, it started to go down and to restrain its swollen waters because the Lord had placed bolts and bars on it lest it should go further than He had decreed and burst the limits He had set. Next morning, the king's barns were found where the river had deposited them. Not only were they entire and in no way damaged, but also not one stalk, not one ear of grain was damp. Here, surely, we can see a wonder similar to the wonder that, as we read in Holy Writ, was once upon a time worked by God, though in an element which is the opposite of water. We mean the miracle of the Chaldean furnace into which the three youths, unfettered in the profession of their religion but bound hand and foot in body, were cast by the tyrant. For just as there, fire had the power to consume their bonds only but not their bodies nor their clothes, so here water had the power to transport the barns bursting with grain, but not to wet their contents. Now, when the common people saw how the Servant of God, Kentigern, had worked such a miracle in the Name of his Master, they were loud in their praise, saying, " The Lord is indeed great and worthy to receive all praise because He has thus magnified His servant!" It is true, and it would be foolish to shut one's eyes to it, that after Kentigern had given to each of his monks his share of the king's grain, according to his needs, he had distributed what remained to the poor of the surrounding countryside and had refused to help none who was in need. Yet was their praise sincere and heartfelt for they themselves had seen the miracle of the floating barns. Not so King Morken! Rich as he was, and great in the eyes of men, he was in reality a slave of the God Mammon. Both what he considered to be the loss of his harvest and the miracle that Kentigern had worked in the name of his God were regarded by him as an affront to himself and to his high dignity. In place, then, of the joy and happiness that he should have derived from it for his own good, he chose to make a stumbling block out of it for the loss of his own soul. Much in the same way, the brightness of the sun's rays fills the eyes of those who are in good health with joyous light, but produces instead darkness in the eyes of those who are sick or who have weak eyes. Blinded, therefore, by the excess of his fury, King Morken began to vomit forth many accusations and insults against the holy Bishop, and to cry out that he must be a magician and an evil-doer. He threatened him also that if Kentigern should ever again dare to come into his royal presence he would make him pay very dearly indeed for having had the temerity to make a fool of his sovereign. Now behind this raging hatred of King Morken for his Bishop, behind his devouring desire for revenge, was to be found a certain counsellor of the king, named Cathen, a man of most evil habits for whom the manner of life of the holy Bishop was an intolerable reproach. That is ever the way of the world where the good are hateful and burdensome to the wicked, and where the man who is inclined to evil so very easily and readily pays heed to anyone that tries to persuade him to do what he wants in any case to do. According to the Scriptures the servants of an evil master are themselves evil; and he most frequently chooses as his closest cronies and counsellors those who are only too ready to pour poison into ears that are ever alert to receive it. Evil men are these, who with great diligence blow on the fire of malice with ever new and more inflated accusations to make it burn more fiercely lest it should die down and they themselves should suffer. Kentigern was not so easily frightened. Man of God that he was, he determined to overcome the king's malice with the wisdom of the Gospel. He entered then, into the king's presence, bearing the branch of peace and meekness and not the rod of severity, and there, as a most gentle and patient father, he sought to correct the evil of his son by means of instruction and warning. He knew that the sweet music of David's harp had often softened the fury of Saul, no less than that he knew how, according to the wise Solomon, patience has the power to break the ire of princes. All to no avail, for that man of Belial, King Morken, like the deaf adder of the Scriptures, which shuts its ears lest it should succumb to the words of the expert charmer, refused to listen to the salutary advice and warning of Kentigern. He became so fierce and mounted into such a rage that he sprang on him, kicked him savagely and knocked him flat to the ground, where he continued to kick him. At last Kentigern was rescued by some of the king's courtiers who, having recovered from the shock of seeing their king so maltreat their bishop, held back King Morken and raised Kentigern to his feet, bruised and breathless. He said not a word, nor did he cast even a glance of reproach at his king. With the greatest patience and sweetness he bore the hurt and insult done to him and thus gave to all who had been witnesses of his shame the most solid proof of the doctrine he had preached. So, full of spiritual joy that he had been found worthy to suffer contumely for the Gospel of his Lord, and putting his case in the hands of the Supreme Judge to defend and vindicate, Kentigern left in silence the presence of his sacrilegious king. He was followed almost at once by him who had been the prime cause of the sacrilege, the royal counsellor, Cathen. Still laughing loudly, and sniggering over the insulting behaviour of King Morken towards his arch-enemy Kentigern, Cathen mounted his horse and gleefully dug his spurs into its flanks to urge the beast to greater speed for he was eager to be home and to tell his wife how he had at last got the better of Kentigern. But, behold, the just judgement of God came forth from the face of the Lord to do justice to his servant who had been so patient in bearing the injury done to him. Under the sudden prick of the savage spurs, the steed sprang forward at a furious rate, striking sparks from the stones in its path. It did not go very far. At some little distance from the crowd that had come out from King Morken's dwelling it suddenly reared on its hind legs, stumbled and fell. Cathen was thrown back- wards with great violence on to the rocky path. His neck was broken. And his head, the head that had been so full of evil pride and had plotted evil things against the anointed one of the Lord, burst asunder under the impact. Thus he died, there, at the very threshold of his master. As for the king, he was to pay the penalty of his folly in no uncertain fashion. Soon after the death of Cathen, the king's feet were attacked by a mysterious swelling. This was followed by intense pain, and before long by death. They buried him in the city to which in his pride he had given his own name and so was known as Thorp-Morken. But with his royal carcass they did not bury the disease that had carried him off. It was not to be plucked so easily from the bodies of his progeny. From that first beginning, for many generations, the royal disease gave the descendants of King Morken no respite. The gout, for such it was, was handed down in his family from father to son, like some hateful but inalienable heritage, so that not the cast of their features nor the shape nor size of their bodies but only their common disease made all the members of this family resemble their sacrilegious fore-bear. This disease was the cause of the extinction of the royal house of Morken, an extinction that bore witness how God is jealous of the honour of those who serve him, and avenges the injuries done to them, visiting the sins of the fathers on their children for many generations, and punishing the proud of heart with a most just retribution. To Kentigern, however, much good came from the punishment meted out to King Morken and Cathen by the Lord, so that he was able to live for many years in his town of
After the years of peace came the years of strife, of a strife that finally drove Kentigern into exile in a far-off land. The instigators of the new strife were certain relations of King Morken, certain men, sons of Belial like himself and a generation of vipers who were spurred on by an ever-increasing hatred for Kentigern, and who determined, in their diabolical spleen against him, in secret council, to lay hands on him and to do away with him. They were, however, afraid of the people who all regarded Kentigern as the doctor, the bishop, and the shepherd of their souls and loved him as an angel of light and of peace. So they did not dare openly to commit their crime against him. Instead, they laid many ambushes for him, time and time again, with the intention of laying him low with their arrows. But the Lord became a tower of strength to him lest his enemies, the sons of iniquity, should prevail over him. At last and, as a final resort, they bound themselves by a most solemn oath to bring about his death at any cost and not to let themselves be turned aside by fear of any man from their evil intent and treacherous purpose against Kentigern's life. When, therefore, that man of God heard of this he thought it better to give way to their fury, to leave that place at least for a time, to seek elsewhere a more abundant harvest of souls. He had no desire to run the risk of going through life with a conscience seared, as it were, or even only soiled by the death of any man, however wicked. He came to this decision though he was well able with God's help, to meet force with force. In this, that most blessed man, Paul, had given him an example when at Kentigern, then, waited for God to tell him where he must go, and at last, after much prayer, he was inspired by his Lord to cross the frontiers of Strathclyde, to make his way south, through wild and barbarous lands, to Menevia, where, at this time that holy bishop, David, shone out in his pontificate as bright as the morning star when with rosy countenance it draws the new day from the dark recesses of the night. Everywhere Kentigern passed virtue seemed to go out from him, healing many. On arriving at Kentigern lived for some time in a wooded and secluded spot in order to strengthen and encourage in the faith the inhabitants of those regions, and there it was that he erected a cross as a sign of the salvation that he had given to them. And so that place came afterwards to be known as Crosfeld, or the field of the Cross. A basilica was built there many years later to the honour of the blessed Kentigern, in which, it is piously believed, many miracles were worked by God in sign and proof of the holiness of His servant. After this Kentigern left the region, and directing his steps along the sea-shore, continued his way south, scattering the seed of the word of God along the whole length of his journey, and gathering as he went a great and rich harvest of souls for his Lord. At last, safe and sound, he reached the abode of the holy man David, whom he found to be a doer of much mightier works than even rumour had credited him with. As for the holy prelate, David, he was filled with an exceedingly great joy at the arrival of such a distinguished guest. With eyes streaming with tears he took Kentigern into his arms and welcomed him as if he were an angel of the Lord, most dear to God. He kept him with himself for some time during which he continued to converse with him with most wonderful results for his soul. Thus, these two sons of light, whose tongues were to become as two keys by which a vast multitude of souls would gain entry into heaven, lived together, serving the Ruler of the entire universe like two lamps burning night and day before the Lord. When, however, Kentigern had been in that place for some little time his fame began to spread like wildfire far and wide, carried to the ears of the inhabitants of the remotest corner of the land by the tongues of all those who had either seen him themselves, or had heard of him from others. Very soon his name was a household word, as of a dear and beloved friend, not only in the hovels of the poor and the homes of the ordinary people, but also in the mansions of the nobility, and even in the palace of King Casswallan, who was the ruler of that region. The king, convinced that Kentigern was a holy and just man, was wont to listen to him most readily and much that he heard Kentigern say was good for his soul he carried out. Now it happened that the king was full of curiosity to know why Kentigern had left his native land, and tried time and time again to persuade the man of God to tell him. In his humility and charity Kentigern was unwilling to do so; but finally was prevailed upon by the king to tell him the whole story. When he had finished he said to the king; "Sire, I wish that I had the means to build such a monastery here as I have left behind in my native land." And on being asked by the king why he wanted to build such a monastery, he replied: "So that I may gather under its roof a people acceptable to God and a doer of good works." "Very well," said the king. "Look you, you have the whole of my country before you. Go around, and wherever you may wish to build your monastery, build it there. The place is yours! But, if I may say so, it seems to me that the region most suitable for your purpose is Llancarvan. I make a gift of it to you. It has, if I may say so, everything that you will need." Kentigern was loud in his thanks to the king for his generosity, all the more because Llancarvan was precisely the region that God had revealed to him in a vision as the one He Himself had chosen for such a purpose. He accepted the king's gift, then, all the more readily and eagerly and decided to build his monastery to be a new home for himself and his followers in that spot. He blessed the king and took his leave of him, and then went to say good-bye to his saintly friend, David. After they had blessed one another they parted, David to return to his monastery, and Kentigern to go forth to the region of Llancarvan, followed by a large number of his disciples who had preferred to live in hardship and want with him in a strange land rather than live without him in comfort and plenty in their own native land.
When Kentigern left David he did not thereby lose all contact with that holy man. Separated though they were from one another in the flesh they continued to be united to one another interiorly in their mutual love and by means of their thoughts of one another. Kentigern was greatly encouraged and strengthened by the memory he carried with him of his friend so that he was not to be put off or turned aside by the difficulties and dangers of his quest for a suitable place to build his monastery. He was determined to give himself neither sleep nor rest till he had found such a spot to build there a house to the Lord, to the God of Abraham, of Isaac, of Jacob and of his humble servants David and Kentigern. He pushed on, therefore, with his followers ever deeper and deeper into the wild and savage region of Llancarvan. As he went he explored every likely spot, weighing up its advantages and disadvantages, the salubrity of the air, the fertility of the virgin soil, the abundance or otherwise of the meads and pasturages, the quality of the trees and everything else required by one who wishes not only to build a monastery but also to fill it. Together with his numerous band of followers Kentigern scaled the craggy mountains and plunged into fearsome valleys, zig-zagged cautiously across deep fissures in the earth and fought his way through tangled undergrowth, stumbled along in the Stygian darkness of thick-set woods and explored many a silent glade in the heart of the forests, and everywhere he went he encouraged his disciples with his own example of virtue, and with many an enthusiastic discourse on the monastery that they would soon build in that vast wilderness to the glory of God. At last, however, he was forced to come to a complete standstill, weary, foot-sore and uncertain which way to turn. It was then that the Lord sent him His own special messenger and His guide. A most ferocious-looking and huge boar, as white as driven snow, burst from the undergrowth with a noise as of crashing trees and ran swift as light to the feet of Kentigern. There it stopped dead in its tracks and shook its massive head. Then it turned round and walked ponderously away from Kentigern. At a little distance from him it stopped again, and again turned round, this time to look at Kentigern with eyes that seemed to hold a message for him. Again it shook its massive head from side to side as if it were trying to tell him and his companions that they must follow it. At this sight they were all filled with astonishment, and, having at last understood what the beast was trying to tell them, they gave glory to the inscrutable wisdom of God who had chosen a brute creature such as this to reveal His hidden Will to rational beings. After this they set out to follow the tracks of their guide the boar which was now running ahead of them through the forest as if eager to reach its destination. On and on it led them unerringly through the deep darkness of the trees till eventually it came to a spot at the edge of a vast open space between the forest and a fast-flowing stream in the distance. This, they knew instinctively in their hearts, was the place predestined for them by the Lord; and as if to tell them that it was indeed the place chosen for them by God the snow-white boar pawed the ground rapidly with its fore-feet, and with its immense tusks made as if it were trying to uproot a bush growing on a slight mound. It shook its massive head again and again and grunted so loudly and so eagerly that it was clear to all that this was the place chosen by God for their monastery. With one accord, and as if moved by one and the same spirit, they all fell on their knees. Kentigern gave thanks to the Almighty who is to be adored in all His ways. Then he rose to his feet and in the name of his Lord he blessed the place where he stood, the river and the surrounding forest. And there, in the place given to him by God, he set up a cross as a witness and a sign of the salvation he was to bring, as a gauge of the faith he was to plant in those wild regions. The boar, which all this time had been a silent spectator of what Kentigern and his disciples were doing, trotted forward when that holy man had finished erecting the cross, and made signs by means of much grunting that it wanted something from him. Kentigern bent down and gently rubbed the massive head of the beast and stroked its mouth and teeth. "May the Almighty God," he said to it at last, "who holds in His power all the wild animals of the forests , the beasts of burden in the mountains, the very birds of the air and the fishes of the deep, reward you for your kindness in the way He knows best for your own good!" With that, the boar, as if it felt itself well rewarded, lowered its massive head before the feet of the priest of God. Then it touched the cross planted by Kentigern and finally it ran swiftly back into its wonted haunts in the surrounding forests. That night when Kentigern, his heart fixed on heavenly things, raised his hands in prayer and blessed the Lord, it was shown him from on high that he must remain and build a monastery in that place in which the scattered and wandering children of God might gather together from the east and from the west, from the north and the south, and might thereby deserve to recline finally at table in the Kingdom of Heaven with Abraham, Isaac and Jacob. God Himself, he was assured, would provide for their needs and protect them and all who might dwell under their roof, an assurance that in the years to come was to be super-abundantly proved to have been founded not on a dream of Kentigern, but on a divine revelation. At first light, then, Kentigern told his disciples what he had seen and heard from the Lord, and thus inspired them with his tale to tackle the work of building the monastery. Like bees busy making honey they did not waste time in doing nothing, but all, without exception, applied themselves to the various tasks with such energy and good will that soon their faces were shining with perspiration. Some of them cleared the ground of bushes and others levelled out the space thus cleared, while others again dug trenches to receive the foundations. Some cut down trees in the nearby forest, which were then dragged by others to the spot where the monastery was to be built, and there they were fitted together by a group of monks who had been instructed by Kentigern to build a church according to the plan drawn up for them by himself. The church, was to be made entirely of smooth logs after the manner of building of the ancient Britons among whom it was not the custom to build in stone because they were as yet ignorant of the art. But, lo and behold! as they pressed on with their tasks and the building grew under their hands there burst on the scene of so much activity a certain heathen princeling, Melconde Galganu by name, with his soldiers and a multitude of camp followers. Almost bursting with indignation, he who ignored the true God demanded with great truculence of Kentigern: "Who are you? Where have you come from? Who has given you permission to do this in my territory?" Humbly and meekly did Kentigern reply to these angry questions: "We are Christians come from the farthest northern parts of But Melconde Galganu would have none of it. Swearing and cursing in his uncontrollable anger he commanded Kentigern and all his followers to be driven out of his territory, and to pull down and scatter what they had already put up. After this he set out to return to his own dwelling, feeling highly satisfied with himself and still vomiting out the most blood-curdling threats against the Servants of Christ. He had not gone very far before the hand of God fell on him to punish him and strike him blind between one curse and another. Yet was this punishment of the impious princeling not to his eternal shame, as was soon to be made clear. It was not long, in fact, before the light of Him who is the true Morning Star shone into the heart of Melconde Galganu as he stumbled in the darkness of his stone-blindness, not long either before the light of day of whose benefit he had been deprived for a time, led him from the black depths and shadows of spiritual death into the light of true faith. Once he had been thus enlightened interiorly and so guided to repentance, he had himself carried by his soldiers to the man of God, Kentigern, who was even then returning to the spot from which he and his disciples had been driven. They met one another amid the ruins of the building pulled down by Galganu's soldiers, and there the princeling fell on his knees before Kentigern and began to beseech him with great piety to take away his blindness with his prayers, and then to wash him clean in the cleansing waters of redemption. The man of God was not one to be overcome by evil done to him. Rather did he always seek to overcome evil by doing good so that now he desired nothing more than to return good to the man who had done such great evil to him. Having prayed for him he placed his healing hand on the blind man's head in the Name of the Lord, and traced the sign of the Cross over his sightless eyes. At once, the light so patiently desired, so earnestly and humbly sought, flooded into the blind man's darkness and turned his night into clearest day. Thus it is always. The Lord strikes that He may heal. Thus it was that He struck blind the old Saul who was the unregenerated Galganu, that He might pour His divine light into his heart and make of him a new Paul. No sooner, then, had Melconde Galganu received his sight than he was washed clean by the holy bishop Kentigern in the waters of salvation. From that moment he became Kentigern's most faithful and devoted helper, ever willing and eager to grant him all that Kentigern might ask from him. With truly princely munificence he handed over to Kentigern the income from all his possessions for the purpose of erecting the monastery that he himself had pulled down when it was a- building. In a very short time, with the help of such a generous gift, the work was finished by Kentigern and his disciples. The monastery chapel was soon to become, by order of Kentigern, the cathedral of his diocese which embraced the bigger part of the surrounding countryside and which he was to win for himself by the assiduous preaching of the Word of God. Without number were the men and women whom he was to guide into the way of salvation, men and women who were either truly ignorant of the Christian faith or who were bitterly opposed to it, or who were misled by false doctrines and depraved by evil works. Thus, by his untiring labours and the grace of his Lord, Kentigern was able to turn many vessels of wrath into vessels of mercy, many vessels of contempt of God into vessels of the glory of God. It was his custom to leave his monastery in order to carry out the duties of his episcopal office and to travel from end to end of his diocese according to the time at his disposal and the needs of his flock. But he never failed to return to the peace of his beloved monastery as soon as he had completed the task to accomplish which he had left it. Like the dove sent out by Noah from the ark, he was never able to find a permanent resting place for his heart's desire outside the walls of the monastery and amid the deluge of the world's sins. Yet did he not return empty- handed for always he brought with him for himself and his disciples the green-leaved olive branch of peace and mercy, the fruit and reward of his fearless preaching of mercy and peace to a bellicose and furious people.
It is both instructive and edifying to see what manner of life this holy servant of God lived in the day of his pastoral office, that is from his twenty-fifth year to the close of his mortal pilgrimage when he was one hundred and sixty years old. In appearance, then, Kentigern was of medium height, but of that medium height which gives the impression of tallness. A robust man he was, and quite beyond the reach of weariness in bearing labour whether of the body or of the spirit. Handsome to look at and perfectly proportioned in every limb, he had a countenance that was full of grace and modesty, inspiring reverence. With its gentle brown eyes and colouring fresh as dew it won for him the affection and love of all who beheld it. The habitual cheerfulness of his disposition was the sign and unmistakable expression of the inner sweetness of soul given him so richly by the Lord that it overflowed with a certain spiritual joy and exultation into the hearts of those around him. Kentigern was the implacable enemy of all hypocrisy and taught his followers to shun hypocrites as the most pestilential of men. When he was consecrated Bishop, Kentigern sought to excel all others in holiness of life as he did in the dignity of his pontifical office. He set out, then, to emulate the virtues of the Saints, but in particular their zeal for the glory of God and the saving of souls, for he thought it unworthy and unbecoming that one who was called to climb the mountains of God should be content instead to remain in the valleys. So he sought to be more humble, to practise greater mortification in his food, his clothing, his whole manner of life, with frequent and prolonged fasts, with hair-shirts to torment his innocent flesh, and a goat-skin to give his body some protection from the elements. Even in his sleep he mortified himself, for his couch was more like a tomb than a bed. He used to snatch an hour or two of uneasy sleep in a bed of rock hollowed out like a tomb, with a boulder for a pillow, like Jacob, and with ashes for a mattress. In the middle of the night he would rise to pray till the cock crowed the second time. At this he would strip himself of his garments and naked, plunge into a swift-running icy river nearby, there to do combat with the great and evil dragon, the enemy of mankind, that according to the prophet lies in wait in the black deeps of rivers. Then, coming out of the cleansing waters, Kentigern would sit on the top of a hill called Gulath near his cell to let the icy water dry on his limbs. And this strange custom of his nothing was ever able to break. Not the fire of dazzling lightning, not hammering hail, not the frantic fury of storms: nothing ever prevented him from plunging headlong and naked into icy rivers unless he was journeying far from streams and rivers, or he was laid low by the severest sickness. In speech Kentigern was a man who knew perfectly how to adapt his words to every age and sex so that from his lips the young and the weak sucked in the milk of Christ's example and words, the more advanced tasted the honey, and the perfect of both sexes were filled with the heavenly wine of the Gospel. Yet was he no respecter of persons, but one who rebuked, judged and condemned without fear of men, and with the greatest discretion and prudence. But in truth, this saintly Bishop preached more efficaciously with his silence than many eloquent orators and learned scholars who love to indulge in fine-sounding periods, for his very appearance, his face, his habit, his bearing, all spoke of the intense purity of one in complete control over himself. It was, however, in the holy Sacrifice of the Mass that the true greatness of Kentigern's holiness shone forth in dazzling fashion. He ceased then to be a mere mortal and took on something divine, for even as with arms outstretched in the form of a cross he uttered "Sursum corda" his own breast was at one with the heart of his Lord. From the golden censer of that spotless heart of his filled and ablaze with the fire of his love for God rose up the sweet- smelling incense of his prayer to the Most High. And that such a prayer was most acceptable to Him, God showed by wonderful signs seen by many. Often, in the course of the divine mysteries, a dove, white as driven snow but with a golden beak, was seen to rest on his head where the dazzling fluttering of its wings hid him and the Victim on the altar as with the rays of the sun. Often, too, as he, the sacrificing priest, stood at the altar a bright cloud was seen to hover in the air above his head. So, also, sometimes at the moment when he was sacrificing the Son to the Father, it seemed to some who were more privileged in this than others by the Father of lights, that not he but a pillar of flame was present before them, blinding them with its splendour. While on more than one occasion, as he was carrying out his duties of a priest of the Most High, a cloud, giving out a sweet smell, filled the room where many had gathered to assist at the sacred mysteries of the Lord. The scent of it, sweeter by far than any other, penetrated them all with inexpressible sweetness and restored to vigorous health those who were suffering from any sickness or infirmity. The manner of life of Kentigern we have described was observed by him almost without a break to the very end of his long and laborious day, except for the season of Lent. Every Lent he would strive to emulate the fervour of certain of the Holy Fathers of ancient times; or, more accurately, he followed in the footsteps of Elias, of John the Baptist, of the Saviour himself, by retiring into desert places. There he gave himself up entirely to communing with God and to the unceasing daily martyrdom of his most innocent body. No one among his followers, or only a few, could tell how he kept that body alive; but once it happened that two of his monks overheard him say very plainly: "I know a certain person who keeps himself alive during Lent on the roots of plants only. In fact, on more than one occasion this person has with God's help spent the whole period of Lent without tasting any mortal food!" The monks who heard these words had no doubt but that Kentigern was speaking of himself, though the man of God had suppressed the name of the person in question in order to avoid even the shadow of vainglory, as was his wont at all times. Towards the end of Lent, however, and precisely on Maundy Thursday for many years, but afterwards on the Saturday before Palm Sunday, Kentigern would return to his flock to carry out his pastoral duties. He was in the habit of spending the last week of Lent among his own people; and after the solemn consecration of the chrism and holy oils on Maundy Thursday he used to wash with his own hands the feet of a multitude, first of poor persons, and then of lepers: all these, after he had dried and kissed their feet, he would serve lovingly at table. Then he would sit at table with public sinners he had reconciled with God and the Church, and so refresh both them and himself in body and spirit. But from that hour to the hour after his Mass on Easter Sunday he would observe a rigid fast. On Good Friday he used to unite himself to his crucified Lord with extraordinary and unbelievable mortifications inflicted by means of rocks on his innocent body and by frequent genuflexion's, so that day and night he carried in his weary and crucified members the stigmata of Christ. On Holy Saturday, like one dead to the world, he would shut himself up in a double tomb, and there with great abundance of internal joy he spent most of the day far from the deafening tumult of the world of men, coming put of his tomb only to preside at the Office of the day. And finally, renewed in spirit, he awaited the most sacred dawn of the morning of Resurrection with, in his heart, the sweet smelling herbs of every virtue so diligently gathered and prepared for his Risen Lord.
Men hoary with years and young men, men rich in this world's goods and poor men soon began to flock to Kentigern's monastery to put themselves under the sweet yoke of the Lord and to take up the burden that is light. The great men of the land, and men of more humble positions began to bring their offspring to the holy man to be nurtured by him for the Lord. From day to day the number and quality of men renouncing the world increased so much that in a short time there were nine hundred and sixty five of these warriors of Christ professing in deed as well as in habit the religious life in accordance with the Rule of Kentigern. This compact company consecrated to the service of God was arranged into three groups in the daily life of the monastery. Three hundred of the monks, men deprived of all learning, he put to the work of cultivating the soil and tending the flocks. Three hundred more were engaged in labour within the monastery enclosure, in preparing meals for the brethren, and in building the workshops. The remaining three hundred and sixty five, all men of letters, were entrusted with the celebration and due observances of the religious services by day and night in the monastery chapel. Kentigern decreed that none of this third class of monks should be allowed easily to leave the precincts of the church; they should remain inside as men dedicated to the Lord's sanctuary. When, however, for some pressing need or by reason of his episcopal duties he had to leave the monastery, he was in the habit of taking with him the monks he knew to be more advanced in holiness of life and in wisdom, and who were capable of instructing the ignorant. Kentigern divided the monks assigned to the divine services into choirs or groups of thirty, and decreed that as soon as one group finished carrying out the services another should process into the church and begin their turn, and that when these had finished, a third group should follow it at once. In this way, with the sacred groups conveniently spaced and relieving each other in celebrating continuously the divine services, those religious were able to raise regular and unceasing prayer to God, and by blessing the Lord at every moment the praises of God were always on the lips of Kentigern and his monks. Wondrous then, were the things done in this city of God, wondrous the things said about it, And since all who dwelt therein were men whose hearts were filled with joy, Balaam's famous prophecy may justly be applied to it: "How beautiful are thy tabernacles, O Jacob, and thy tents, O Israel! They are as woody valleys, as cedars by the waterside." The monastery became famous for the many men, holy and perfect, who flourished there and who, like Jacob, were no mean opponents of the devil, of the world, and of sin. By faith and love and contemplation they strove with intense longing to reach the vision of God. Like true Israelites they were rich in good works, but in their own eyes they were worthless. Fragrant as shady vales, with meditation on sacred things, they were like towering cedars on the banks of running waters. For these many virtues, and for signs and wonders worked by them, truly these were famous men. Outstanding among them for his birth and beauty was one in particular, Asaph by name, a youth bright with the splendour of his virtues and miracles from the first flowering of manhood, ever striving to imitate the virtues and teaching of his master, Kentigern. One such miracle is worthy of being inserted in this present work, for the achievements of the pupil are the glory of the master. It happened, then, one day in the heart of winter when all Nature lay crushed and still in the grip of an intense cold, that Kentigern entered naked into the freezing waters of the nearby river, there, as was his wont, to recite the whole Psalter, and that having put on his clothes again and gone out of doors he began to feel most vehemently the shock of that cold so that he was as it were frozen solid! In this manner it was made clear to all how much he was capable of doing through his own power, and how much through the power of God's condescension. That he had borne the icy cold of standing naked in the river for such a long time without being frozen, this was a proof that a divine power had been at work in the weak vessel of his body. But that he had been frozen stiff though covered with skins and his other clothes - this was human weakness. The holy man, therefore, told the boy Asaph to bring him fire so that he might thaw himself out. The young novice of the Lord ran to the ovens and begged to be given some live coals. As he had nothing to carry the live coals in, the cook, either in jest or seriously, said to him: "If you want to take live coals you will have to hold out your habit for I've nothing at hand to give you to carry them in!" The holy youth, on fire with faith and trusting in his master's holiness, did not hesitate one minute. Gathering up his habit into his lap and stretching it out between his hands he received the burning coals on it, ran back with them to his master, and, before his eyes, threw them on the ground out of his lap. The habit showed no sign of having been scorched or damaged in any way! This miracle gave rise to a friendly dispute between master and disciple; but neither the master nor his holy disciple was able to carry his point with the arguments so aptly used to convince the other. The holy Bishop attributed the working of the miracle to the boy's innocence of life and his obedience. The boy maintained it had been worked because of the merits and holiness of the Bishop, for had he himself not presumed to carry the live coals as he had done only in obedience to his command and relying on his holiness? For our part, without prejudice to the opinion of wiser men, we believe the miracle should be attributed to the merits of both master and disciple, to the spotless purity of life of both and to their uninterrupted love of God. The boy Asaph had always been dear to Kentigern and beloved of the holy man; but from that day he became the dearest and most special object of Kentigern's love and veneration. As soon as it was lawful to do so he raised the youth to the priesthood; in due course of time he made over to him the care and direction of the monastery, and appointed him his successor as Bishop as shall be narrated later. Meantime God bore testimony to the holiness of his servant Kentigern with another miracle. One day, as that man of God prayed with greater application and at greater length than was his wont, his face seemed to be on fire so that those around him were filled with ecstasy and awe. How could they fail to be caught up in stupefied astonishment as they looked on his face and saw there the face of an Angel in their midst, or the face of another Moses aflame with divine splendour? When he had finished his prayer he withdrew to a corner and sitting broke out into most deep lamentations. His disciples, knowing that his weeping was not without some grave reason, drew near to him in fear and trembling, and with all humility begged him to reveal to them the reason for such deep lamentation if that was not forbidden and if it did not displease their Father in God to tell them. The holy man was silent for a little, but as they continued to pour out their request into the ears of their most affectionate Father, at last he broke into these words and said "Know, then, most beloved sons, that David, that holiest of men, that glory of Britain, the Father of our homeland, that most precious stone of the episcopate has at this moment left the prison of his body and that, laden with merits, he is being admitted into the splendours of the saints and is entering into the Holy of Holies! I assure you, and you must believe me, that as even as I watched he was not only led into the joy of his Lord by a shining multitude of Angels and Saints singing heavenly melodies, but he was also crowned with glory and honour at the Gates of Paradise by Our Lord Himself, Jesus Christ, Who, meek and humble of heart, went forth to meet him. Behold, this peerless lamp of his generation, this star that shone forth most dazzlingly in doctrine and example, has answered the call to the safe-keeping of Him Who made him that he may shine for Him in the joys of Paradise, and be nigh to all who invoke his intercession, and dwell lovingly on his most sacred memory. And truly, my beloved ones, I ought to rejoice for the glory of so great a Father who loved us with a special love; yet the very intensity of my filial love for him does not allow me to hold back my tears. Know, moreover, that this land of Britain deprived of so great a light, orphaned of so paternal a protector, of one so powerful before God and men, will feel his absence, for he it was who prevented the sword of the Lord already half drawn against this land for the sins of its people, from being wholly drawn and striking to utter destruction! The Lord will abandon So spoke that holy man , and then fell silent. His hearers were all seized with a great fear, and copious tears coursed down their cheeks. But not for long! Eager to find out if the holy man David had indeed passed out of this world they hastened to send a messenger to the saintly Bishop's cathedral church. Thus they found that he had in fact passed out of this world at the very same hour that the man of God, Kentigern, enlightened by heavenly inspiration, had revealed it to them. How great, then, must have been before God the merits of this man that it should have been granted to him first to look upon so much glory not with the eyes of the flesh but with the contemplation of the heart, and then to utter so true a prophecy concerning the Britons and the Angles as those nations would see when the bright light of Faith was obscured among them by the darkness of idolatry!
The blessed Kentigern's prophecy of disasters to come upon Under that most pious and religious prince, King Lucius, in the pontificate of Eleutherius, Britain had received the Faith of Christ from those excellent and wise preachers of the Gospel, Faganus and Divianus, and others mentioned by the learned historian of the Britons, Gildas, and had kept its Christianity whole and untouched right to the times of the Emperor Diocletian. Then suddenly the moon turned to blood and the fire of persecution was enkindled against Christians in every country. The flood overflowing its banks invaded From that time idolatrous cults began to take root and increase in strength throughout the land and led many to reject and forget the law of the true God. Yet Christianity was able once again to rise to new life after the passing of the storms, and to flourish once more; but in the course of time, first the luxuriating heresy of Pelagius, and then the serpentine errors of Arius again besmirched the fair face of the Catholic Faith. That Faith was indeed given new life and new strength by the apostolic labours of St. Germanius, Bishop of Auxerre, a man famous for many miracles, who cut down and threw out the dead wood of heresies in our island; but soon after the invasion of Picts and Scots from the northern limits of Britain, savages alien to the knowledge of the Name of Christ put to headlong flight both the Faith and the faithful. Last of all, when The Picts first received the Faith largely through the labours of the holy man Ninian, then through holy Kentigern and Columba. And when they fell back into their heathenish ways the Picts were again converted or strengthened in the Faith by the preaching of holy Kentigern, and not only the Picts but the Scots also, and other tribes without number living in other parts of Britain as we have already in part narrated and will narrate at greater length later. Meantime, however, holy Augustine, a man renowned for his monastic habit as well as for his manner of life, was chosen by the Chief Bishop, blessed Gregory, together with other monks, and came to When, therefore, Kentigern saw how frequently the In order, then, that he might come to grips with the problems and dangers threatening the Church in On one occasion he went to To this most Holy Supreme Pontiff Kentigern laid bare the whole course of his life, his elevation to the episcopal dignity, and his consecration to that mighty office, and one by one explained the events that had befallen him in the fulfilment of his pastoral duties. But that holy man Gregory, the Father of Christians, as one endowed with the spirit of counsel and discretion and under the guidance of the Holy Ghost saw that Kentigern was truly a man of God and full of the same Holy Spirit. He confirmed, then, his election and consecration because he understood they had been inspired by God. At the oft-repeated prayer and supplication of Kentigern he agreed also to make good what might have been lacking in his consecration, and then he directed him to the work of the ministry entrusted him by the Holy Spirit. Having received the apostolic absolution and blessing the holy Bishop left for home carrying with him the tomes of canon law, as many copies as possible of the Scriptures, numerous privileges, many relics of the saints, church ornaments of various kinds, and everything else appertaining to the beauty and splendour of the House of God. Thus laden, he arrived after many adventures and hardships at the gates of his monastery where his brethren welcomed him with transports of joy for his safe return no less than for the many gifts, the material ones as well as the spiritual, he had brought them from their common Father. And there Kentigern remained for some space of time in great peace, speaking to his monks of the wonderful things he had seen in his travels, and ruling with much care, great holiness of life and firmness of manner over his diocese and over the monastery. Mungo's
Thus far we have narrated as diligently as we could the adventures and achievements of the holy man Kentigern when he went into exile and lived in a strange land. It is now time for us to narrate how his enemies were punished by God, how Kentigern returned to his native land, and what he did there for the glory of the Lord. His enemies, then, were not allowed to rejoice for long when the man of God had given way before their malice and gone into exile. The Lord visited them with a heavy hand and a mighty arm, striking them with the rod of His unrestrained anger with a most merciless punishment even to death. Some of them were struck down by blindness deeper than the blackest night, and some found themselves caught in the vice of a paralysis that emptied them of all energy and made them weaker than new-born babes. Some were seized by an incurable madness that carried them to the grave, and some were struck down and eaten by a wasting leprosy that made them, gasping out their lives in half-dead corpses, resemble putrefying bodies. Many of them in the grip of epileptic frenzies, became a terrifying spectacle to all who saw them. And others again, consumed by various incurable diseases, died. So swiftly did God pour out the vial of His indignation to destroy these wicked men that all who had known their power and might now mocked them and said : "Why has the Lord done so to this generation? They have perished so swiftly because of the evil they did to the holy man of God when they strove to destroy from the earth his life and his memory!" But Kentigern's own people also abandoned the way of the Lord that he, the good shepherd, the teacher of truth, had shown them, and like dogs returning to the vomit they fell back into their idolatrous rites. Yet not scathelessly. The heavens and the earth, the sea and all its denizens refused to obey them, to give them their usual service and help, so that, in the words of Holy Writ, the very earth appeared to be in arms against the insensate, while the elements themselves seemed unable to bear with patience the absence of such a man from his native land. For in the words of the prophecy : "All green grass had withered, all sheep and cattle perished; above, the sky was of copper, the earth of iron beneath, devouring its inhabitants; and for a long time a famine laid waste the whole world." When at last the time came for God to show mercy by taking away the rod of His indignation, in order to convert and heal His people the Lord raised up in the kingdom of Cambria a king named Rederech who had been baptised into the Christian Faith by the followers of St. Patrick in Ireland and who burned with the desire both to seek the Lord with his whole heart and to restore Christianity in his kingdom. For a long time, then, King Rederech pondered over the problem and wondered how he might repair the damage done to the Christian Faith in his kingdom. One day, when he had spent many hours deliberating with himself and certain of his ministers who were Christians like himself, he decided that the best possible course would be for him to send his messengers to the holy man Kentigern inviting him to return to his former diocese. The saint's fame had, in fact, reached the royal ears and had made a deep impression on King Rederech for the light of Kentigern's holiness could not be kept hidden even though it shone in the remotest corners of a remote region. The king, then, dispatched his messengers to the holy Bishop armed with letters in which he pleaded, warned, implored, exhorted, protested in God's Name with Kentigern not to withdraw himself any longer from the care of the sheep of his flock now so long desolate, so long deprived of their shepherd. Let him rather return with all speed, lest by his absence he should expose them to the danger of being carried off and rent asunder by the teeth of the wolf, or even devoured by the lion who goes about roaring in search of his prey. There was no one else at hand, the King reminded him, who would snatch them from that danger, no one, moreover, who was more bound in justice to snatch them out of the lion's mouth. It was an unworthy thing, went on the King, for the husband to desert his spouse, the shepherd his flock, the bishop his church, for the love of which he ought rather to lay down his very life lest he should be no better than a hireling! Finally, he assured Kentigern that under the avenging hand of God all those who had tried to do away with him had themselves met with fearsome deaths. Let him return, King Rederech assured him on his royal oath, and he would find the King more obedient to his wishes, his teaching, his orders, than any son to his father. When Kentigern had read the King's letters he was silent. All that day he refused to say a single word to the King's messenger about the contents of the letters. He had promised himself that he would nurse his old age even to the twilight of his years, and would close his last day in the peace of the famous monastery he had built at the cost of most prolonged and difficult labour, that he would take his final sleep there and would there be laid to rest among his children whom he had given birth to in Christ through the Gospel. Yet, as he never sought his own pleasure but the pleasure of Jesus Christ, since he had not come to do his own will but the will of Him who had sent him, since his only desire was to fulfil the will of Heaven in his own regard, he submitted himself wholly to the disposition of God. That night, then, as he lay prostrate in prayer, seeking God's will in the matter of the King's letters, an angel of the Lord, clothed in intense light, stood by him in the monastery chapel and stirred him with his foot, commanding him to stand up. Upright on trembling legs, Kentigern heard the heavenly messenger's word : "Go back to Glasgu, to your church. There you will become a vast multitude, and God will make you increase among His people. You will win for the Lord your God a holy race, a multitude without number who will be His own people. And you the Lord God will crown with an imperishable crown. For there you will end your days in a good old age, and from this world you will pass to your Father who is in Heaven. Your bones will rest there in blessed hope where they will be interred with glory and honour. There they will be greatly honoured by countless multitudes for the many miracles they will work till at the last day they receive from the hands of the Lord the precious double stole of their resurrection to a glorious eternity." With this the angelic vision vanished. But Kentigern, shedding copious tears of consolation, poured out his heart in gratitude to the Lord, repeating over and over again : "My heart is ready, O God, my heart is ready to do whatever it may please you to desire of me!" At day-break he gathered together all his numerous family and said to them : "My beloved children, when I tell you that it has taken me so long to come to a decision in this matter because of my desire that you should close these eyes of mine in death when I have grown old and that these bones of mine should be laid to rest under your eyes, in the womb of her who is the mother of us all, I speak as a man subject to human frailty. Yet since the way a man must go is not in his power to decide, I have been given a command by God to go back to my flock in Glasgu. We have no right, nor should we have the temerity, or even the wish, to resist the words of the Holy One, as Job has it, or to contradict Him in anything. Rather must we obey His will and command in all things to the close of our days. Do you, then, my beloved children, stand firm in your faith, carry yourselves as men, be ye strengthened, and try to do everything in a spirit of mutual charity." When he had finished saying these things and much else besides of a similar nature to the assembled community of his monks, he lifted up his hand and blessed them. Then, with the unanimous consent of the monks he gave one of them, the holy youth Asaph, charge over the monastery and at the prayer of the people he chose him and constituted him according to the regulations of Canon Law, his successor in the diocese. After this he spoke again, but at great length and profoundly, of Faith and Hope and Charity, of Mercy and Justice, of Humility and Obedience, of holy and mutual peace and patience, of vices to be avoided and of virtues to be acquired and of the rules and discipline and spiritual exercises he himself had introduced and desired should be guarded with every effort. And finally, of constancy and perseverance in all good. When he had finished his sermon he enthroned the saintly Asaph in his cathedral, and then, having once again given his blessing to the monks and congregation and bidden them farewell, he went out of the church by the north door as one who was going forth to do battle with the northern enemy. After he had passed out of that door it was closed behind him; and all who watched him as he went out and departed from them, or who heard of it from others, wept most bitter tears for his departure. It became the custom in later times for the north door of the church to be opened only once a year, on the feast of St. Asaph, on the first day of May, and that for two reasons. One was to pay homage to the holiness of him who had gone out by it, and the other was to recall the mighty grief of those who had wept over Kentigern's departure. The greater part of the brethren of that monastery, numbering six hundred and sixty five monks, went with Kentigern, because they felt they could in no way live without him as long as he was alive, or even because they had no wish to live separated from him. Only three hundred of the community stayed behind with Asaph. In the company, then, of this throng as if strengthened by the forces of the heavenly King, Kentigern set out to defeat the ancient enemy of mankind and to drive headlong from the northern frontiers where he had established his headquarters, the apostate Angel. On hearing that Kentigern was coming from Wales to Cambria, from exile to his native country, King Rederech and his people came out in procession to meet him, singing his praises with incredible joy and rejoicing. And while they filled the air with songs of praise, of happiness and of thanksgiving for his return, the holy Bishop made the echoes ring with "Glory to God in the highest, and peace on earth to men of good will!" When Kentigern saw the vast multitude hastening to meet and welcome him he was filled with spiritual exultation. Giving thanks to God, he fell on his knees to pray; and having finished his prayer he stood up and blessed the gathered multitude in the Name of the Holy Trinity. He then armed with the Sign of the holy Cross the crowd surrounding him, and, as if he were uttering a sentence of condemnation said : "All those who resent the salvation of men and who are opposed to the Gospel, I command in virtue of that same Gospel of the Lord to take themselves off at once and to cease trying to put obstacles in the way of those who wish to believe!" He had hardly spoken when a mighty multitude of wraith-like creatures, in shape and look horrible to see, poured out with great speed from among the crowd around Kentigern, and under the eyes of them all vanished. At that sight a great fear fell on them; but the holy Bishop comforted and strengthened them even as he revealed to them the nature of the idols they had believed in. After this he stirred the hearts of his audience to believe in the living God. He made it clear to them that their dumb idols, the vain figments of men, were more suited to be reduced to ashes than to be turned into gods. He taught them that the elements themselves in which they had believed gods lived were in fact creatures fashioned by a decree of the Maker for the use, the service, the help of man. As for Woden, whom they had believed to be the chief of the gods, and from whom the English in particular claimed they were descended - they had even consecrated the fourth day of the week to him ! - he had very likely been an ordinary mortal, a king of the pagan race of Saxons from whom they themselves and several other peoples drew their origin. The body of this Woden, said Kentigern, had been reduced to a handful of dust many, many years ago. His soul was even then, as he spoke to them, buried in Hell where it was being tormented with everlasting fire! Having thus emptied their hearts of all idolatry, Kentigern then proved to them from the evidence of this material creation, the existence of an almighty God, Three in One, Who was also the Creator of all things. And finally, after he had preached to them of belief in Jesus Christ and His Sacraments, he showed them by means of most true and persuasive arguments that there is no other Name under Heaven in which those who believe can be saved but the Name of Our Lord Jesus Christ. Now even as Kentigern, sitting in the field known as Holdem, spoke copiously in this fashion about the Christian faith, the ground on which he was seated began to rise up before the eyes of all his audience, and became a tall hillock which is still to be seen in our own day. When, therefore, the multitude saw this great miracle, they were converted to the faith from the very marrow of their bones, and believed, firmly and sincerely, that Jesus Christ who had revealed himself to them through His servant Kentigern, was truly God. Eagerly, then, all of them, men and women, old and young, rich and poor, pressed round the man of God to be instructed in the rule of faith. When they had been catechised they renounced Satan with all his pomps and works, and were washed clean in the Name of the Holy Trinity in the saving waters of Baptism ; and so, having been anointed with holy chrism and oil and joined to the Body of the Church they were made members of Christ. Not long after the inhabitants of the Cambrian region had been converted and washed clean in the waters of salvation the elements which had seemed to conspire to bring about their destruction in vengeance for the insult of their idolatry to the true God, began instead to show a different face to them. For as the Lord had turned away from them in their apostasy and had commanded the clouds of heaven not to let fall even a drop of dew on the earth devastated by famine, so now when they turned to Him again, He commanded the skies to give them rain and the earth to produce grass and fruits for its inhabitants. Thus, in the light of God's countenance, the sun shone more serenely, the vault of heaven ceased to be as of burnished brass, the air lost its poison, the earth became more fertile and the sea more favourable. And since there was soon a greater abundance of every good thing, and peace was made more secure and daily life became more carefree, soon also the zeal of all in the service of God was greatly strengthened. Because of all this King Rederech's heart was filled with a very great joy for he saw how the hand of God was working for him and granting his prayer. Nor did the King fail to show to the world how great was the fire of devotion burning in his heart. With the consent and counsel of his court he laid aside his kingly garments, and throwing himself on his knees before Kentigern, with clasped hands did homage to him. At the same time he handed over to Kentigern dominion and power in all his kingdom, and decreed that Kentigern should be its king while he himself should be the ruler under Kentigern, after the example of the Emperor Constantine, who, as he knew, had in ancient times done as much with St. Silvester. The custom thus grew that for many years, as long as the kingdom of Cambria lasted, the ruler was always subject to the bishop. King Rederech, moreover, often stated that Kentigern had not been called Kentigern in vain by the holy man Servanus, but rather of set purpose since it was God's will that he should be the supreme lord of them all, for the word Ken, or Ceann, is the same as our Head, or Chief, and Tyren or Tighern is none other than Lord. Nor did Kentigern hesitate to accept the authority made over to him with such devotion by the King for the glory of God. He foresaw, too, how necessary it would be in times to come for the good of the Church of God. Besides this privilege given him by King Rederech he had another sent to him by the Pope. This was that he was subject to no other bishop but that he should be known as the Pope's vicar and chaplain. Now the king who had glorified and honoured the holy bishop in this extraordinary manner was rewarded by God with privilege for privilege, and ever greater honour and riches. So also his Queen, Languueth by name, who had long been oppressed under the shame of sterility, through the prayers and blessing of the holy Bishop, conceived and brought forth a son to the joy and consolation of the whole royal family. In due course of time Kentigern baptised the child and gave him the name of Constantine to remind him when he came to succeed his father of what he had done in imitation, as we have already narrated, of the Roman Emperor Constantine. That he did remember and comport himself accordingly is shown by the fact that his name and memory are honoured to this day among the canonised saints of the Church of Kentigern.
There could be no doubt about it. The Lord had certainly looked with favourable eyes on Rederech, King of Strathcluyd, for the King had remained faithful to Him, serving Him with many good works, and carrying out the wishes of His minister and Bishop, Kentigern. Glory and wealth in abundance were his, for did not his kingdom extend from the remote fastnesses of Acluyd in the north to the distant Derwent river in the south? And had he not wrestled, with the help of the Lord, his kingdom from the bloody hands of the fierce Gwenddoleu at the great battle of Ardderyd near Carlisle in the year of grace 573? Kindliness of heart too, was his, gracious charm of manners, and generosity in giving as wide and as deep as the ocean. The Lord had indeed blessed the works of the king's hands for the mercy he had shown to His servant Kentigern whom he had brought back from exile in the land of the Welsh. So great was the liberality of King Rederech that the fame of it went out not only to the countries around, but also across the green seas to Ireland. Thus it came to pass that the jester of a certain king of that far-off country, a man highly skilled in his art, and as deeply versed in all its mysteries and intricacies, was once dispatched by his royal master to King Rederech's court at Dumbarton, there to find out, as best he might, what truth, if any, there was in such widely spread reports of that king's liberality In due course of time, after many adventures on the way, the jester was received with great honour at the court of King Rederech, where, by dextrously playing on the timbrel and the harp, he entertained the King and his courtiers during the festive days of Christmas. And when the holy Feast of the Epiphany of Our Lord was over, King Rederech commanded that gifts be brought into his royal presence, gifts worthy of his liberality, and given to the jester. But the jester turned his nose up, scornfully and disdainfully, at all the King's gifts. "Sure," he protested loudly, "I have enough and to spare of such baubles in me own country! Whereupon the King asked him with great patience what he would be willing to accept from his royal hands. "Well, sire," answered the jester, "it's like this. Gold and silver I don't need, for, your Majesty, all the streets of my native country are paved with gold and silver. As for fine clothes, well, just look at the fine clothes I do be wearing, and me only a jester!" (And sure enough his clothes were elegant and rich enough to make a peacock turn green with envy, which was not at all surprising, seeing that his royal master had fitted him out for the occasion from his own wardrobe.) "What about a horse, then?" asked the King. "Would you accept a richly caparisoned horse from the royal stables?" "A horse, Sire?" exclaimed the jester, and he threw back his head and laughed so long and so loud that the courtiers stuck their fingers in their ears to keep out the noise. "A horse, did you say? A horse to an Irishman? Why, bless you, the whole world knows that every true son of Erin is born with a silver, or even a golden, stirrup in his mouth, and that all that he has to do when he wants a horse is to open his mouth and whistle for one!" "But," he added with a sly grin, "if Your Royal Highness really wants me to leave your country feeling that I have been well rewarded, let me have a plateful of fresh blackberries!" On hearing these words they were all convulsed with laughter, King, courtiers, and servants, because they thought he must be joking. "You are a joker!" exclaimed a staid counsellor of the King, digging the jester in the ribs. "That's the best joke I've heard in years!" cried another counsellor, as he slapped the jester on the back and made him gasp for breath. "Fresh blackberries in January! And a plateful of them too!" "Haw-haw, haw-haw !" roared yet a third, wiping the tears from his eyes. "Are all your Irish jesters as funny as you?" Even the King laughed outright, until the jester repeated that he would accept nothing from him but a plateful of blackberries, fresh ones too! "Blackberries," he said, "or nothing! I'm not joking. I'm dead in earnest!" They tried to coax him to change his mind. They pleaded with him. They made him the most extravagant promises. They brought out the most costly and wonderful gifts and spread them out before his eyes. He would have none of them. It must be either the plateful of fresh blackberries, or nothing at all. And when at last there were no more gifts left in the King's palace to show to him the jester rose to his feet in the midst of the silent company, and turning to the King he said: "Sire, I wish to go home, to my own country. But let it be known to you all, that going from your country empty-handed I shall take your Majesty's good name for generosity and liberality with me. I will tell the entire world that you are so mean that you refused to give me a plateful of fresh blackberries!" There was a moment of stunned silence at these words, and then the soot-grimed rafters of the King's hall reverberated with shouts and yells of indignation that burst from the courtiers and soldiers. King Rederech quelled the uproar with a gesture, and then, gathering around him his most trusted counsellors, he asked them to advise him what to do. Some were for letting the jester cool his heels in the deepest dungeon of the palace. Some were all for splitting open his Irish head to see what was it that made him ask for fresh blackberries in the middle of January. But others advised the King to take his problem to that holy man of God, Kentigern. This advice struck the King as excellent, and so, having given orders to the captain of the guard to prevent the jester from leaving the palace while he was away, King Rederech hurried to the cell of Kentigern. He found that holy man absorbed in prayer, as was his wont, and had to wait some little time before he came out of his ecstasy. At last, however, he came to himself with a great sigh, and seeing the troubled face of the King asked him gently what the matter might be that he looked so troubled. The King told him, briefly and feelingly. Would Kentigern, therefore, he asked with great humility, obtain with his fervent prayers to God what the jester wanted? Kentigern was clearly not very willing to do so. "Why," he asked the King, "should I waste my prayer, poor as it is, on such trifles?" "Yet," he went on after a short pause, "since, on the one hand, I know that you are deeply attached to God and His Church, and, on the other, I can see with my own eyes that your faith needs to be strengthened, I will do as you wish. Now let me think!" He was silent for a few moments, his chin cupped in his hands, and the King could see that he was both thinking hard and praying. Suddenly he looked up and said: "Last summer, when you were out hunting one day, you threw away the cloak that you were wearing, both because of the great heat that day and because you wanted to be freer to follow the hounds. Either because you forgot all about it, or else because you did not think it worthwhile, you did not go back to where you took it off. Can you remember the place?" "My Lord and Bishop," answered the King, somewhat puzzled by the turn that the conversation had taken, "I remember both the occasion and the place." "Very well then! Go quickly to the place, and you will find that cloak of yours, still undamaged, spread out over a thorny bush. Look under it, and you will find your blackberries in abundance, fresh and ready to be picked. You will pick them, and with them you will satisfy this funny man's request." The King rose to his feet and was about to rush off to do as he had been commanded, when the Saint stopped him with a gesture. "At the same time," he said smiling at his sovereign, "you will do your best to honour God more and more in every way possible, seeing that He has not allowed your honour to be diminished or tarnished in such a trifling thing as this." Bowing profoundly, King Rederech turned and made a bee-line for the low door of Kentigern's cell. As he reached it and was on the point of rushing out into the open, the saintly Bishop called after him. "Don't forget to take a plate with you! he warned him dryly. "A big plate. You will need it !" As swiftly as he could the King ran back to the palace, rushed round to the back entrance, and burst into the royal kitchen. The cook, who had just placed in his capacious mouth a dainty morsel of a fat chicken that he was preparing for his master's table, almost choked over it as he met the royal eyes. "Quick, man!" shouted the King excitedly. "Get the biggest plate you have, the biggest, mind you, and come with me!" "Co - come with you, Sire?" stuttered the cook as he tried to bolt the piece of chicken in his mouth. "Co - come with you?" "Yes, you dolt!" was the impatient reply. "Come with me, that's what I said. We are going to pick blackberries!" "To pick blackberries?" repeated the cook in a tone of voice that clearly indicated what he thought of his master's state of mind. "To pick blackberries Sire?" "Yes, yes, blackberries. To pick blackberries! they are under my cloak!" "Under your cloak, Sire?" gasped the cook, looking open-mouthed at his royal master, quite convinced now that he was either drunk or mad. "Did you say under your cloak, Sire?" "Not this cloak, you idiot!" snapped back the King. "My other cloak. It's hanging on a thorny bush out there. Come now! Get that plate, will you!" Shaking his head as if to shake himself out of a dream, the cook picked up a plate of such dimensions that the King gaped at it in dismay. "What is that?" he asked. "Our biggest plate, Sire. It's a charger. Will it do?" The King hesitated for a moment. Then Kentigern's warning to him to take a big plate echoed in his ears, and he said: "Yes, that one will do. Put it under your arm and come with me." Casting a mournful look at the chicken sizzling away on its spit over the peat fire, the cook thrust the huge plate under his arm and followed the King, who had already disappeared through the kitchen door. Without a moment's hesitation King Rederech made for a gap in the forest some three miles from the palace. A thin layer of snow covered the ground, and there was snow in the biting north wind that whistled eerily across the wasteland between the palace and the dense undergrowth of the distant forest. The King, however, and the cook were too excited, for different reasons, to notice the cold. Panting and gasping for breath, they at last came to the gap in the trees raced through it, and came to a clearing with a clump of thorny bushes in the centre. And there, sure enough, was the King's cloak, spread out over one of the bushes, as Kentigern had said, and concealing it from view. "There it is!" cried the King excitedly, pointing to the cloak. "There's my cloak! And it looks as new and clean as the day I threw it off nearly seven months ago!" Watched with intense curiosity and awe by the cook, King Rederech went cautiously up to the bush. Step by step, almost as if he were afraid that the cloak might suddenly take flight like a wild goose, he drew nearer and nearer to it, until finally he could touch it. There was no doubt about it. It was his own cloak, the very one he had thrown off the previous summer and had not bothered to retrieve. Timidly he stretched out a hand and grasped hold of it. He lifted it, slowly at first, and then with a sudden, violent jerk that sent it flying through the air to one side. The King did not see where it fell. His eyes were fixed on the bush. What he saw there brought a gasp of wonder and fear to his lips, a gasp that was echoed noisily by the cook standing behind him. The bush was a mass of blackberries such as neither the King nor the cook had ever seen in their lives. Even the leaden light of that January afternoon could not dull the brilliant sheen of their bursting skins. They were blackberries fit for any King to give to the man that he had a mind to honour! But, if they were fit for a King to give away, they must be fit for a King to eat! The thought had no sooner flashed across King Rederech's mind than he was on his knees in front of the bush and cramming blackberries into his mouth as fast as he could pick them. The cook did not wait to be invited. Falling down on his knees beside his royal master he too started to push fistfuls of the miraculous blackberries into the vast cavern of his mouth as fast as and faster than, the King. For the next ten minutes there was complete silence except for the moaning of the wind through the trees and the crunching of two sets of teeth on the juicy fruit of the bush. Suddenly the King stopped eating, and looked guiltily at his companion, the dark juice of the blackberries dripping from the corners of his mouth. "That will be enough now, cook!" he snapped crossly. "Don't make a pig of yourself! Leave some for that Irish jester! Where's that shield of yours?" The cook licked his lips, drew the back of his hand across his mouth, and sighed. "Can't we eat some more of these blackberries, Sire? they are as numerous as the stars in the heavens! And as wonderful!" "No, there's no time to be lost. We must fill that plate of yours and carry it to the palace. Quick now!" So saying, he set to work to pick the blackberries and to heap them up on the charger. The cook did likewise, and between them they soon stripped the bush of its miraculous load, so that not a single blackberry was left on it. Then, with the plate firmly clasped in both hands and resting on his stomach, the cook carried the fruit back to the palace, while at his side the King walked in silence, absorbed in deep thought, and every now and then dipping his hand into the mass of blackberries and stuffing the fruit into his mouth. On reaching the palace, King Rederech ordered the cook to follow him into the rush-strewn hall where the courtiers and the jester were waiting impatiently for him to return. The guards sprang to attention as the King swept past them with all the nonchalance of a man who goes picking blackberries every day in the heart of a Scottish winter. The courtiers and the jester all leaped to their feet at the sight of the King, and all made a profound obeisance to him as he walked majestically to his throne followed by the cook with the black-berries. And as they raised themselves up from their deep bow they caught sight of the huge charger piled high with the miraculous blackberries. A mighty gasp of astonishment and disbelief broke from them, but the King pretended not to hear. Calmly he sat down on the throne, calmly he called for the jester, and calmly he said to him as he pointed to the blackberries heaped high on the charger: "Here is what you asked for, my good man. Take it, it is yours. Eat them all. I can assure you that they are as fresh as any you will ever find in your own country. You cannot do any harm now to the fame that I have won as a man of kingly liberality, because the Hand of God is with me, working miracles through His servant Kentigern. And if this is not enough to convince you that, by the grace of God, I am as generous as you have heard in Ireland, you are at liberty to remain here if you should so wish. I do not want to appear less generous to you than to others who have come to my court from far-off lands." At the sight of the huge plateful of sparkling blackberries, gathered for him fresh from their parent tree against the ordinary course of nature, the jester was filled with a great fear. And when he had heard from the King's own lips the story of the miracle that God had worked through Kentigern, he cried out with a loud voice: "Sure, O King, and there isn't another the likes of you among all the kings of the earth, not one that could hold a candle to you for your bountiful generosity! And sure, there is no one neither to bate Kentigern, magnificent in his holiness, deserving of all praise, and working miracles, for has he not worked a miracle this day under my very eyes and against all my expectations? From this moment I will never leave your palace, O King, nor will I ever leave your service, but for as long as I live I will be your man!" True to his word the jester remained at the court of King Rederech and continued to serve him by means of his art. Until one day, brought face to face with himself by the fear of God which is the beginning of all true wit and wisdom, he turned aside from his jester's ways, set his feet firmly in the paths of righteousness, and gave himself, body and soul, to the service of the God of Kentigern.
Queen Languueth was deep in trouble of her own brewing, and knew not how to get herself out of it before it was too late. To make matters worse, if that was possible, the only person who might have been able to help her save her royal neck from the executioner's axe was absent on one of his missionary expeditions in the wild fastnesses of the north. And to help her he would have to work a miracle! It would not have been an easy task to find a woman more fortunate, more privileged than Queen Languueth. As the lawful wife of King Rederech she had everything a woman could ask for, untold wealth, pleasure unrestricted, honours without number, a doting and most perfect husband, and a son as wonderful as a miracle child should be. Yet Queen Languueth had been unfaithful to her royal husband, unfaithful to their marriage bed. She had not kept the faith to King Rederech that was expected of her. As so often happens, abundance of riches, exuberance of pleasures, and high position had set fire to her carnal desires and fed the fire as with tinder. There was at court a certain youthful warrior who, for the perishable beauty of his mortal body, seemed to the Queen to be as fresh as the spring in his unspoiled attractiveness and handsome face, and beautiful in form beyond all others of the royal court. On this paragon of physical perfection Queen Languueth turned lascivious eyes. Nor did she find it difficult to persuade him to share her royal couch with her for he was by nature quite sufficiently inclined to give his Queen such a service even without any encouragement from Her Majesty. With the passing of the weeks their illicit pleasures indulged in time and time again took such a hold on both of them and became so overpowering in their sweetness since, as Solomon puts it, stolen waters are sweeter, and hidden bread more pleasant - that soon they were entangled in the coils of a love as blind as their first act of adultery had been rash. Imprudently, then, and shamelessly she gave to her lover a gold ring, with a priceless gem in it that her lawful spouse the King had presented to her as a symbol of love between himself and his wife. But her lover, with even greater imprudence, took the ring and put it on his finger; in so doing he threw wide open the doors of suspicion to all who had eyes in their heads. A certain member of the King's entourage came thus to uncover the Queen's secret affair with the young warrior, and began to whisper it in the King's ear. The King was naturally reluctant to listen to or believe what could only be to his own dishonour and his wife's disgrace. So true is it, as the ancient saw has it, that - "Deaf ear the fond husband has for the accuser of his loved spouse. 'Gainst the accuser, not the accused, more ready is he his spite to rouse!" But the accuser of Queen Languueth could draw the King's attention to the ring on the warrior's finger in proof of the adultery. By this means he got the King to admit that things looked black for the Queen, and so stirred up in the King's heart a devouring fire of jealousy. Once he had been convinced of the secret liaison between the Queen and her warrior-lover he dissimulated with the serenity of his face the raging anger towards them aroused in him by his discovery of the Queen's infidelity and the warrior's disloyalty. He even showed himself more cheerful and familiar than had been his wont towards them. One very fine day the King went a-hunting. He summoned the warrior to go with him, and so in the company of many beaters with dogs he headed for the woods and forests. There the dogs were unleashed, and the beaters scattered through the trees, leaving the King alone with the warrior. After a time they came to the banks of the River Clyde where both King and warrior were glad to take a short nap on the grassy sward beneath a shady tree. There the warrior, wearied by the chase and the heat of the day, fell at once into a deep sleep, his head resting on his outstretched arm, his hand wide open, all unsuspecting. The King also was tired so that he would fain have slept, but the passion of jealousy raging in his heart kept him wide awake though he pretended to be asleep. When, therefore, through half-closed eyes he caught the sudden glint of the ring on the finger of his sleeping companion he was filled with a terrible rage so that he could hold his hand back from the sword at his side only with the greatest difficulty. He suppressed, however, the anger driving him to shed the adulterer's blood; instead, carefully and gently, he slipped the ring from the man's finger and threw it violently, as if it were something evil, into the river at their feet. Then he shook the warrior awake and told him to call the rest of the party and to return to the palace. The warrior, still only half awake and rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, had no thought for the ring. He did as the King had instructed him, and it was only when he reached the palace that he noticed he had lost the ring. On entering the palace, surrounded by his party, the King met the Queen who was coming from her bed-chamber. She greeted him in the usual way, but to her horror and dismay she heard from his lips not a greeting but accusation on accusation, insults and terrifying threats. With glaring eyes and livid countenance he demanded: "Where is my ring, the ring I gave you to keep for me? Where is it?" "Why," she stammered in terror, I keep it for safety in my jewel case!" "Bring it to me at once!" said the King. "At once, do you hear?" Terrified out of her wits at this unexpected twist in her affairs, Queen Languueth nonetheless succeeded in hiding her terror as she swept through the silent ranks of courtiers and hurried to her private apartments as if to get the ring. She had not lost all hope yet, for no sooner was she out of the King's sight than she dispatched one of her ladies-in-waiting to find her warrior- lover, to warn him of the enraged sovereign's peremptory request for the ring, and to tell him to send it to her with all speed. "Go back to your mistress," said the warrior who had discovered the loss of the fatal ring, "Go back at once to your mistress and tell her I've lost the ring, and if she asks where, tell her I don't know!" And with that, terrified to face his royal master, he took steps to save his neck by going into hiding. Meanwhile the Queen, playing for time, went on pretending she couldn't remember where she had put the ring, but that she was looking for it everywhere and would give it to her spouse as soon as she found it. The longer he waited the more furious he became. Many times he called her an adulteress, and over and over again he uttered a great oath. "May God," he shouted, "do this and this to me, may God punish me even more, if I fail to judge you according to the law of adultery, if I fail to condemn you to a most shameful death! You have sinned with that young adulterer, you have preferred him to me, your royal spouse, who have made you the consort of my nuptial bed and the Queen of my kingdom! You have sinned in the dark. But I will expose you, I will trumpet forth your disgrace in the light of this sun, I will unmask your shame to your own face!" After a great deal more of this language the King was prevailed upon, by all his courtiers, but only with the greatest difficulty, to take no action against the Queen for a few days. Grudgingly he granted her three days' grace; but commanded her to be thrown into the dungeons. In the deep gloom of her prison the unfortunate and foolish woman began to imagine that she was already dead, for death was indeed not far off. Yet no less cruelly was she tormented by her guilty conscience. How oppressive, how unbearable, is the damning witness of a guilty conscience! A man under sentence of death may yet have peace around him; but he is truly wretched and in the grip of internal confusion whose conscience keeps him in a state of perpetual agitation and remorse. So it was with this faithless woman whose soul was in bitter conflict with itself. With contrite heart, nonetheless, and humbled beneath the weight of her mortal peril, she turned to God. With tearful prayer she besought Him not to enter into judgement with His servant, but rather to deign to use towards her the same infinite mercy He had once used towards another adulteress, towards the woman caught in the very act of her sin and by her captors thrown at His feet for judgement and condemnation. It was then that the unhappy woman was inspired by the Lord to hit upon the plan that was to pluck her from danger. She decided to send her most trusted messenger to find the holy man Kentigern, to pour out to him the whole miserable affair and misfortune, and to implore him, her one and only hope, to think of a remedy for so great a disaster. She begged him, moreover, to try at least to use his great influence with the King on her behalf for there was no favour so great that the King would want to, or could, or should refuse to grant him. But, where to find that holy man? For many weeks he had been absent on one of his frequent missionary excursions into the pathless wilderness of the mountains and straths of the north in search of souls to win over to his Lord. Like a flaming torch afire and light-giving with the Gospel of Christ he sought to dissipate the darkness of falsehood and ignorance from the minds of men with the effulgent beams of his virtues, to set on fire with the love of God hearts that had grown cold; and to burn up the thorns of sin and the under-growth of vice that the ancient curse had spread over the earth like an impenetrable forest. No one could hide himself from the heat of his zeal. Time and time again he passed through his vast diocese, plucking out from among his people all their false gods and destroying every trace of strange cults. In this way he prepared the way for his Lord and made straight His paths so that little by little the Christian religion in his territory was in a more flourishing state than ever before. After he had attended to the diocese the soldier of Christ, burning with the fire of the Holy Spirit, had directed his steps to remoter districts, to the country of the Picts. This also he had cleansed of the filth of idolatry and the contagion of heretical doctrines. By means of stupendous miracles he had corrected whatever he found contrary to Christian belief and practice. Nor had the ardour of his devotion and zeal grown less in the midst of such great labours; rather he had dreamed of even greater labours and prepared himself to carry the Gospel of peace beyond the confines of his own country for the glory and praise of the Name of the Most High. So he had decided to go to the wild mountains of the north. There, in the unceasing sweat of his brow, exposed countless times to dangers of death from its barbarian inhabitants, but fearless in the strength of his faith in the help and grace of his Lord, he strove to convert with his preaching and miracles the entire land to the Christian religion and practice. Many were the churches he built there and many the priests ordained, bishops consecrated. Nor did he neglect to found many monasteries there under his rule and governed by men trained and formed by himself. Later still, when he was an old man and unable any longer to bear the burden of travel, he would send those of his followers whom he knew to be strong in faith, fervent in charity, outstanding in learning and advanced in religious perfection, to carry the Name of God and the faith of Jesus Christ to the remote islands of the north, to the Orcadian shores and to Norway. Fearless standard-bearer of the army of the Lord and unconquerable warrior that he was he could not rest on his laurels but must, even in extreme old age, fight the battles of God for the salvation of many souls. At the close of each missionary expedition Kentigern was in the habit of returning to his native Glasgu, to attend to the affairs of his diocese before setting out on another expedition. He was, in fact, at the gates of the town when Queen Languueth's messenger came out mounted on a fleet- footed horse to go in search of him. As the messenger reined in his steed and brought it, rearing on its hind legs, to a sudden stand-still at sight of Kentigern, that holy man called out to him: "Get a hook and line. Go to the river. Stand on the bank and cast the hook in. Then bring me at once the first fish you catch! Off you go!" He had no sooner finished than the Queen's messenger was off in a great flurry of flying hooves and dust, first back to the palace to get the hook and line, and then to the river. There was no need for him to ask the holy Bishop what connection there could be between the Queen's desperate situation and the fish he knew he was going to catch. He understood even as he put spurs to his horse and sent it hurtling through the forest that the whole sad story of the Queen's affair had been revealed to Kentigern by the Spirit of Truth long before the Queen had been inspired to seek his aid. On reaching the river the messenger did as Kentigern had commanded him, cast the hook into the rushing waters as far as he could, and waited until he felt a sudden, sharp and strong tug on the line. Swiftly he pulled in the line, and there, struggling to free itself from the hook, he saw a large fish, which the common people of the country call a salmon. Slinging it over the horse's back, he put spurs once more to its flanks and sped back to Kentigern who was waiting for him at the gate of the town. That holy man instructed one of his monks to rip open the salmon and pull out its inside. And there, glittering in the red mass of the salmon's viscera was the Queen's ring! Kentigern took and wiped it clean and gave it to the messenger saying: "Take it at once to your mistress!" When the Queen saw the fatal ring in the messenger's hand she stared at it unbelievingly, put her left hand over her heart and gaped in an unqueenly manner, first at the ring and then at the smiling messenger. Finally she stretched out her right hand and took the ring from him. It was true. It was the ring. She felt as if her heart would break with the joy of it. She opened her mouth and laughed as she had laughed when her child had been born, a laugh of sheer exultation and gratitude, as of one whose sorrow had been turned into joy, and whose sentence of cruel and shameful death had been blotted out in an ecstasy of exaltation and deliverance. She rushed headlong through the open door of her death cell, burst into the court-room where the King her husband was deliberating with his counsellors what course of action to take, fell breathless at his feet, and held up the ring to him. As one in a dream he took the ring and gazed at it, then at her, then at the ring again, and again at her, in silence. And silent, too, was every man and woman around him as each gazed spellbound at the ring glittering in the King's hand. The silence was broken by a great cry of anguish that broke from King Rederech as he threw himself on the floor by the Queen's side and begged her forgiveness, for both he and his court with him were sorely distressed over the insults they had heaped on her. On his knees in front of her the King swore a solemn oath that she had but to say the word and he would punish her accusers most severely by exile or death. Like a wise woman, however, the Queen understood that not judgement and condemnation but mercy was the wish of all. She desired then herself that the King should be merciful, for of the servant in the Parable it was said he should have had mercy on his fellow servant. "My Lord King" she said, looking at him timidly, "far be it from me that anyone should suffer on my account. Yet if you really want me sincerely to forgive you the wrong you have done me you must put out of your heart every feeling of anger against my accuser, even as I have done." On hearing this all were filled with admiration and praise. And so the King was reconciled to his Queen, and the accuser to both King and Queen in the bonds of fraternal peace and mutual love. Queen Languueth did not forget her debt to Kentigern. As soon as she could, she went to the man of God and made the confession of her sins to him. Nor did she fail to carry out the penance he imposed on her in satisfaction for her crime; she took great care to emend her life so that never again did she fall into the transgression that had come so near to robbing her of her life in this world and the next. In this fashion, then, did the Lord, seated on the right hand of the Father, repeat through his beloved Kentigern what He had once worked on earth in the days of His mortal flesh. At His command Peter had cast a hook into the Lake of Galilee, had drawn out the first fish he had caught, and had found in its mouth the drachma he had then paid for his Master and himself. So also, at the command of holy Kentigern, and in the Name of the same Lord, Jesus Christ, the Queen's messenger had cast the hook into the river, had caught the salmon, had brought it to the Saint, and had found in it, when it was opened, the fatal ring which was to snatch the Queen from a double death. In both miracles, as it seems to us, to Caesar was given what was Caesar's, to God what was God's. For in the drachma, to Caesar was restored his likeness, while in the ring, recovered and restored to its owner, the flesh was freed from death, and the soul, made to the likeness of God, was freed from sin and restored to God.
It was not to be expected that a man like the holy Abbot Columba, whom the English call Columcille, should not be filled with an intense desire to meet the blessed Kentigern and to see for himself how much truth there was in the reports of his saintly and heavenly manner of life. From the glorious monastery he had set up on the island of Iona his own fame had spread through all the land as a man wonderful for his deep learning and virtuous life, and extraordinary for the gift of prophetic utterance received from God which revealed to his spirit things to come. Yet this man desired to exult not for a passing hour but at length in the light of Kentigern. Reports from many sides of his holiness and stupendous miracles only filled him with greater desire to go to Kentigern, to visit him in his monastery, to look on his face, to unite himself more closely to him by getting to know him better, and to consult him about the things that lay nearest his heart. On a certain day, then, the blessed man Columba set sail for the shores of the Clyde, to which a gentle breeze wafted his thistle-down-light coracle over sapphire blue seas laughing in the sun. With him went a multitude of his own disciples and many others too, all desirous to see the face of the man of God, and to examine for themselves the reports of his miraculous works. Never before had there been such a numerous pilgrimage! When Columba drew near the place known as Mellindenor where the man of God was then living, he divided his numerous party into three groups and sent on ahead a messenger to announce to the holy Bishop the arrival of himself and of his followers. The news filled Kentigern with joy. He gathered his monks and followers around him, divided them into three groups, and set out in procession to the sound of spiritual canticles to meet Columba. At the very head of the procession walked the most youthful of Kentigern's disciples, then came the older ones, and finally, behind these, in the company of Kentigern himself, advanced with stately steps the men whose hair had grown white in the pursuit of virtue, men venerable in countenance, gesture, habit, and old age itself. As they advanced all sang: "How great is the glory of the Lord in the ways of the Lord!" and repeated: "The way of the just has been made straight, and the path of the saints prepared" And as they sang they heard, borne on the wings of the wind through the pines of the forest, the sweet sounds of strange voices singing: "The saints shall go from strength to strength. The God of gods will be seen in Sion. Alleluia!" When the two processions came in sight of one another some of Columba's monks asked him: "Where do you think the man of God Kentigern will be? Is he in the first group of singers?" "No" answered holy Columba, "He is not in the first group, nor in the second. The good priest comes with the third group" They were anxious to know how he could be so sure "I see a fiery column," he told them as one who saw a vision, "like a golden crown encrusted with starry gems coming down from Heaven over his head. I see a splendour of heavenly brightness enfolding him and covering him on all sides with its glory. I see the fiery column and the splendour of glory returning to the upper regions! By these clear signs he shines forth as God's elected one, as one sanctified by God even as Aaron who was clothed with light as with a garment and crowned with a golden crown, the symbol of holiness." So those two godlike men met in the shadow of the great pines of the forest and there they fell into one another's arms and kissed in the love of the Lord. There they refreshed their souls with spiritual food, and there too they sat down to refresh their bodies with the food of mortal men. Far be it from us to try to express the sweetness that filled the holy hearts of Kentigern and Columba as they spoke of the things of God. Not to us, nor to all others like us, is it given to search out the sweetness of the heavenly manna hidden and unknown except to those who have tasted it. Now while these two holy men were engrossed in their conversation about the mighty works of God and His love, some of the companions of St. Columba fell into sin. Unworthy sons of so great a man, they allowed themselves to be carried away by their evil habits and wandered from the ways of the man of God. For even as the Ethiopian cannot change the colour of his skin, so the man who has grown old in stealing or robbery can change his evil way only with great difficulty. They had followed in the steps of Columba but moved by curiosity, not pious desire, to see the holy man of God, Kentigern. They wished to feed their carnal imaginations on idle stories of his miracles, not to warm their hearts at the furnace of his love for God, not to learn from his example and word how to live in the faith and love of God. They had heard stories of his marvellous doings, of how he had restored sight to the blind, hearing to the deaf, movement to the crippled, speech to the dumb. They had listened also to the stories of the fevers he had quelled, of the devils he had driven from bodies long oppressed by them, of the insane men and women who had regained their sanity at a word from Kentigern. They had gaped in wide-eyed astonishment at the stories of the sick without number who had been cured merely by touching the hem of his garments, or even by his shadow as he passed. And they had seen for themselves these miraculous garments of the holy man, garments that neither torrential rain, nor smothering snow, nor keen-edged hail had power to touch so that not only the holy man himself but his companions also around him passed unscathed through the most violent storms. They had heard these glorious deeds of Kentigern, those sons of Belial, but it was as if they heard nothing, as will appear. On the way to meet Kentigern these evil men had seen a flock of the holy Bishop's sheep grazing in a distant field. When, therefore, Columba and the rest of his followers were being entertained by Kentigern and his monks, they slipped away unseen and directed their footsteps by dark and devious paths, as the Scriptures have it, to the meadow where they had seen the sheep. There, despite the stout resistance and frantic shouts of the shepherd, they snatched from the flock the fattest wether. The shepherd commanded them again and again in the Name of the Most Holy Trinity and by the authority of Kentigern to desist from their evil intention to commit such a robbery, nay, such a sacrilege, against the flock of the holy Bishop. He pleaded with them to ask Kentigern to let them have the wether if they were so anxious to have it for without doubt he would grant their request. But one of them drove off the shepherd after he had given him many blows and even threatened to kill him. Then they dragged the wether to the shelter of the forest where one of the robbers hacked off its head with his sword. After this they sat down to discuss how they might take the carcass away in order to skin it in a place and at a time that would not betray their crime, and so prepare it at their leisure for the uses they had in mind. As they deliberated thus something wonderful indeed to see took place. The headless wether rose from the carpet of gory pine-needles and, before the horrified eyes of the robbers, raced with incalculable speed back to the flock and collapsed in its midst. At the same instant the amputated head was turned into stone that stuck, as if by some most powerful glue, to the hands of the man who had cut it off and was still holding it! And the same men who had been able to overtake, catch, and hold the wether when it was entire and to cut off its head, were now quite unable by following, first, and then running alongside the headless trunk to lay hold on it. Nor could they tear from their companions hands the head turned to stone, no, not even when they all tried to pull it off. They became as stones then, those men, and their hearts died in them, and became as stone like the hearts of men carrying stones in their breasts. They were about to turn and take to their heels away from the scene of their crime and punishment when the wretch whose hands were imprisoned in the horror of that head pleaded with them to take him to Kentigern! His prayer stopped them dead in their tracks. They looked at one another in astonishment, then fell to discussing their unfortunate companion's request, uncertain what to do. At last they came to see the soundness of his arguments and in a body, sheepishly, they returned to Kentigern's monastery and threw themselves at the holy man's feet. Covered with confusion and weeping tears of repentance, they begged him to forgive them. The holy Bishop rebuked them but gently and with a smile in his eyes and warned them against presuming to commit any more crimes of fraud, of theft, of robbery, and what was even more abominable, of sacrilege. He then set them free from the double bond of their sin and of the petrified head, commanded the carcass of the slaughtered wether to be handed over to them, and allowed them to take their leave. But the petrified head may still be seen in the same place where it stands to this day, a proof of the miracle we have just narrated, and where it extols, though dumb, the merits of Kentigern. The miracle, it seems to us, is in great part no less wonderful than the miracle worked in Lot's wife, according to the book of Genesis. When the fire from Heaven, the avenger of heinous crimes against God, was commanded to wipe out the depraved destroyers of the use imposed by Nature of the generative faculties of man, and was about to consume them, Lot was warned by an Angel and by him was helped to escape the holocaust of Sodom overthrown and submerged in smoking pitch and slime. But not so his wife! In defiance of the divine command she stopped to look back and in that instant, was turned into rock, into an image of salt to be the relish in the food of brute beasts. In our miracle the head of a wether is turned into stone in order to confound the hardness of heart and the cruelty of those who steal what belongs to others. Now in the image of Lot's wife, as the Lord Himself teaches us, is to be found a warning to every faithful soul never to turn aside from any holy resolution. In the head changed into stone every Christian is taught never to commit a crime of theft, or fraud, or robbery, or any violence against the possessions of the Church, or the substance of the servants of God. After this miracle, and in the very place where it had been made manifest in the presence of the holy man Columba and many others, the two Bishops exchanged croziers in token and witness of their love for one another in Christ. The crozier given by holy Columba to the saintly Bishop Kentigern was jealously guarded for a long time in the church of St Wilfred, Bishop and Confessor, at Ripon, where, because of the great holiness of him by whom it had been given and of him by whom it had been accepted, it was held in deepest veneration. The two holy men spent some days together and spoke to one another of the things of God and what concerns the salvation of souls. And finally they bade each other farewell in the love of God and parted, never again to meet in this mortal life.
Weakened and worn out with extreme old age the man of God, Kentigern, began to suspect from the many cracks appearing in it that the total destruction of his earthly habitation was about to take place. Yet amid the ever-increasing rubble of his decaying years he found comfort for his weary soul in his faith in God most firmly founded in the Rock that was Christ. In the unshakeable solidity of that faith he was sure that after the destruction of his mortal dwelling there awaited him, prepared for him but not by any human hand, an everlasting dwelling-place in Heaven. When, therefore, both the advanced years of his body and its many infirmities had undermined and almost destroyed the perfect union of his muscles and joints, he was compelled to keep his chin and jaws in place by means of a linen cloth tied neither too tight nor too loose, over his head and under his chin. He did this , like the great gentleman he was, lest with his sagging chin and gaping mouth he should present a picture in any way unbecoming or embarrassing. The support was also a help to him to express more easily and articulately whatever he had a mind to say. The day finally dawned when this holy man, beloved of God and of his fellowmen, knew that the hour was fast approaching for him to pass out of this world to the Father of lights. He strengthened himself, then, with the Holy Anointing that is able to destroy sin, and fortified himself with the life-giving Sacrament of the Lord's Body and Blood, so that the ancient serpent, lying in wait to strike at his heel with its poisonous teeth and so inflict on him a mortal wound, was unable to harm him. Instead, its head was bruised by his heel so that it was forced to turn away in dire confusion. Thus did the Lord grind Satan into the ground under the feet of His servant lest that holy soul should be confounded at the moment when he was about to pass for ever out of Egypt the land of exile. Like the excellent look-out man he was, he kept his eyes fixed on the Lord confident that he would snatch him from the storms of this world. And now that he was drawing ever nearer to the shores of eternity, his ship was driven over tranquil seas to the harbour of interior peace where, safe at last from so many dangers of the deep, he would throw out the anchor of hope, securely tied to the ropes of his longings, on to safe and solid ground. He was ready to penetrate even to the other side of the veil where his Master Jesus had already gone before him for his sake. From that moment he awaited only his going forth from the tents of Kedar and his entrance into the Land of the Living. There, in the Holy City, in the heavenly Jerusalem, he, the glorious athlete of Christ, would receive from the hand of the Supernal King the crown of glory and the diadem of the Kingdom that is everlasting. He gathered, then, his monks around him and instructed them, as well as his failing strength allowed him to do, on the due observance of our holy religion, on the safe-guarding of fraternal charity and peace, on the duty of hospitality and on the need to faithful to constant prayer and the reading of the Scriptures. Above everything else, however, he warned them to keep themselves pure from every stain of the depravity that is simony, and to flee from all communion and intercourse with heretics and schismatics; and he left and bequeathed to them short but precious and forceful precepts on safe-guarding most firmly the decrees of the holy Fathers, and especially the laws and customs of Holy Church who is the Mother of us all. After this he gave to each one, kneeling humbly before him, the kiss of peace as was becoming. As best he could, he then lifted up his right hand and blessed them. With his last farewell to them he put them all under the safe-keeping of the Blessed Trinity and the protection of the holy Mother of God. And so he stretched himself out on his noble bed of stone. It was the signal for all to fill the air with the voice of wailing and weeping, and for sorrow to bring confusion and horror to their faces. Some of those, however, who were bound to the holy man of God with the bonds of a stronger love, threw themselves on their knees before him exclaiming: "Master! Bishop! We know that you long to be dissolved and to be with Christ! Your most venerable old age, long protracted, measurable only by a great number of years, no less than your spotless life, both demand it. Yet deign, we beseech you, to have mercy on us whom you have begotten in Christ! No matter what, through our human frailty, we have done amiss we have never failed to make amends for it according to the judgement of your discretion. Since, then, we no longer have the power to keep you for ourselves, beg the Lord to grant us the power to pass out of this vale of tears and to go with you on the journey to the vision and joy of your Master ! We believe and we say that the divine mercy will grant you anything you ask because from your youth the Will of God has ever been fulfilled at your hands. It is not right that a Bishop should make his entry into such happy, such heavenly mansions without one of his flock, a father with none of his sons! In fact, the happier and more renowned the places he is to enter, the greater is his duty to be attended by a more numerous company of his own people." With much abundance of tears they continued to beseech him in this manner till the man of God, stirred to the depths with compassion, drew what breath he could and gasped: "May God's Will be done for all of us. May he dispose of us as He knows best, as He pleases!" After this the holy man fell silent. His heart fixed on Heaven, he waited for his soul to go out from his body while his disciples kept watch over him as one on the threshold of death. And behold, even as the Morning Star, harbinger of the dawn, shone with fiery rays through the tattered mantle of murky night, and trumpeted in the light of day, an Angel of the Lord, clothed in unutterable splendour, appeared to him, and the brightness of God shone around him. Those keeping watch over the holy Bishop were struck with a great fear at the sight of the Angel, and the fragile clay of their bodies cracked under the blow so that, unable to carry the weight of so dazzling a brightness, they became as dead men. But that holy ancient of days, Kentigern, was strengthened by the vision and visit of the Angel. He no longer felt the burden of his years and of his infirmities. New strength flowed through him, so that he seemed to taste already something of the first-fruits of the blessedness soon to be his forever. So strengthened, he and the Angel spoke to one another as two most dear and intimate friends. This is what the heavenly Messenger said to him: "Kentigern, chosen and beloved of God! Rejoice exceedingly and be glad and let your soul magnify the Lord since He has shown great mercy to you. Your prayer has been heard, and the ear of God has listened to the longings of your heart. For it will be done to you as you wish with regard to your disciples who have implored you to take them with you on your journey home. Be steadfast, then, you and they, and you shall see the hand of the Lord helping you. Tomorrow you will go out of this body of death and pass into life that shall never cease where the Lord God will be with you and you will be with Him for evermore. And since your whole life in this world, Kentigern, has been a continual martyrdom, God is pleased to grant that for you death shall be easier than for other men. Tomorrow, then, you will have a hot bath prepared for you. You will step into it, and there without any pain you will fall asleep in the Lord, and in him you will rest in peace. As soon as you will have thus paid the debt due to Nature, before the water grows cold and while it is still warm from contact with you, these brethren of yours must step into the bath after you. At once they will be set free from the chains of life and will be your companions on your journey to Heaven, where they will be led into the glory of the Saints and with you enter into the joy of your Lord." With this the Angel vanished, the sound of his words was heard no more; but the holy man's cell and all those in it were filled with the sweetness of some wonderful and inexpressible fragrance. Then Kentigern gathered his disciples around his couch and carefully revealed to them why the Angel had appeared to him. After which he ordered them to get his bath ready according to what the Lord had commanded him through the Angel. And when the brethren heard what the mysterious Messenger had promised they could not find words to express their immense gratitude to the Almighty God and to their Father, Kentigern. Convinced as they were that all would happen as foretold, they prepared themselves in every possible way and fortified themselves with the divine Sacraments of the Church for the supreme moment promised by the Angel. At first dawn on the octave day of the Lord's Epiphany, a day on which each year the holy Bishop had been wont to baptise a multitude of candidates with his own gentle hands, a day, then, very dear to Kentigern and to the hearts of his spiritual children, the man of God was placed by the hands of these children in a vessel full of hot water which he had first blessed with the sign of the Cross. With bated breath the brethren stood round the bath to see the outcome. They had not long to wait, for when he had been in the bath a brief space of time the man of God lifted his hands to Heaven, closed his eyes, bowed his head and breathed forth his soul as if he were falling into a gentle slumber, so exempt did he seem to be from the pains of death, even as he had appeared in life to be preserved immune and whole from the corruption of our flesh and the allurements of the world. No sooner did his disciples see what had happened than they lifted his holy body out of the bath and began to plunge themselves eagerly into the water before it lost its heat. And thus, one by one, they fell asleep in the Lord most peacefully, and having tasted death with their Father, the holy Bishop, with him they passed to their everlasting abodes. The water of this bath merits to be compared with the water of the Gospel sheep-pool. That water had the power, every time it was stirred by an Angel from Heaven, to set free from any infirmity the first man only to touch it after the descent of the Angel. But even that man remained subject to death. This water, however, set free from every infirmity a numerous band of holy men to triumph with Christ for evermore. When the water of this wondrous bath grew cold, the remaining brethren distributed it among many persons in various places, for it had the virtue not only of driving out all fear of death but also every discomfort of death. Many, too, were the sick persons who were restored to robust health by drinking it or having it sprinkled over their ailing bodies. The brethren now stripped the holy man's body of his humble monastic habit, part of which they kept, part gave away as precious relics. Next they clothed him in sacred vestments worthy of so great a Bishop. Then, to the sound of hymns and psalms they bore him into the church on their shoulders, and the priests among them proceeded to offer the Sacrifice of the Saving Victim to God for his soul. Celebrating the religious rites with care and great devotion, the brethren buried, as decently as they knew how, that Treasury of every virtue, that precious Jewel, the body of holy Kentigern, at the right hand corner of the high altar according to the custom of the ancient Church in those parts. The sacred remains of all those of his brethren who had died with him were consigned to the grave in the cemetery with due decency and in the order in which they had passed out of this life after the holy Bishop. This, then was the manner of the blessed Kentigern's passing out of this world to the Father, full of days, for he was a hundred and sixty years of age, mature in merit, and famous for his miracles, his wonderful works, and his prophecies. From faith to vision, from labour to rest, from exile to the Fatherland, from the arena to the crown of victory, from the present wretchedness to everlasting glory he passed, a most blessed man for whom Heaven was thrown open, who penetrated into the Holy of Holies, who entered into the glory of the Lord when he was taken up among the Angelic hosts, welcomed by the Patriarchs and Prophets, admitted to the ranks of the Apostles, enrolled in the army of Martyrs marked with the royal purple of their own blood, united to the sacred Confessors of the Lord, and crowned with the spotless choirs of the Virgins. Nor is this to be wondered at. For he was in truth an Angel of the Lord both by his office and by his merits, an Angel who had preached peace and salvation in the Blood of Jesus Christ to those who were afar and to those who were near, an Angel whose lips had safe-guarded the true science, and from whose mouth many had sought and found the law of God. He was also the prophet of God for he had known many hidden things, had foreseen and foretold many things in the womb of the future. He is rightly called, for such he was, the Apostle of the Cambrian region, for the inhabitants of that region, as well as many other peoples, are the sign of his apostolate. Rightly, too, is he called a martyr for not only did he subject himself to an assiduous and unceasing martyrdom of mortification for the sake of Christ, but he also proved that he had his heart ready to face any kind of death, if the occasion should arise, for the Name of Christ. For that Name and for the defence of truth and justice, Kentigern had often exposed himself to persecutions, proscriptions, machinations, and the sword of the enemies of the Cross of Christ. Decisively and gloriously he had triumphed over the flesh, the world, the devil and his followers. And surely a man's proper name is "Christ's Confessor" if he fears not to confess the Name of Christ before nations and kings, if he brings them all to call upon the Name of Christ, to embrace the Christian Faith, to sing the praises of God and to confess their sins. Nonetheless by a special prerogative his was the splendour, his the glory of the Virgins for he was able always to draw from the tamarisk the sweetness of balsam, and to pluck from the nettle the purity of the lily. It is said, in fact, that not once during the whole course of his abode in this weak and perishable body did he darken even by a look the brightness of this angelical purity; in the vessel of clay that was his body he guarded jealously the heavenly treasure of his chastity. He was thus able to wing his way from his virginal body to the white-robed ranks of the Virgins, to stand spotless before the Throne of God and of the Lamb, to follow Him wherever He might go, and to sing the new song that no-one may sing but those who have not besmirched their garments. Rightly, then, is this holy man a companion and fellow- citizen of the saints, a sharer in their glory, for in all his life he had lived with the saints of God, all his life he had striven to please the Saint of Saints, the Sanctifier of all saints, had striven to serve Him, to cling to Him, to become one spirit with Him. For all eternity he is now united with Him, for evermore he is glorified by Him, everlastingly he lives with Him. Thus did the spirit of that holy man, Kentigern, pass to the starry skies while the Mother of all men, the Earth, gathered into her womb what she had given him. But the mighty power of miracles that had flourished in him alive could not perish under a clod of earth, could not be buried by a mass of stones. It burst out into the open. From the day of his burial to the present, as is well known, his sacred bones have burgeoned with uncounted miracles. These, and the blessings of every kind granted to men and women suffering from all sorts of diseases, never cease to bear witness that this just man is held in unfading memory in Heaven and on earth. At his tomb the blind receive their sight, the deaf their hearing, the lame the power to walk, the dumb their speech; at his tomb the leper's skin is made clean, the paralytic's members are healed, the insane man's madness destroyed. At his tomb also are punished with just penalties impious, sacrilegious, perjured men, as well as violators of the peace of his church and despoilers of that holy spot, as may be seen from what happened once upon a time to a certain thief who stole a cow from the brethren and led it out of Glasgu under cover of darkness. What was their astonishment and joy when early next morning they found the beast alive but tied to the feet of the thief lying near the tomb of Kentigern, cold and dead! So also, of a great number of men, guilty of sins of the flesh, who have not hesitated to defile that sacred spot with their foul presence, some have been struck down by sudden death, some have suffered mutilation of their members, and some have been punished with incurable and often lingering diseases. Such, too, have often been the penalties suffered by those who dared break the peace of that hallowed place. And those who presumed to dishonour by means of some servile work the solemn Feast Day of the Saint, a day when it is the custom for the multitudes to come together from many parts and to gather in the church at Glasgu where his most sacred body lies at rest to pray for his intercession and to see his miracles, very often have been made to feel in themselves the weight of his displeasure for their crimes. Around that spot grew the burial ground of the city of How much to be feared, how greatly to be revered, is that holy place! For not only is it made beautiful by the pledges that so many holy and great men have entrusted to it, it is also adorned by the sacred and most precious spoils of the Confessor, Kentigern's mortality, made famous by so many of his miracles that if they were all to be written down they would fill huge tomes! Yet it is not only there that he still shines forth with the splendour of his miracles, though it is there that he does so most frequently and in particular on the day of his birth into eternity. In almost every place where his memory is venerated, in the churches and chapels and oratories dedicated to him he is still a most powerful helper of all those who, finding themselves in dire need and sore distress, turn to him with love and call upon him with trust. And if faith or solid reasons demand it he never fails to come to their aid with miracles to the praise and glory of Our Lord Jesus Christ, to Whom be glory, praise and honour, and power to the end of time and for everlasting ages! Amen. |
Wednesday, 13 January 2010
Saint Mungo 13 January
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