Shall I abandon, O King of mysteries, the soft comforts
of home? Shall I turn my back on my native land, and turn my face
towards the sea?
Shall I put myself wholly at your mercy, without silver,
without a horse, without fame, without honour? Shall I throw myself
wholly upon you, without sword and shield, without food and drink,
without a bed to lie on? Shall I say farewell to my beautiful land,
placing myself under your yoke?
Shall I pour out my heart to you, confessing my manifold
sins and begging forgiveness, tears streaming down my cheeks? Shall
I leave the prints of my knees on the sandy beach, a record of my
final prayer in my native land?
Shall I then suffer every kind of wound that the sea can
inflict? Shall I take my tiny boat across the wide sparkling ocean?
O King of the Glorious Heaven, shall I go of my own choice upon the
sea?
O Christ, will you help me on the wild
waves?
Attributed to St Brendan
THUS St Brendan prayed - according to an account written a few
centuries later - as he set out with his companions from the west
of Ireland, in the early sixth century. Their journey north and
west took them to islands along the way. On one, the birds sang
psalms and praised God. Another was occupied by blacksmiths, who
threw slag at them.
On yet another, they lit a fire, at which point the island - in
fact a whale - descended into the sea. At last, they reached the
promised land of the saints (and, perhaps, many have speculated,
North America), and thence returned home in peace, knowing that the
God who had protected them throughout was the source and end of all
their journeying.
In 1980, I was employed as a social-services home help in
Eastbourne. One of my regular calls was, not untypically, to an
elderly, eccentric lady, Miss Severin, who lived alone in a 1930s
villa, where the Old Town rises towards Beachy Head.
She told me proudly of her nephew, Tim, who, with a crew of
four, had repeated Brendan's voyage in a small, authentic
leather-clad boat a few years earlier, sailing via the Faroes and
Iceland to reach America, a journey well-known through his book
The Brendan Voyage.
St Brendan's prayer is entirely couched in questions. In this,
it gives comfort to all of us who struggle to find answers. The
saint's tearful, penitent, humbled leave-taking helps to express
our own uncertainty when embarking on any new or significant
venture. He recognises that any such departure risks - or even
guarantees - that we will, in some way, suffer. Like Brendan, our
boat and our confidence are often tiny, and the ocean that we face
is wide.
Christ, however, is here addressed as mighty, merciful, and
"King of the Glorious Heaven". There is someone to carry us and
defend us, fleeter than a horse and more effectual than sword and
shield.
The prayer's concluding question might suggest uncertainty, but
I hear, instead, something human, humble, and yet hopeful: "O
Christ, will you help me on the wild waves?"
Miss Severin subsequently set out on her own journey to the land
of the saints, by way of the local hospital. I, just beginning to
wonder what direction my own life should take, sat by her bed, and
began to recognise the awkward eloquence of the dying, which, with
few words, points towards the limitless horizon of an unassuming
life.
Whatever journeys invite or challenge us at this time - outward
or inward, within or ultimately from this world - may we set out
with the spirit of St Brendan's prayer, whose questions encourage
us in our frailty, and direct us to the one who is the source, and
end, of all our journeying.
The Revd Philip Martin is Vicar of St James's, Alderholt, in
the diocese of Salisbury.