‘St Monan and St Monans’
Good morning,
On Sunday, Maya and I had a walk on the coastal path. As we reached the windmill to the east of St Monans, we were struck by the light across the salt pans towards the village, the kirk and Newark Castle.
I was minister in St Monans (and Largoward) for ten years, leading worship in that medieval church with its witch’s hat steeple. They were wonderful years. While nothing in that decade resembled our current extraordinary circumstances, the community there still knew the range of human experiences which are happening now – illness, loss and bereavement, economic hardship, separation from loved ones, fear and isolation, and a deep care for neighbours especially the vulnerable. Much of what I have brought into the work of being chaplain in the University, I learned in the communities of St Monans and Largoward – selflessness, the ways that people heal, the trust they find to continue and to thrive, and often a trust in God.
One particular story I learned in St Monans may be apt today, the narrative of St Monan himself. Monan was probably a monk from Ireland, who was associated with Adrian, part of the monastic community on the Isle of May in the Firth of Forth. But it is also recorded that Monan lived alone, in ‘Invery’, which is still the name of the burn (spelled Inverie) in St Monans and the old name of the town. It is said that he lived on black bread and partans, the local word for crabs. People would come for cures from him, whom he would often brusquely send away. It is believed that he died in c. 874, possibly martyred at hands of Vikings.
After he died, some kind of church was built just over the Inverie burn, which was later rebuilt very grandly by King David II from 1362-69, who attributed a safe passage across stormy seas to the intercession of Monan.
These legends of St Monan are in keeping with the tradition of hermit monks in the Celtic tradition. There is an asceticism but also an openness to nature, to creation. This is not nature-worship, but the experience of encountering God in wilderness, and of solitude as the appropriate context for deepening our relationship with God, away from human distractions and temptations.
Our physical separation from each other may not be chosen by us. But Monan too may not have said he chose to be alone. Rather he felt he had to be alone, in order to live the life to which he felt called. Called to solitude or not, that is the life many of us have before us for the foreseeable future, either as individuals or households. I hope that we too can find in this time an encounter with ourselves, and perhaps with the divine, which is truthful, kindly and fruitful. The one way I will not be following St Monan for now is in eating the partans, as I’ve given up meat and fish for Lent.
Finally, here is a poem by a nineteenth century St Monans poet called Thomas Mathers which works well as a hymn. We sang it often in St Monans to the tune Kilmarnock.
Sanct Monan was ane leil, leil priest [leil = faithful]
O’ the Sanct Adrian line;
An’ meikle virtue he possest [meikle = much]
Baith moral an’ devine.
His fame was waxed far an’ wide
Throughout the hale countrye;
An’ monie a pilgrimage was made
The haly Sanct to see.
Yit still a stately temple here
Perpetuates his name,
Which the guid king in gratitude
Rearit by Invery’s stream.
Fife hundrit yearis this stately fane [fane = temple]
Has battled tyme’s rude blast,
An’ monie a mortal wreck sin’ syne [syne = then]
Has to oblivion pass’t.
Yit still within this haly fane,
The streime o’ lyfe devine,
Transparent, pure, and unimpairt,
Flows from Sanct Monan’s shrine.
Feel free to reply to this, or to get in touch if you’d like a chat. The Chaplaincy’s buildings may no longer be open, but we remain available for confidential listening and support. Take care.
Yours,
Donald.