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Brendan
An acclaimed author interweaves history and legend to re-create the life of a complex man of faith fifteen hundred years ago. Winner of the 1987 Christianity and Literature Book Award for Belles-Lettres.
256 pages, Paperback
First published January 1, 1987
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702 people want to read
About the author
Frederick Buechner
69books1,197followersFrederick Buechner is a highly influential writer and theologian who has won awards for his poetry, short stories, novels and theological writings. His work pioneered the genre of spiritual memoir, laying the groundwork for writers such as Anne Lamott, Rob Bell and Lauren Winner.
His first book, A Long Day's Dying, was published to acclaim just two years after he graduated from Princeton. He entered Union Theological Seminary in 1954 where he studied under renowned theologians that included Reinhold Niebuhr, Paul Tillich, and James Muilenberg. In 1955, his short story "The Tiger" which had been published in the New Yorker won the O. Henry Prize.
After seminary he spent nine years at Phillips Exeter Academy, establishing a religion department and teaching courses in both religion and English. Among his students was the future author, John Irving. In 1969 he gave the Noble Lectures at Harvard. He presented a theological autobiography on a day in his life, which was published as The Alphabet of Grace.
In the years that followed he began publishing more novels, including the Pulitzer Prize finalist Godric. At the same time, he was also writing a series of spiritual autobiographies. A central theme in his theological writing is looking for God in the everyday, listening and paying attention, to hear God speak to people through their personal lives.
His first book, A Long Day's Dying, was published to acclaim just two years after he graduated from Princeton. He entered Union Theological Seminary in 1954 where he studied under renowned theologians that included Reinhold Niebuhr, Paul Tillich, and James Muilenberg. In 1955, his short story "The Tiger" which had been published in the New Yorker won the O. Henry Prize.
After seminary he spent nine years at Phillips Exeter Academy, establishing a religion department and teaching courses in both religion and English. Among his students was the future author, John Irving. In 1969 he gave the Noble Lectures at Harvard. He presented a theological autobiography on a day in his life, which was published as The Alphabet of Grace.
In the years that followed he began publishing more novels, including the Pulitzer Prize finalist Godric. At the same time, he was also writing a series of spiritual autobiographies. A central theme in his theological writing is looking for God in the everyday, listening and paying attention, to hear God speak to people through their personal lives.
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Displaying 1 - 30 of 95 reviews
January 29, 2015
Envy is a nasty emotion. That said, I would cheerfully walk five ... no, make that ten miles through the snow barefoot, every day for a month, to be able to write one tenth as powerfully as Beuchner does. This book is so full of rollicking, flesh-bound, bumbling-but-believing humanity, it threatens to burst the covers and swallow you up. Brendan may not be ten feet tall and bullet proof, but he's you and he's me and he's every believer forced to face the fact that his best will never be good enough. And thanks be to God, it doesn't have to be.
April 27, 2013
I read this book at a critical time in my life. I had just become Greek Orthodox after having been an Evangelical and then Lutheran Christian.
This book came at a time when I was having trouble with hagiography (biographical writings about the saints focused on their ministries) and its preference to see only the holiest aspects of a person's life. Perhaps I am too much a product of my culture, but I'm a person who needs to see how a saint has overcome his or her failures to become the saint we now venerate.
Brenden is not hagiography, but it allows me to imagine a man, full of spiritual promise, who cannot see in himself what everybody else assumes of him. Moreover, this is one of the first books I've read that treats on Christ-as-the-poor.
It's a book I hate to recommend, as I am afraid people will not find it as moving as I have. Yet it's also a book I want my closest friends to read.
This book came at a time when I was having trouble with hagiography (biographical writings about the saints focused on their ministries) and its preference to see only the holiest aspects of a person's life. Perhaps I am too much a product of my culture, but I'm a person who needs to see how a saint has overcome his or her failures to become the saint we now venerate.
Brenden is not hagiography, but it allows me to imagine a man, full of spiritual promise, who cannot see in himself what everybody else assumes of him. Moreover, this is one of the first books I've read that treats on Christ-as-the-poor.
It's a book I hate to recommend, as I am afraid people will not find it as moving as I have. Yet it's also a book I want my closest friends to read.
November 20, 2024
Both earthy & and holy, Buechner does an excellent job of making the saints of old feel himan to the saints of now, with all of the crudities foibles and beauty that come with being human. Since the book plays with supernatural realism I was guaranteed to like it. I also appreciated the author's take on how we as Christians often feel so compelled to do great things in order to bring glory to God but that orientation often misses the reality of God's glory not needing us but instead filling us.
That being said I felt like the book didn't fully flesh out a lot of what it was developing and made me uncomfortable at several points with it's Frank and earthy way of joking about the human anatomy.
That being said I felt like the book didn't fully flesh out a lot of what it was developing and made me uncomfortable at several points with it's Frank and earthy way of joking about the human anatomy.
February 13, 2017
I identify as an atheist - and I loved this book. The religious themes do not in any way diminish the value of the story, or impede the ultimate value of the work - this ultimate value being, in short, that to love a man is to know him, and all the more surely to love our fellowmen we must learn to open ourselves to unvarnished knowledge of their true individual character, each in their own accord.
I'll also praise the imagery therein, as the author's skill in poetry is his greatest service to the novel, and his use of symbolism is in a word: SUBLIME.
Five star ratings were made for books like this, not the other way 'round.
I'll also praise the imagery therein, as the author's skill in poetry is his greatest service to the novel, and his use of symbolism is in a word: SUBLIME.
Five star ratings were made for books like this, not the other way 'round.
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September 9, 2024"I'm as crippled as the dark world," Gildas said.
"If it comes to that, which one of us isn't, my dear?" Brendan said.
It's no accident that Brendan starts with a quote from The Everlasting Man by G K Chesterton. Like Chesterton's apologetic (which allegedly converted C S Lewis), Beuchner's book expresses an enchanted view of the world. There is a pagan-inspired Celtic Christian thread running through, of the deep, unseen unity that binds the natural world together and of the surprising, quiet moments of revelation. Like Chesterton, Beuchner sees a world full of crowns - a world full of tall stories and religious myths that are sometimes the most true.
Brendan is a deeply Christian novel, yet at the same time the very antithesis of what "Christian fiction" has come to mean today. There is doubt and uncertainty here. There is the yearning after a hidden God and the struggle to find guidance, meaning and purpose. I was struck by some parallels between this work and A Canticle for Leibowitz; in particular, both books end with a character forgiving God.
There are also noteworthy theological reflections here. Brendan spends his life chasing the Land of the Blessed here on earth, and this is ultimately a terrible waste. He seeks glory and reputation in God's name through his incredible sailing feats but in the end it would have been better for him to have stayed home and fed and clothed the poor. I found this element of the narrative not a little impactful. God's will and God's glory are not across the seas but right at your fingertips: as Brendan puts it, "To lend each other a hand when we're falling..."
"If it comes to that, which one of us isn't, my dear?" Brendan said.
It's no accident that Brendan starts with a quote from The Everlasting Man by G K Chesterton. Like Chesterton's apologetic (which allegedly converted C S Lewis), Beuchner's book expresses an enchanted view of the world. There is a pagan-inspired Celtic Christian thread running through, of the deep, unseen unity that binds the natural world together and of the surprising, quiet moments of revelation. Like Chesterton, Beuchner sees a world full of crowns - a world full of tall stories and religious myths that are sometimes the most true.
Brendan is a deeply Christian novel, yet at the same time the very antithesis of what "Christian fiction" has come to mean today. There is doubt and uncertainty here. There is the yearning after a hidden God and the struggle to find guidance, meaning and purpose. I was struck by some parallels between this work and A Canticle for Leibowitz; in particular, both books end with a character forgiving God.
There are also noteworthy theological reflections here. Brendan spends his life chasing the Land of the Blessed here on earth, and this is ultimately a terrible waste. He seeks glory and reputation in God's name through his incredible sailing feats but in the end it would have been better for him to have stayed home and fed and clothed the poor. I found this element of the narrative not a little impactful. God's will and God's glory are not across the seas but right at your fingertips: as Brendan puts it, "To lend each other a hand when we're falling..."
January 16, 2020
I wasn't prepared to give this book 5 stars. I enjoyed it but rarely loved it. Beautifully told, the story isn't necessarily beautifully shown. It's not very immersive, is easy to step away from and not think about again until the next reading. However, when the last page made me cry for a character I had such mixed feelings about, I knew Finn's story of Brendan had struck some power over me. I read Godric years ago and maybe remember enjoying it more as I read it but remember less about the story now, whereas I suspect Brandan may be more memorable down the road.
There's a lot of adventure--sea travel, foreign lands, sea beasts (whoo)--and even more character introspect and extrospection. Because Brendan's life is told from by his longest friend, Finn, whose loyalty to Brendan is itself a kind of loss because, as Finn admits, he gave up making his own life thereby, we get the legend of a self-inflating and self-hating man as gazed on by his most critical and most merciful confidante.
There's a lot of adventure--sea travel, foreign lands, sea beasts (whoo)--and even more character introspect and extrospection. Because Brendan's life is told from by his longest friend, Finn, whose loyalty to Brendan is itself a kind of loss because, as Finn admits, he gave up making his own life thereby, we get the legend of a self-inflating and self-hating man as gazed on by his most critical and most merciful confidante.
April 5, 2017
Я с объяснимым подозрением отношусь к псевдоисторическим романам о древних ирландских святых, написанным христианскими теологами (даже пресвитерианцами), и кто меня за это упрекнет. Но тут устоять было невозможно � тем паче, что эта книжка обнаружилась на полке (и только сам Брендан знает, как она туда попала � не иначе, чудом прогностического предчувствования ирландской темы, ставшей для нас важной только теперь; и это не единственная книжка, выпрыгнувшая к нам из шкафа, надо заметить). Он оказался почти совсем лишенным догматической христианской ебанины � наоборот, это такой дорожный роман о мужской дружбе, и речь в нем идет скорее о незамысловатом, а не о вере в смысле организованной религии: о совести, зависти, преданности и прочих -стях. Лирический, трогательный, местами даже смешной, хорошо написан. Вот только слабо верится, что в V веке под Лимериком девочки носили трусы, но на этом многие авторы претыкаются.
January 17, 2014
Frederick Buechner followed up his classic "Godric" with this tale of a sixth-century saint, Brendan the Navigator, as told by his close friend and aid Finn. Buechner's faux-Gaelic prose makes the novel somewhat difficult to read at first, but once one gets used to the slightly off-kilter rhythms, the story emerges as one full of humor, fantasy and poignancy. Brendan, taken from his parents at age 1, is raised to be a priest just a generation after St. Patrick has brought Christianity to Ireland. Beliefs in local myths and gods mingle with Christian tenets, sometimes comically and sometimes tragically. After an adventure selecting a new Irish "king," Brendan decides to be a "blue martyr," setting off on two long sea journeys in search of a heaven-like country of the young. He encounters whales, icebergs and, perhaps, Florida. Brendan is a faithful Christian seeking God's plan for his life, even as he stumbles through wrath and regret. This poignant tale is about existential faith and grace and tries to suggest how we can find our own way as we travel the paths of saints.
August 2, 2018
Frederick Buechner is a master story teller. His use of language and his characters are absolutely stunning. Part history, part fantasy, part adventure,
part spiritual journey. Brenden (484-577) was a Catholic priest who became a saint. He and his friends were early followers of Christ in Ireland. Brenden was
educated by St. Ita and ordained by Bishop Erc. His sister Brigid had her own monastery.
In an attempt to feel worthy, do penance for his sins and to imitate Christ’s sufferings he practiced self deprivation, and self mortification. He and his followers put themselves at the mercy of God undertaking dangerous sea voyages as a spiritual journey. He established churches, founded monasteries and brought many to the “new religion�. There is much, much more to Brendon but unlike Buechner I don’t have the words to to begin to describe this crazy and complex story. Another amazing work from one of my favorite authors.
part spiritual journey. Brenden (484-577) was a Catholic priest who became a saint. He and his friends were early followers of Christ in Ireland. Brenden was
educated by St. Ita and ordained by Bishop Erc. His sister Brigid had her own monastery.
In an attempt to feel worthy, do penance for his sins and to imitate Christ’s sufferings he practiced self deprivation, and self mortification. He and his followers put themselves at the mercy of God undertaking dangerous sea voyages as a spiritual journey. He established churches, founded monasteries and brought many to the “new religion�. There is much, much more to Brendon but unlike Buechner I don’t have the words to to begin to describe this crazy and complex story. Another amazing work from one of my favorite authors.
October 3, 2022
I suspect that when I read this again in ten years or so I'll give it 5 stars.
March 28, 2025
Historical fiction about Saint Brendan the Navigator who lived 1500 years ago as a monk who sailed around. Preaching the gospel to druids, describing Christ as the Wizard of all Wizards. Nice.
November 9, 2015
Summary: This is a fictional account of the life of St. Brendan, often known as the Navigator. Buechner traces his life from being taking by St. Erc at one through his early years, the establishment of his leadership in founding Clonfert and in making kings, and most of all his marathon journeys, one lasting seven years.
I grew up near a St. Brendan's school, which was just across the field from the junior high school I attended. I never had any idea of the colorful life this saint lived, nor his sustained impact upon Irish Christianity through the foundation (monastery) at Clonfert, his base of operations for evangelizing Ireland and Wales. Because of his voyages, (which some believed reached the New World in the sixth century AD) he is considered the patron saint of all who go to sea.
Reading this novel reminded me of a series of CDs we listened to some years ago by Father Richard Rohr on the spiritual journeys and transformation of men and women.
Brendan is taken at age one from his parents Finnloag and Cara by St. Erc, who had worked under Patrick. He goes to a monastery under the tutelage of Father Jarlath. We follow both his awakening sexuality and the music he hears in the cave that is the revelation of God to him. He is sent out to anoint a Christian to be king of Cashel with Finn, who narrates his life and travels with him except on his first journey. They preach and destroy pagan gods along the way and Brendan performs his first miracle, in restoring the life of an "expendable" during the coronation games. He founds the monastery at Clonfert which becomes the center of Irish evangelization. And he is not content. The sea calls to him and he makes a curragh, a boat of skins named Cara after his mother. Both his parents die during this journey, as does Dismas, mourned for the rest of his life by his friend Gestas. His quest is to reach the "land of the blessed" or Ti'r na nO'g. In his journeys, first in this boat with five others, and later with a larger company of monks, he sees silver mountains, Jasconius the whale, that they mistook for an island, and eventually reached what they though the Blessed Land, only to be introduced to St Patrick, a comical ape. They reach a river they cannot cross, and despite his ministrations, his friend Crosan dies.
Rohr contends that many young men embark in the early years of "heroic journeys" where they realize their gifts and hone their skills. At some point during the years 35 to 50 they face a crisis of limitation, beginning a life of descent, relinquishment, and service. For Christians, these men embrace the way of the cross.
It seems that this is the way of Brendan, who confronts both limitations external in not reaching the blessed land, and internal, as his confessor, the disillusioned Malo, pierces through the piety and ambition to the man beneath. Brendan returns to Clonfert, and for a time is disillusioned until exhorted by Saint Ita to evangelize the Welsh, Malo and Finn accompanying him. he spends himself in the evangelization of Wales and Ireland with the foundation at Clonfert surviving for a millenium. Ambition is replaced by the humility in his last words as he dies in his Sister Briga's arms, "I fear the sentence of the judge."
Finn, his faithful friend has the last word, saying:
"I'd sentence him to have mercy on himself. I'd sentence him less to strive for the glory of God than just to let it swell his sails if it can."
Perhaps a good word for us all.
I grew up near a St. Brendan's school, which was just across the field from the junior high school I attended. I never had any idea of the colorful life this saint lived, nor his sustained impact upon Irish Christianity through the foundation (monastery) at Clonfert, his base of operations for evangelizing Ireland and Wales. Because of his voyages, (which some believed reached the New World in the sixth century AD) he is considered the patron saint of all who go to sea.
Reading this novel reminded me of a series of CDs we listened to some years ago by Father Richard Rohr on the spiritual journeys and transformation of men and women.
Brendan is taken at age one from his parents Finnloag and Cara by St. Erc, who had worked under Patrick. He goes to a monastery under the tutelage of Father Jarlath. We follow both his awakening sexuality and the music he hears in the cave that is the revelation of God to him. He is sent out to anoint a Christian to be king of Cashel with Finn, who narrates his life and travels with him except on his first journey. They preach and destroy pagan gods along the way and Brendan performs his first miracle, in restoring the life of an "expendable" during the coronation games. He founds the monastery at Clonfert which becomes the center of Irish evangelization. And he is not content. The sea calls to him and he makes a curragh, a boat of skins named Cara after his mother. Both his parents die during this journey, as does Dismas, mourned for the rest of his life by his friend Gestas. His quest is to reach the "land of the blessed" or Ti'r na nO'g. In his journeys, first in this boat with five others, and later with a larger company of monks, he sees silver mountains, Jasconius the whale, that they mistook for an island, and eventually reached what they though the Blessed Land, only to be introduced to St Patrick, a comical ape. They reach a river they cannot cross, and despite his ministrations, his friend Crosan dies.
Rohr contends that many young men embark in the early years of "heroic journeys" where they realize their gifts and hone their skills. At some point during the years 35 to 50 they face a crisis of limitation, beginning a life of descent, relinquishment, and service. For Christians, these men embrace the way of the cross.
It seems that this is the way of Brendan, who confronts both limitations external in not reaching the blessed land, and internal, as his confessor, the disillusioned Malo, pierces through the piety and ambition to the man beneath. Brendan returns to Clonfert, and for a time is disillusioned until exhorted by Saint Ita to evangelize the Welsh, Malo and Finn accompanying him. he spends himself in the evangelization of Wales and Ireland with the foundation at Clonfert surviving for a millenium. Ambition is replaced by the humility in his last words as he dies in his Sister Briga's arms, "I fear the sentence of the judge."
Finn, his faithful friend has the last word, saying:
"I'd sentence him to have mercy on himself. I'd sentence him less to strive for the glory of God than just to let it swell his sails if it can."
Perhaps a good word for us all.
October 1, 2024
third time reading am again blown away by just how deeply complex the characters are, and how I just wish so desperately they come to revelation of their own belovedness...the women offer such a beautiful vision of what it is to be strong, gentle, powerful, meek all at the same time. struck in a new way this time of the profundity of contextualizing the story of the gospel to worlds and social imaginaries very different to its own, and to my own. something of the way Brendan tells of Jesus in a druid sort of way I can't stop thinking about:
Christ was the king of all kinds, Brendan said from Mac Lennin's knee. He was the wizard of all wizards. He turned water to beer easy as breathing. When he commanded the foaming waves to lay flat, they lay flat. He straightened the bent legs of cripples and peeled the milky blue scales off the eyes of the blind. When he called out of darkness the first light as ever was, the morning stars sang together the sweet ring of it and all the sons of heaven shouted for joy.
"Ah well, he was a bard then," Mac Lennin said. It was the part about Christ's voice that struck him the hardest.
"Mac Lennin, he was so mighty a bard his songs have ravished the hearts of men from that day on," Brendan said. "He was a song itself you might say. King Christ is a song on the lips of the true God."
It sent a new batch of tears flowing down Mac Lennin's cheeks. "I'll be Christ's bard myself then," he said.
second time reading this � i simply adore brendan and finn. and freddy b, for telling their stories so eloquently. this is a beautiful story about holiness, fidelity, the reality of sin in light of the reality of abundant grace. it is just gorgeous and everyone should read it.
my first time reading one of Beuchner's novels. the experience of reading was greatly enhanced by reading it on the west coast of Ireland, watching the waves break and imagining Brendan out there in his currach, the ocean serving as his spiritual desert. All in all a beautiful and touching story about complicated friendship, the unattainability of holiness, creation as revelation of the divine, and what it is to go on adventures with/for/to God.
"'Smirchy and holy is all one, my dear,' she said. 'I doubt Jarlath has taught you that. Monks think holiness is monkishness only. But somewheres you've learned the truth anyhow. You can squeeze into Heaven reeking of pig blood as well as clad in the whitest fair linen in the land."
"As to the sentence of the judge, I'm not one to know nor even if there be a judge at all. If I, Finn, was judge I'd know well enough though. I'd sentence him to have mercy on himself. I'd sentence him less to strive for the glory of God than just to let it swell his sails if it can."
Christ was the king of all kinds, Brendan said from Mac Lennin's knee. He was the wizard of all wizards. He turned water to beer easy as breathing. When he commanded the foaming waves to lay flat, they lay flat. He straightened the bent legs of cripples and peeled the milky blue scales off the eyes of the blind. When he called out of darkness the first light as ever was, the morning stars sang together the sweet ring of it and all the sons of heaven shouted for joy.
"Ah well, he was a bard then," Mac Lennin said. It was the part about Christ's voice that struck him the hardest.
"Mac Lennin, he was so mighty a bard his songs have ravished the hearts of men from that day on," Brendan said. "He was a song itself you might say. King Christ is a song on the lips of the true God."
It sent a new batch of tears flowing down Mac Lennin's cheeks. "I'll be Christ's bard myself then," he said.
second time reading this � i simply adore brendan and finn. and freddy b, for telling their stories so eloquently. this is a beautiful story about holiness, fidelity, the reality of sin in light of the reality of abundant grace. it is just gorgeous and everyone should read it.
my first time reading one of Beuchner's novels. the experience of reading was greatly enhanced by reading it on the west coast of Ireland, watching the waves break and imagining Brendan out there in his currach, the ocean serving as his spiritual desert. All in all a beautiful and touching story about complicated friendship, the unattainability of holiness, creation as revelation of the divine, and what it is to go on adventures with/for/to God.
"'Smirchy and holy is all one, my dear,' she said. 'I doubt Jarlath has taught you that. Monks think holiness is monkishness only. But somewheres you've learned the truth anyhow. You can squeeze into Heaven reeking of pig blood as well as clad in the whitest fair linen in the land."
"As to the sentence of the judge, I'm not one to know nor even if there be a judge at all. If I, Finn, was judge I'd know well enough though. I'd sentence him to have mercy on himself. I'd sentence him less to strive for the glory of God than just to let it swell his sails if it can."
November 4, 2007
A tour de force of language and character. Frederick Buechner synthesized a 6th century Irish/English and took with it the legends surrounding Brendan the Navigator, the 6th-century Irish monk who travelled to North America with a small crew of monks, by means of a modified curraugh.
The book is partly about this voyage, but mostly about the inner voyage of a human struggling with life, faith, and longing for what he cannot have in this life.
Tim Severin , , a modern day explorer, has actually sailed Brendan's route, as reconstructed through the ancient Irish writings, and made Brendan's legendary ocean crossing not only plausible, but highly probable.
The book is partly about this voyage, but mostly about the inner voyage of a human struggling with life, faith, and longing for what he cannot have in this life.
Tim Severin , , a modern day explorer, has actually sailed Brendan's route, as reconstructed through the ancient Irish writings, and made Brendan's legendary ocean crossing not only plausible, but highly probable.
May 9, 2020
In the words of my second favorite Presbyterian (Frederick Buechner, second to Mr. Rogers. Because, Mr. Rogers.) our protagonist Brendan is "a shipwreck of a man." I have not read many retellings of literal saints but I have tried. I simply never finish them, you see. And my complaint is consistent: the weird is absent. There isn't enough funk gumming up the storytelling gears to keep them from grinding it all down into insignificance. A given story of a given saint may show legitimate piety and even the miraculous. But if speaking about saints doesn't delve into the real wackiness of life, sainthood doesn't matter much. Thankfully the inverse is true with Buechner's Brendan, aka the human wreck.
When I say I want things "weird," by the by, I'm not trying to idolize the merely gaudy or inexplicable. Sure, a disembodied hand writing on a wall mid-party is strange and losing an argument with your own donkey is a bizarre turn of events—but so is me loving my neighbor as myself. The point is while weirdness is not the sole indication of sacredness, if it ain't weird, it probably ain't holy.
And while Brendan is our focus, the surrounding women are genuine, glorious oddballs too! There's Abbess Ita's gusty leadership, the agnostic Maeve with even more self-possession and charisma than any other warrior nun I've run into, Briga's stable presence, the simple and profound acceptance shown by Olwen, and then... Brigit herself! Honestly I'm convinced the only reason that Buechner didn't write about Brigit instead of Brendan is simply because that woman cannot be contained. Her character would outpace Buechner's genius a mile a minute. But we get whirlwind glimpses and she is a marvel, never mind the nonchalance with which she goes about hanging her cloak on sunbeams.
Anyway, Brendan—our story's resident shipwreck—runs the kookiest of gamuts and crashes over himself, battered, into sainthood. To be honest, the actual seafaring within the novel wasn't too compelling, and as a reading experience was boring at times, but I'll be damned if Buechner didn't bring all of it to bear on Brendan without flinching. First rended, then mended. I cried at the last few pages; the holy funk must have gotten to me.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
"'It was meat and drink to me then. The yellow thick cream of the psalms. The prophets' bitter broth. The fresh lovely bread of the Gospel'... Jarlath taught him Heaven. Erc taught him earth... To the end of his days Erc understood the rustling speech of trees, the rowan and blackhorn and quicken most of all. They told him things a man's better off not knowing like how to draw a thick mist out of the ground... He knew about stars. He knew the tales of how they come to be stars in the first place and who their grandmothers was. Every once and so often they step down out of the sky and rub shoulders with common folk."
"There was only emptiness and darkness like God had gone off altogether carrying his mercy with him on his shoulder like the Dagda carrying his six-string harp."
"Erc had a druid way of saying God that had the rustling of oak leaves in it and the sound of shallow waves against the rocks and the feel of mist drifting knee-deep over the blue folds and hollows of the hills."
"Ita's eyes disappeared entirely when she smiled.
'Smirchy and holy is all one, my dear,' she said. 'I doubt Jarlath has taught you that. Monks think holiness is monkishness only. But somewheres you've learned the truth anyhow. You can squeeze into Heaven reeking of pig blood as well as clad in the whitest fair linen in the land." (I singled out my chosen theme of weirdness & holiness long before I singled out this passage, so. I'm very proud of myself.)
"Nor did anyone have a luckier tongue for holy things."
"There's haughty druids for keeping the king's eyes open to the in-between things of the world they say magic comes from such as twilight that's in between dark and day and dreams that's in between wake and sleep."
"He passed the time learning psalms.
'Christ is my druid, I shall want for nothing!' he called up at the clouds.
'He cloaks me in a thick mist from the eyes of my enemies! He reads the secrets of my heart like the guts of an owl!'"
"I never heard a tall tale I'd sooner have true than that tale. How the Light of the World come into the darkest night so there'd never be cause to fear darkness again... There was little more to it than that save the sound of the old gods whistling through a chink in the stones."
"'Faith, she'd give Heaven itself away if she could,' the nun said, and I wondered if that wasn't indeed what great abbesses was for."
"Suppose the King of Heaven himself was waiting there with all the others to welcome him? That would be nothing to sneeze at surely but could it be Brendan fancied more just the whiff of Heaven you get in the salt breeze sometimes or the glimpse of it in a whale's eye? He was always one for teasing the heathens like that anyhow. He'd give them a peek through the pearly gates every now and then but never knock them silly with the whole grand glory of it at a clap."
"'Bring Christ to them, Brendan, and in God's good timing perhaps they'll bring him again to you.'"
"As to the sentence of the judge, I'm not one to know nor even if there be a judge at all. If I, Finn, was judge I'd know well enough though.
I'd sentence him to have mercy on himself. I'd sentence him less to strive for the glory of God than just to let it swell his sails if it can."
When I say I want things "weird," by the by, I'm not trying to idolize the merely gaudy or inexplicable. Sure, a disembodied hand writing on a wall mid-party is strange and losing an argument with your own donkey is a bizarre turn of events—but so is me loving my neighbor as myself. The point is while weirdness is not the sole indication of sacredness, if it ain't weird, it probably ain't holy.
And while Brendan is our focus, the surrounding women are genuine, glorious oddballs too! There's Abbess Ita's gusty leadership, the agnostic Maeve with even more self-possession and charisma than any other warrior nun I've run into, Briga's stable presence, the simple and profound acceptance shown by Olwen, and then... Brigit herself! Honestly I'm convinced the only reason that Buechner didn't write about Brigit instead of Brendan is simply because that woman cannot be contained. Her character would outpace Buechner's genius a mile a minute. But we get whirlwind glimpses and she is a marvel, never mind the nonchalance with which she goes about hanging her cloak on sunbeams.
Anyway, Brendan—our story's resident shipwreck—runs the kookiest of gamuts and crashes over himself, battered, into sainthood. To be honest, the actual seafaring within the novel wasn't too compelling, and as a reading experience was boring at times, but I'll be damned if Buechner didn't bring all of it to bear on Brendan without flinching. First rended, then mended. I cried at the last few pages; the holy funk must have gotten to me.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
"'It was meat and drink to me then. The yellow thick cream of the psalms. The prophets' bitter broth. The fresh lovely bread of the Gospel'... Jarlath taught him Heaven. Erc taught him earth... To the end of his days Erc understood the rustling speech of trees, the rowan and blackhorn and quicken most of all. They told him things a man's better off not knowing like how to draw a thick mist out of the ground... He knew about stars. He knew the tales of how they come to be stars in the first place and who their grandmothers was. Every once and so often they step down out of the sky and rub shoulders with common folk."
"There was only emptiness and darkness like God had gone off altogether carrying his mercy with him on his shoulder like the Dagda carrying his six-string harp."
"Erc had a druid way of saying God that had the rustling of oak leaves in it and the sound of shallow waves against the rocks and the feel of mist drifting knee-deep over the blue folds and hollows of the hills."
"Ita's eyes disappeared entirely when she smiled.
'Smirchy and holy is all one, my dear,' she said. 'I doubt Jarlath has taught you that. Monks think holiness is monkishness only. But somewheres you've learned the truth anyhow. You can squeeze into Heaven reeking of pig blood as well as clad in the whitest fair linen in the land." (I singled out my chosen theme of weirdness & holiness long before I singled out this passage, so. I'm very proud of myself.)
"Nor did anyone have a luckier tongue for holy things."
"There's haughty druids for keeping the king's eyes open to the in-between things of the world they say magic comes from such as twilight that's in between dark and day and dreams that's in between wake and sleep."
"He passed the time learning psalms.
'Christ is my druid, I shall want for nothing!' he called up at the clouds.
'He cloaks me in a thick mist from the eyes of my enemies! He reads the secrets of my heart like the guts of an owl!'"
"I never heard a tall tale I'd sooner have true than that tale. How the Light of the World come into the darkest night so there'd never be cause to fear darkness again... There was little more to it than that save the sound of the old gods whistling through a chink in the stones."
"'Faith, she'd give Heaven itself away if she could,' the nun said, and I wondered if that wasn't indeed what great abbesses was for."
"Suppose the King of Heaven himself was waiting there with all the others to welcome him? That would be nothing to sneeze at surely but could it be Brendan fancied more just the whiff of Heaven you get in the salt breeze sometimes or the glimpse of it in a whale's eye? He was always one for teasing the heathens like that anyhow. He'd give them a peek through the pearly gates every now and then but never knock them silly with the whole grand glory of it at a clap."
"'Bring Christ to them, Brendan, and in God's good timing perhaps they'll bring him again to you.'"
"As to the sentence of the judge, I'm not one to know nor even if there be a judge at all. If I, Finn, was judge I'd know well enough though.
I'd sentence him to have mercy on himself. I'd sentence him less to strive for the glory of God than just to let it swell his sails if it can."
August 19, 2023
A masterfully spun story of a man who’s faith in Christ grows among the heather and willow of a still predominantly pagan sixth century Ireland. A faith that blooms within that world without the thorns of bigotry or condescension one might anticipate. A faith that is plucked and arranged and worn on wonderful voyages through a world still magically unfamiliar to the harsh and sterilizing lenses of modern science and history. An ultimately glorious example of a humble and natural journey through life of a man who seeks to nurture his faith - his sole and enduring adornment.
August 21, 2019
Brendan is a sometimes whimsical, sometimes stern blend of history, fairy tale, and old-fashioned Tall Tale. The book is in the spirit of the ancient accounts of Brendan of Clonfert's life, when Christian chroniclers accepted the fantastic without batting an eye, from the existence of sea monsters and Faerie-land and it's myriad denizens to the bizarre and far-fetched "Christian" miracles of the sort you see in Dark Ages or Medieval writings. Buechner takes all that and runs with it, fleshing out the details breathing life into it until it becomes almost believable, even at its most improbable.
Half of what makes this rollicking story, by turns beautiful and grotesque, hang together is Buechner's way with words. He has the perfect "voice" for this type of story: earthy but with a poetic turn, surprising again and again with just the right metaphor. He lends this to Finn, Brendan's sidekick and our narrator for most of the story, while making Finn's voice more distinct with some unconventional syntax and punctuation that makes Finn sound a little more rustic. But that earthy-poetic flair is Buechner's native tongue, and so it finds its way into the dialogue of many of his characters, yet without quite making them all sound like the same person.
I wished I'd kept track of good examples as I read so I'd have them now to put before you. I'll give this one bit that's easy to hand, as a taste of how Buechner operates. Early in the book he introduces a character thusly:
"Even when there wasn't a breath of air stirring, the Abbess Ita looked like she was facing into a gale. Her eyes was squinnied up against the blast of it. Her hair blew every whichway. Her cheeks was stung apple red by it and her teeth bared in a helmsman's fierce grimace. She moved through the world like a gale herself. Pots and cups rattled on the shelf when she passed by. Geese scattered before her. When she wasn't storming about though, she was often to be found sitting someplace still as sunlight with a lap full of children or up to her elbows in a tub of curds. The smell of her was like the smell of new loaves."
By the thumb of Saint Patrick, that's a description right there. That gives you a lot to latch onto, a sharp and textured image in the mind. Such a glorious relief when I've been reading a lot of older classic writers, who so often lean heavily on abstractions in their writing. If you read something from the 1800's, more than likely people will be described in such terms as having "a sweet and amiable countenance," or "a noble face and bearing that suggested great strength of character" or some other such pap as that. It makes me long for someone like Buechner who knows how to image things forth.
While Buechner follows his Brendan on the same outlandish episodes and adventures as the old legends attribute to him, he uses the time to show us a man trying to learn godliness by accidental process of elimination. From his youth he's on the fast track to becoming a famous monk, but what is it that God wants of him? Is it in bringing glory to God through flashy miracles, or in the number of converts made, or in the founding of new monasteries that the Lord will be pleased with him? Is it through the harsh asceticism common often practiced by zealous monks in his day? Brendan struggles to find the true heart of Christianity amid all of these competing claims, in growing disillusionment. He also has to face down his own sinfulness, and his shame and self-loathing over his sinfulness, which is another thing altogether. It's the story of a man travelling through and and escaping from religiousity to a truer Christ-likeness.
A word does have to be said about the bawdy element. I'm not sure that's exactly the correct word, because the indelicate bits aren't given in such a way as to incite lustfulness in the reader, or to condone the truly sinful. Merely, the narrative and dialogue both are true to a time when people were more frank and open about sexuality and bodily functions and such. It could hardly be otherwise in an age in which Christianity was just making early inroads into a previously Pagan culture, and people were still worshipping giant stone phalluses and coronation ceremonies incorporated lewd acts with exaggerated female statues. We probably don't have much occasion to notice (unless we read much of medieval or ancient writings, including many parts of the Old Testament) how much our modern notions of decency are still conditioned by the Victorian Era mores and taboos, and that not just mankind but Christendom has held different standards in different ages. Brendan depicts a world that's never heard of the Victorians or Puritans and knows nothing about their inhibitedness. Even monks and nuns can make casual or comic reference to things that would be felt coarse, even shocking maybe, to the more sheltered or squeamish of 21st-century Christians. Yet the characters aren't saying them to delight in depravity, but simply because they are acknowledged aspects of human life that no one in their time shies back from mentioning. But still some people will be sensitive enough to it that this facet of the book prevents them from enjoying it or seeing beyond to what it's doing on deeper levels. Let potential readers be advised.
Half of what makes this rollicking story, by turns beautiful and grotesque, hang together is Buechner's way with words. He has the perfect "voice" for this type of story: earthy but with a poetic turn, surprising again and again with just the right metaphor. He lends this to Finn, Brendan's sidekick and our narrator for most of the story, while making Finn's voice more distinct with some unconventional syntax and punctuation that makes Finn sound a little more rustic. But that earthy-poetic flair is Buechner's native tongue, and so it finds its way into the dialogue of many of his characters, yet without quite making them all sound like the same person.
I wished I'd kept track of good examples as I read so I'd have them now to put before you. I'll give this one bit that's easy to hand, as a taste of how Buechner operates. Early in the book he introduces a character thusly:
"Even when there wasn't a breath of air stirring, the Abbess Ita looked like she was facing into a gale. Her eyes was squinnied up against the blast of it. Her hair blew every whichway. Her cheeks was stung apple red by it and her teeth bared in a helmsman's fierce grimace. She moved through the world like a gale herself. Pots and cups rattled on the shelf when she passed by. Geese scattered before her. When she wasn't storming about though, she was often to be found sitting someplace still as sunlight with a lap full of children or up to her elbows in a tub of curds. The smell of her was like the smell of new loaves."
By the thumb of Saint Patrick, that's a description right there. That gives you a lot to latch onto, a sharp and textured image in the mind. Such a glorious relief when I've been reading a lot of older classic writers, who so often lean heavily on abstractions in their writing. If you read something from the 1800's, more than likely people will be described in such terms as having "a sweet and amiable countenance," or "a noble face and bearing that suggested great strength of character" or some other such pap as that. It makes me long for someone like Buechner who knows how to image things forth.
While Buechner follows his Brendan on the same outlandish episodes and adventures as the old legends attribute to him, he uses the time to show us a man trying to learn godliness by accidental process of elimination. From his youth he's on the fast track to becoming a famous monk, but what is it that God wants of him? Is it in bringing glory to God through flashy miracles, or in the number of converts made, or in the founding of new monasteries that the Lord will be pleased with him? Is it through the harsh asceticism common often practiced by zealous monks in his day? Brendan struggles to find the true heart of Christianity amid all of these competing claims, in growing disillusionment. He also has to face down his own sinfulness, and his shame and self-loathing over his sinfulness, which is another thing altogether. It's the story of a man travelling through and and escaping from religiousity to a truer Christ-likeness.
A word does have to be said about the bawdy element. I'm not sure that's exactly the correct word, because the indelicate bits aren't given in such a way as to incite lustfulness in the reader, or to condone the truly sinful. Merely, the narrative and dialogue both are true to a time when people were more frank and open about sexuality and bodily functions and such. It could hardly be otherwise in an age in which Christianity was just making early inroads into a previously Pagan culture, and people were still worshipping giant stone phalluses and coronation ceremonies incorporated lewd acts with exaggerated female statues. We probably don't have much occasion to notice (unless we read much of medieval or ancient writings, including many parts of the Old Testament) how much our modern notions of decency are still conditioned by the Victorian Era mores and taboos, and that not just mankind but Christendom has held different standards in different ages. Brendan depicts a world that's never heard of the Victorians or Puritans and knows nothing about their inhibitedness. Even monks and nuns can make casual or comic reference to things that would be felt coarse, even shocking maybe, to the more sheltered or squeamish of 21st-century Christians. Yet the characters aren't saying them to delight in depravity, but simply because they are acknowledged aspects of human life that no one in their time shies back from mentioning. But still some people will be sensitive enough to it that this facet of the book prevents them from enjoying it or seeing beyond to what it's doing on deeper levels. Let potential readers be advised.
August 17, 2019
This was my first Buechner book and it won't be my last. The language was earthy, the syntax (that of the narrator, Finn) awakens one's inner Irishman (everybody has a little Irish in them, right?). Buechner's descriptions put me in mind of the glowing illustrations in an illuminated manuscript. This is a world fantastical, harsh, and still very pagan. The main conflict revolves around Brendan's longing for Tir-na-n-Og, essentially heaven, and all those he loves who've preceded him there. The "now" is not enough for Brendan, and he neglects responsibilities to others who are still living to reach the "not yet" before his time, with painful results. This is a not-very-saintly Brendan, teller of tall tales, consumed by "rue and shame," some real and some false, and somewhat oblivious to his worst failures of friendship. Yet he is winsome and giving too. The theological message seems to be that true religion is looking after orphans and widows (or any of our "fellow cripples") their distress, etc. etc. with a de-emphasis on the centrality of Christ and assurance of salvation, but the story is lit with a quiet joy that outshines the sorrows portrayed in it. It's the sort of book I really enjoy, one in which the veil is thin.
December 26, 2024
What to make of those tales of early medieval saints who stood neck deep in freezing water for hours at a time, or who put to sea in tiny coracles without oars, trusting to God to take them where He would, be that to a new land or a water grave? They are men so very far from modern sympathies and sensibilities that it’s almost impossible to believe that they did such things � but they did.
Bringing them to life is difficult. Frederick Buechner, however, managed this feat brilliantly in his novel, Godric. He attempts it again in Brendan, a story about the Irish saint famous for setting forth in one of those little boats, to not quite the same effect. Where Godric is narrated by the saint himself, and credibly told in such wise, Brendan is told by a companion and friend, who stands in some ways for the reader: unsure but interested. However, in such matters, lack of certainty is ultimately fatal: the water will freeze the blood, the waves close over the boat, the narrative founder on ‘maybe�.
The book does, however, succeed in portraying well the sheer strangeness of 6th century Ireland and how very far it’s culture was from ours today. So read Brendan for its lyrical sensibility and its window into a very strange world.
Bringing them to life is difficult. Frederick Buechner, however, managed this feat brilliantly in his novel, Godric. He attempts it again in Brendan, a story about the Irish saint famous for setting forth in one of those little boats, to not quite the same effect. Where Godric is narrated by the saint himself, and credibly told in such wise, Brendan is told by a companion and friend, who stands in some ways for the reader: unsure but interested. However, in such matters, lack of certainty is ultimately fatal: the water will freeze the blood, the waves close over the boat, the narrative founder on ‘maybe�.
The book does, however, succeed in portraying well the sheer strangeness of 6th century Ireland and how very far it’s culture was from ours today. So read Brendan for its lyrical sensibility and its window into a very strange world.
December 26, 2024
What to make of those tales of early medieval saints who stood neck deep in freezing water for hours at a time, or who put to sea in tiny coracles without oars, trusting to God to take them where He would, be that to a new land or a water grave? They are men so very far from modern sympathies and sensibilities that it’s almost impossible to believe that they did such things � but they did.
Bringing them to life is difficult. Frederick Buechner, however, managed this feat brilliantly in his novel, Godric. He attempts it again in Brendan, a story about the Irish saint famous for setting forth in one of those little boats, to not quite the same effect. Where Godric is narrated by the saint himself, and credibly told in such wise, Brendan is told by a companion and friend, who stands in some ways for the reader: unsure but interested. However, in such matters, lack of certainty is ultimately fatal: the water will freeze the blood, the waves close over the boat, the narrative founder on ‘maybe�.
The book does, however, succeed in portraying well the sheer strangeness of 6th century Ireland and how very far it’s culture was from ours today. So read Brendan for its lyrical sensibility and its window into a very strange world.
Bringing them to life is difficult. Frederick Buechner, however, managed this feat brilliantly in his novel, Godric. He attempts it again in Brendan, a story about the Irish saint famous for setting forth in one of those little boats, to not quite the same effect. Where Godric is narrated by the saint himself, and credibly told in such wise, Brendan is told by a companion and friend, who stands in some ways for the reader: unsure but interested. However, in such matters, lack of certainty is ultimately fatal: the water will freeze the blood, the waves close over the boat, the narrative founder on ‘maybe�.
The book does, however, succeed in portraying well the sheer strangeness of 6th century Ireland and how very far it’s culture was from ours today. So read Brendan for its lyrical sensibility and its window into a very strange world.
July 21, 2020
A story of a saint imaginatively told as if by a life-long friend and companion. As with Godric (which I liked more than Brendan), this is the story of the life-long transformation of a saint who, the older and saintlier he becomes, the less worthy of sainthood he believes himself to be: from sinner who sees himself as a saint to saint who believes himself to be a miserable sinner. The voice Buechner narrates this story in (Finn) distracts at first but slips beneath notice after a short while. The narrative remains told from the medieval mindset, however, which gives it a feel of authenticity. Buechner could school a lot of authors about how to write believable, authentic-feeling, realistic, multidimensional characters. He never has a fake feeling character, nor do they all seem merely like aspects of the author's own personality put forward at intervals. Really rich stuff.
June 13, 2022
This is a solid book that has two main virtues--it shows how syncretistic earl Christianity was in the British Isles (and likely nearly everywhere else it went) and Buechner's writing style is often catchy and interesting in itself. That said, I did not enjoy this one as much as other writings by Buechner (especially Godric), though I liked the setting and main story arc a good bit. The idea that early forays into the "New World" were made is a well-substantiated claim and this book shows some of the motivations and possible outcomes of those journeys. Also, I like how that Buechner shows that often conversions to Christianity came as a result of political expedience, a cult of personality, and capitalization on local superstitions. No doubt, all of those things are true. All told, a solid read, especially in establishing a sense of how religious conversions take place.
September 12, 2022
As many others have commented, this is a beautifully written book with vivid characters and plenty of incidents to prod one into reflecting on the human condition. As someone else stated, I did not find it a particularly engaging book, but it is one of the best attempts to completely immerse the reader in the mindset and zeitgeist of medieval commoners that I have ever encountered. The imagery and analogies all draw from common observations and experience in a way that is completely convincing and ring true. It is also one of the few books on the life of a religious figure I have read that ponders not only the tug of war between flesh and spirit but the notion of what faith is for, what role it plays in the life of an individual and of a community, and, in the end, what contribution, if any, it makes to a better life and a more cohesive society.
July 5, 2018
Brendan is an unusual tale in the form of an immram (Irish navigational narrative), full of both whimsical and profound moments, and, increasingly, mercy. It tells the story of Brendan, an Irish saint and seafarer seeking the glory of Christ in his search for Paradise.
This book was a delightful surprise. I started it out of loyalty to the author - I have enjoyed his other works - but not terribly excited about the premise. It took me about 1/4 of the book to be won over, and when I finished it, I wept.
I recommend this book to anyone feeling the weight of life and looking for mercy - or those just looking for a good yarn. I would give it 4.5 stars.
This book was a delightful surprise. I started it out of loyalty to the author - I have enjoyed his other works - but not terribly excited about the premise. It took me about 1/4 of the book to be won over, and when I finished it, I wept.
I recommend this book to anyone feeling the weight of life and looking for mercy - or those just looking for a good yarn. I would give it 4.5 stars.
April 23, 2024
When it comes to bringing medieval tales to modern readers, there are two successful approaches: staying faithful to the original text while presenting it in a fresh way, or modernizing the narrative while retaining classical storytelling techniques.
Unfortunately, in this adaptation of the voyage of St. Brendan, the author tried to both modernize the narrative and tell it in a new and interesting way, resulting in a monstrosity of a narrative that feels avant garde and detached from the richness of the original text. While I commend the author's attempt to introduce this captivating story to modern audiences, I found the execution a mere shadow of the original.
Unfortunately, in this adaptation of the voyage of St. Brendan, the author tried to both modernize the narrative and tell it in a new and interesting way, resulting in a monstrosity of a narrative that feels avant garde and detached from the richness of the original text. While I commend the author's attempt to introduce this captivating story to modern audiences, I found the execution a mere shadow of the original.
August 22, 2020
Heart-warming, playful, deeply reflective, irreverent and reverent all at once. Buechner masterfully fictionalizes the life of Ireland's Saint Brendan. His tale is woven with small miracles, self-loathing and forgiveness, the problem of suffering, the brokenness of the world and the power of friendship. My only regret in having read now this and his other fictionalized hagiography ("Godric") is that there are no other such books by Buechner left. Looking forward to exploring his other fiction and theological writing.
Read
November 22, 2023"Go to a place where nobody knows you then," she said.
"Find a place where there's folk who've never heard of your voyaging and all that. Bring Christ to them, Brendan, and in God's good time perhaps they'll bring him again to you."
"That's our monkish way, Father," Brendan said, "but the King of Heaven asks more of us than that, I think."
"He asks from each of us what we have in us to give"
"To lend each other a hand when we're falling,�
Brendan said. "Perhaps that's the only work that matters in the end."
I’ll let the book speak for itself.
"Find a place where there's folk who've never heard of your voyaging and all that. Bring Christ to them, Brendan, and in God's good time perhaps they'll bring him again to you."
"That's our monkish way, Father," Brendan said, "but the King of Heaven asks more of us than that, I think."
"He asks from each of us what we have in us to give"
"To lend each other a hand when we're falling,�
Brendan said. "Perhaps that's the only work that matters in the end."
I’ll let the book speak for itself.
September 14, 2017
Very interesting story. I wasn't sure what to expect. I almost gave it up around page 60 but I pressed on and I'm really glad I did. Good moral to the story it just takes awhile to get there. Some good quotes: a judgmental character says "I'm as crippled as the dark world." Main character replies "if it comes to that, which one of us isn't." " To lend each other a hand when we're falling, perhaps that's the only work that matters in the end."
December 4, 2020
Brendan is a priest with an insatiable desire for piety. However, his high standard for morality, although inspiring to those who experience it, creates uncertainty and failure in his life. Buechner is a masterful storyteller who took on the legend of Saint Brendan of Ireland and weaved it into a story of adventure and wonder, teaching us a thing or two about the human spirit and what grace ultimately looks like.
February 23, 2021
Brendan is a priest who was born in 484. This is a fictionalized account of his life and the sea journeys he took. Brendan was widely known for his travels and was called the Navigator because of his many journeys. He became St. Brendan and is known as the patron saint of sailors and travelers. This story reveals the struggles he undertook in living out his faith.
I don’t know much about Catholicism or saints but I like Frederick Buechner’s writing so I gave this one a whirl. I liked it.
I don’t know much about Catholicism or saints but I like Frederick Buechner’s writing so I gave this one a whirl. I liked it.
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