Today, June 3rd, is the Feast Day of St. Kevin. St. Kevin captured my heart while I was traveling with a group of pilgrims in Ireland last year. Kevin made his home at Glendalough, a valley nestled into the Wicklow mountains, on the shore of both a crystal lake and babbling stream. He was the leader of a school and monastery that flourished in this place for many years educating priests and teachers, inspiring people to follow in the steps of the Holy.

While walking in his footsteps last year, I was struck with the number of people, young, old and in-between, who continued to flock to this lush, green valley. I assume they were lured there by the stories of this man devoted to presence and patience in what was then a remote place. The story is told of Kevin, a devotee of praying while standing knee-deep in the cold, mountain lake, his arms out-stretched, palms lifted toward the heavens. One day a bird lands in his hand, builds a nest and lays eggs. It is said that Kevin stayed just where he was, praying with arms extended, until the new birds were hatched and flew into their new life. It is a lovely story told in the fantastic way of the Irish.

This morning as I walked in the early part of the day I was very un-Kevin like. While the morning was unfolding before me,my mind was racing ahead to what had not yet been, what might never be. The birds were singing but I was not really listening. The colorful blossoms of an elongated spring were bursting around me but I wasn’t really seeing. My arms may have been outstretched but no bird dared land there for fear of being whipped into a tail-spin. Prayer was more of the shooting star pattern not the deep breath, trusting, knowing gut kind I hope for.

But overhead, high in the sky, the Holy was flapping, trying to get my attention. A honking, musical and lyrical continued its song cutting into the thoughts that gripped me, just outside my consciousness. I shook my head trying to bring myself into the present moment as I tried to walk into the metaphorical cold water as Kevin might have. I stopped. I got my bearings and allowed my head to angle up toward the sky. In the pale light of morning, a huge gaggle of geese flew in perfect formation, their V-shape an arrow cutting through the morning light. Only one lone goose flew outside this geometric shape. I felt my chest clutch as I saw it. Standing on the sidewalk, my head tilted, I urged this solitary bird to find its place. I watched as it seemed to work incredibly hard to fly harder, faster until……it moved perfectly into place. The formation was complete. At least for that one moment.

Whether or not the story of St. Kevin is factual is not important. What is important is that it is true. The gift of St. Kevin to us is the example of what it means to live in the community of all beings. Kevin held his patient prayer long enough for there to be new birth. He stood still making his connection with water, air, earth and heaven. He became ‘home’ for this most fragile of beings and in so doing probably learned more of what it meant to be human.

This morning, on St. Kevin’s Feast Day, I was offered a similar gift by the gathering of high flying geese. Their song woke me up and nudged me to breath deeply of the incredible gifts of this day. Like the lone goose flailing outside the perfect formation, I was folded once again into the gentle rhythm of Creation. It was almost as if St. Kevin himself was standing patiently, waiting and praying.

And to that I say “blessed be.”