Despite Ireland's current infatuation with consumerism, the Catholic traveler can still encounter the country's Christian Celtic soul at Glendalough — site of St. Kevin's sixth-century monastery and home to some of the earliest Irish monks.

The word “Glendalough” means “valley between two lakes” and to step into this brilliantly green valley, nestled high along the granite backbone of the Wicklow Mountains, is to step into the heritage of Celtic Christianity.

Glendalough has been a pilgrimage site for more than 1,400 years; today more than 1 million people, many of them Americans, make the journey each year. While on vacation in Ireland recently, I traveled by bus from Dublin to Glendalough, about an hour's ride. When I was deposited in the parking lot of the visitors center, I was initially disoriented. The ruins of St. Kevin's monastic city were nowhere to be seen. After wandering around for a bit, I did what I should have done from the start: found a walking tour to tag along with. To the first-time visitor to Glendalough, this is essential. Although the tour doesn't visit all the ruins, it gives one a valuable orientation to the area and its history.

In the sixth century, our guide told us, a young rich man — probably the son of a local chieftain — fled to this steep-sided valley to live as a hermit. St. Kevin is said to have lived in a narrow cave in the cliff face, now known as “St. Kevin's Bed,” overlooking the larger lake. St. Kevin was a mystic, a friend of animals and an ascetic influenced by the Desert Fathers. After several years alone, his fame as a saint and a scholar attracted disciples and a monastery was formed.

Early Celtic monasticism embraced entire families. The celibate monks and nuns lived within the inner wall of the monastery. Families and their animals lived between the inner wall and the circular wall that enclosed the monastic village. Glendalough became a renowned center of learning, especially of Scripture. By the end of the sixth century, about 6,000 people, some 200 of them monks, lived in and around the monastery.

In the Kitchen

I found the monastic city both fascinating and odd. For many centuries it has been considered holy ground and, consequently, part of it is now a cemetery. The intact seven-story round tower and St. Kevin's Kitchen (really a church) thus stand in the midst of a crop of Celtic tombstone crosses dating from several centuries ago to the present. Of the seven stone church ruins scattered around the valley, only St. Kevin's Kitchen still has a roof. The stone tower, one of the best-preserved in Ireland, was once used for storage and for refuge during raids by Vikings and others.

Once the walking tour was over, I began to explore the other ruins on my own. They stretch out over several miles, so be prepared for a hike if you want to see them all. But the hike is worth it. When I climbed the steep hill to the site of St. Kevin's Cell (different from St. Kevin's Bed, the rock cave), I gained a clearer insight into ancient Celtic spirituality. I'd always puzzled over reconciling its love of nature with its zeal for harsh penances. Standing inside the semi-circle of low stones, about 3 feet in diameter, that was once St. Kevin's beehive hut, I began to understand.

The place where St. Kevin built his cell, where he did penance during Lent, is almost otherworldly in its beauty. It's on the ledge of a cliff about 200 feet above the larger lake. The sparkling water, the green of the surrounding woods, the blue sky — so low it seems you can reach out and touch it. The beauty of the spot is breathtaking. Yet here is where the saint chose to perform his legendary penances, spending the entire Lent in his cell, fasting and praying. One senses that, for St. Kevin, to deny himself was the same thing as affirming the almighty Trinity, who shows himself in the glories of the natural world. I could see why this place and others like it were known in Celtic spirituality as “green deserts.”

As I strolled along the paved paths edged with wild holly and hazel hedges, I stopped to look across the lake at St. Kevin's Bed, a small cave in the cliff. (The cliff is too dangerous to climb, so no access across the lake is provided). This cave is where the saint lived most of the year.

I could imagine St. Kevin, reputed to have prayed for so long that a blackbird built her nest and hatched her young in his upturned hand, whisper his wisdom on the soft wind that breathes down the valley: “Be still and know that God is God.”

Hermitage Hospitality

Another ruin not to be missed is St. Saviour's Church, which sits 100 yards off the footpath, about a half-mile east of the visitors center. Since few tourists make the trek this far, you may find yourself alone, or nearly alone, as I did. I found it deeply moving to stand inside those ancient stone walls and imagine the monks and the villagers of 900 years ago celebrating the one and same Eucharist that we celebrate in our home parishes today.

Although many bed and breakfasts service overnight guests in the area, thanks to Father Sean O'Toole, Glendalough's parish priest, pilgrims can once again make retreats in monk-like hermitages in the valley. With the help of the Irish Board of Tourism, Father O'Toole has built six one-roomed hermitages, called “cillins.” Since they opened last year, they've been in constant use.

Most visitors, like myself, cannot easily make a retreat, but even a single afternoon spent under the low Irish sky and its pearly light that fills the valley — wandering the ancient ruins, soaking up Glendalough's natural green beauty — can impart a sense of otherworldly peace.

At the end of the day, a pilgrim can stop at the tea shop in the nearby village of Laragh, which sits at the mouth of the valley. Over a cup of strong tea and a buttered scone, you might find yourself taking a long look at the hectic pace of your life and the pitiful scraps of time most of us give God. Like many others, you may come to a deeper appreciation for the periodic silence and solitude that the spiritual life requires.

Maybe you'll leave with a piece of Glendalough in your heart and a resolution to step back now and then from the busyness of life to be alone with God in the presence of his creation.

Una McManus writes from Alexandria, Virginia.