Saints have always had a soft spot for animals. Everyone knows the stories of St. Francis of Assisi, who preached to the birds, but such tales are especially common in the traditions of Celtic Christianity. The legend of St. Ailbe that we heard this morning--of a man who is raised by wolves and later, after he has become a great bishop, saves the life of his wild mother--is just one of the stories about extraordinary people who talk to animals or receive a blessing from them or rescue them from harm.

One of the most famous figures from the British Isles is Brendan, who was born long ago in what is now County Kerry, Ireland, and is credited by some with being the first European to set foot in America, almost a thousand years before Columbus. On his voyage to the fabled Land of Delight which people said lay far, far to the west, Brendan’s boating party made landfall on a small island, where they began to set up camp. As they built their fire, the monks were startled when the island began to move. For they’d beached their boats on a whale named Jaconious, the largest in the entire ocean, who later helped them find their way back home. If so, it wouldn’t be the first time an animal had helped someone who was lost or trying to get to safety. And even now, animals are occasionally known to transport us to the land of delight.

St. Columbanus was also born in Ireland, and probably knew of Brendan, who’d lived about hundred years before. The Catholic Encyclopedia tells us that "he shared with other saints a great love for God’s creatures. As he walked in the woods, the birds would alight upon his shoulder that he might caress them and the squirrels would run down from the trees and nestle in the folds of his cowl." He shared his food with wolves and bears, and they shared their food with him, so that (according to his biographer) otherwise fierce and untamed animals would frolic about him "like little puppies around their master."

Many of these saints seem to almost prefer the company of animals to the companionship of their fellow men and women. Is it because these creatures seem somehow closer to the holy? Animals inhabit a world more beautiful, less complicated, and more innocent than the our busy world of getting and spending. So many seekers of the sacred chose to live in caves, or in the forest. They slept beneath the stars and woke to the sound of wind in the trees. Like Francis, they came to feel an affinity for brother Sun and sister Moon and all the other members in the great menagerie of life. One of these was Kevin, another of the Irish saints who, we are told, "fled from the company of men to a certain solitude," where in his little hut he could find the leisure to read and pray and contemplate all the wonders of creation.

And as he knelt in his accustomed fashion, with his hand outstretched through the window and lifted up to heaven, a blackbird settled on it, and busying herself as in her next, laid in it an egg. And so moved was the saint that in all patience and gentleness he remained, neither closing nor withdrawing his hand: but until the young ones were fully hatched he held it out unwearied, shaping it for the purpose. Now if you’re ever in Ireland, you may see a picture of a saint holding a blackbird in his hand, and if you do, you’ll know that it’s St. Kevin.

And if you happen to be in Wales, you might chance to see images of a young woman holding a rabbit. She’s another saint, called Melangell, depicted with a hare because it’s said that she rescued a frightened bunny that was being chased by a huntsman and his dogs, hiding the little animal inside her skirt to protect it from harm. The huntsman owned the estate and was so touched by Melangell’s act of mercy that he gave her the land where they stood to build a church that stands there to this day.

I could multiply examples endlessly. There’s St. Ambrose and his bees, St. Hubert and his stag, St. Hugh and his swan, and St. Cuthbert who lived on the island of Lindisfarne, where someone once saw him emerge from the sea where he’s gone to pray with two little otters following him onto shore, licking his feet and trying to dry them with their fur. No one was making the animals behave so nicely. They just felt like they otter!

These stories may or may not be true in a literal sense. I don’t believe them entirely, but I don’t disbelieve, either. For the gulf between the human and animal is not nearly as wide as we often imagine. Other species do respond to kindness and seem to know our thoughts at times. As we approach them gently, they befriend us and allow us to share their worlds, which are not entirely different from our own. Without our always deserving it, they give us their affection and trust. And without our quite intending it, our own best qualities are brought our by their presence: our own playfulness, our impulse to protect and nurture the less powerful, and our ability to communicate in ways that go beyond words. Few of us here are saints; I know I’m not. But I think I’m at least a little more humane and a whole lot richer spiritually thanks to the critters who have been part of my life over the years.

So St. Ailbe may or may not have actually been raised by wolves. But the story contains an important truth, regardless, that we are all one family on the earth, and that what counts is not what’s on the outside–whether we’re hairless or furry, or happen to walk on two legs or four. What counts is the love and loyalty and joy that’s inside our hearts. And when it comes to those things, no book of saints would be complete without the animals included.