NeuroDivine

This hymn was born from a passing glimpse on Facebook—a brief mention of otters warming St Kevin as he stood in the icy waters of Glendalough. The image lingered. It was easy to picture the bold little creatures of the river: curious, bright-eyed, unafraid. Not solemn attendants, but playful companions. Not tame, but gloriously themselves.

St Kevin is often remembered for stillness—for prayer so deep that blackbirds nested in his hands. Yet the world around him was never silent. The same God who meets us in solitude also delights in whiskers, splashes, and holy mischief. The thought of otters warming the saint opened a gentler vision: creation not merely observing holiness, but participating in it.

In these verses, the otters are not reverent statues. They tug, they argue, they climb, they declare themselves in charge. And somehow, through their chaos, warmth arises. It is a small parable: grace does not only descend in quiet light; it can bubble up through laughter, fur, and fearless play.

May this hymn be a reminder that all creation belongs to God—the still saint in the stream, and the bold, bright creatures who refuse to let him freeze alone.

By Glendalough’s cold waters stood
brave Kevin in the chill;
the otters burst from rush and root
to see what saint stood still.

They tugged his sleeve, they stole his stick,
they splashed him head to toe;
one tried to climb his folded arm
to get a better view.

Another pinched his sandal-strap
and darted off in glee;
a third declared itself in charge
of keeping vigil, free.

They argued who should guard his shins
and keep him from the flow;
one, certain he was best at this,
sat square upon his toe.

Yet in their chaos, warmth arose—
a wild, unbidden grace;
for God can work through whiskered rogues
who brighten any place.

O Christ, who laughs with all the earth
and blesses fur and fun,
grant us the otters’ daring hearts
till all our fear is done.

Words Copyright © 2026 Michael McFarland Campbell