Lehane's account of Irish Christianity in the 200-odd years between St. Patrick and the Synod of Whitby employs some masterful prose along a meandering way, a subconscious hat-tip if not an intentional tribute to his subject, which was so often bent upon undertaking the patterns of pilgrimage with passion and the highest possible attention to beauty. Some of Lehane's more insightful analysis comes in his contrast of Benedictine stability and Celtic wayfaring in each tradition of monasticism, implying that only Celtic monastic fire could have established the necessary beachheads for Christianity in Europe, while Benedictine plodding was necessary for Christianity's long-term presence on the Continent.
"Where Brendan, Columba, and Columbanus crossed seas and climbed mountains on pilgrimages that lasted years, Benedict of Nursia travelled scarcely more than a hundred miles in his lifetime... Life in [Benedict's] monastery was neither too strict nor too lax... [taking] the middle course between sybarite and beggar.
"The Irish were worlds apart. Their instinct was for the dramatic and the extreme. Benedict, according to Gregory, 'drew back his foot lest, entering too far in acquaintance with the world, he might have fallen into that dangerous and godless gulf.' The Irish lost tempers and risked lives, climbed mountains, interfered, found joy in nature and dejection in sin, took subtlety too far and were led by blatancy into error... The Irish brought the spirit of the early Church into an age that had seen it and watched it decay... [and] when they had gone, the gentler nature of the Benedictines laid more lasting foundations."