If you’ve never howled at God, have you ever been close to Christianity? We all yearn for companionship and gentle care in our secret hearts, only to encounter wolfish things. Dark shapes bang, bang, bang at the door of our carefully arranged life. It’s not alright. We climb out of baptismal waters instead of cruising the currents with other fish.

There is a well-known tale about an old seer, Fintan mac Bóchra, who came to Ireland with the daughter of Noah. He was a man of profound insight, a bearer of the old lore. He could still hear the whisper of ancient winds and the murmur of sacred wells.

But the rest of mankind had become so wicked that the heavens wept, the seas roared their wrath, and the world was swathed in a cloak of flood. God decreed a cleansing, a tempest that swirled and surged with furious anger. Fintan, wise and wary, beheld the omen and saw the great waters rise to devour lands and men.

And so, as the flood roared and the mountains wailed, Fintan changed into a fish, swimming through the turbulent waves. In a salmon’s skin, he swam along dark currents through the raging of the flood’s wild power. Once full of firm ground, the world was now a vast, sorrowful sea.

Through the changing tides and the deep waters, he survived. Then, after the storm’s fury had abated and the waters began to retreat, Fintan cast aside his fishy form and emerged once more as a man. 

The moral of the story is that when you’re facing a flood, become a salmon. Swim in the waters that come to drown you.

What a miracle it is to swim up to Christ and dive into the Holy Spirit or to be bound into the storying landscape of the Father’s kingdom. He shows us the fissures between heaven and earth, song melodies, and holy water. There is no room for wolves in this land, no getting stretched and strained. It’s always Christmas.

Is the table set? Stay in the water.

Where are my enemies? Stay in the water.

Have you anointed my head with oil? Stay in the water.

Does my cup overflow? Stay in the water.

Do I dwell in the house of the Lord? Stay in the water.

Only when we behave like men and not salmon does the dark flood turn calm waters into a mosh pit.

“Sed nos pisciculi secundum nostrum ιχθον Iesum Christum in aqua nascimur, nec aliter quam in aqua permanendo salvi sumus,” wrote Tertullian (De Baptismo 1, 3).

“But we little fishes are born in water according to our Fish Jesus Christ, and nor are we saved in any way but by remaining in the water.”

This is how we keep the wolfish things at bay: the werewolves and vampires, ghosts and satyrs, ghouls and wicked forces. No frightened Christians in the River of Life. Full communion, a light in the darkness. Let others walk in and out, and we will stay in the water, un-shaking, warmed, and enlightened, where no claw can touch us.

Swim back to the font of salvation. Light a candle at the window for others to find their way. Look at our Fish, Jesus Christ; he is glorious. He brings peace that sweeps the shallows and the deep right down to the navel of the world.

This is love that can’t be defied; this is sweetness. So preach it, sing it, shout it at the world: Thank you, Lord, that I am your little salmon and not a man.

Because as Muhammad Ali said, “It ain’t bragging if it’s true!”