Post-colonial, non-aligned Orthodoxy

From left to right: HH Abp Chrysostomos II of Cyprus; HH Patriarch John X of Antioch;
HH Patriarch Theodoros II of Alexandria; and HH Patriarch Theophilos III of Jerusalem

I failed to comment on this story when it first surfaced a month and a half ago, but I really should have done and am doing so now. His Holiness Chrysostomos II, Archbishop of Cyprus; His Holiness John X, Patriarch of Antioch; His Holiness Theodoros II, Patriarch of Alexandria; and His Holiness Theophilos III, Patriarch of Jerusalem met on 18 April in Cyprus to discuss various ecclesiological issues – first among which was the Ukraine question. In the overall miasma of inter-Orthodox news surrounding the Moscow-Constantinople schism and the attendant ecclesiological and political issues it’s dusted up, this news item might seem like ‘small potatoes’ and somewhat outdated now. It’s not.

On 18^th April 2019, at the invitation of His Beatitude Archbishop Chrysostomos II of New Justiniana and All Cyprus, Their Beatitudes Patriarch Theodore of Alexandria and All Africa, Patriarch John X of Antioch and All the East, and Patriarch Theophilos III of Jerusalem visited Cyprus.

Discussed at the meeting were problems of inter-Orthodox relations, as well as the plight of Christians in the Middle East.

At the results of the meeting, a joint communiqué was issued, noting that Their Beatitudes the Primates of the Orthodox Churches discussed various problems “that arose after granting autocephaly to the Orthodox Church in Ukraine.” “His Beatitude Chrysostomos, Archbishop of Cyprus, briefed them [the three Primates] on his personal initiative of mediation. After listening to His Beatitude, the Primates of the three Churches gave their support for his initiative to carry it for the good of the unity of the Orthodox Church in Christ Jesus. In this regard, Their Holiness and Beatitude called upon all people concerned to work, on the one hand, to achieve Eucharistic unity, which constitutes the fullness of the Church in Christ Jesus, and on the other hand, to protect the faithful, their churches and their monasteries against all forms of transgressions and all acts of violence coming from any side, whatever the causes and motives are,” the communiqué states, in particular.

The Primates of the four Orthodox Churches also expressed “their sadness at the indifference of various countries and centers of power regarding the fate” of the Archbishops of Aleppo, Paul Yazigi of the Church of Antioch and Youhanna Ibrahim of the Syrian Jacobite Church, who were abducted six years ago, on 22nd April 2013.

During a private meeting, Patriarch John X of Antioch and Patriarch Theophilos III of Jerusalem “discussed in a spirit of sincerity, brotherhood and love, and exchanged views on the issue related to both Churches. They expressed their sincere determination and good intention to overcome these problems in the nearest future, in order for both Churches to reach the sought Eucharistic communion.”

As Dcn Methodius Steve Hayes at Khanya astutely noted before, there seems to be a gæopolitical split within Orthodoxy presently. We have heard from the Œcumenical Patriarch, who speaks for the America-centric ‘First World Church’. And we have heard from Patriarch Kirill, who seems to speak for the post-Soviet ‘Second World Church’. But with regard to the rest of the Orthodox world, which includes three of the historical five offices of the Pentarchy and the fastest-growing segment of the Orthodox Church globally, there seems to be a very different consensus emerging that is not easily digestible to New Rome and Third Rome imperial mythologies, nor to simplistic dichotomies of Slav versus Greek. Again I will note: Third World means Third World. It does not mean appropriating Third World language to rationalise a Second World nation’s desires to join the First.

Dcn Steve kindly provided some much-needed hints as to the nature of this emerging Third World consensus within the Orthodox Church. The Third World churches are concerned with avoiding a schism, with recapitulating the traditional ecclesiology of the Church, and (not least) with preserving civil order outside and among competing superpowers. There is very little patience among the other Churches with the political machinations of the Russian state, but if push comes to shove they will side with the established canonical Church bodies over the newer politically-motivated ones: just as Jamâl ‘Abd an-Nâsr and Salâma Mûsâ reluctantly sided with the Soviets more of the time than they sided with the West.

Let us consider. The four primates of Orthodox local churches who met in Cyprus represent, respectively, Cyprus (former British colony; partly occupied by Turkey), Syria (former French colony; partly occupied by Dâ‘iš and al-Qâ‘ida), Ægypt (former British colony) and Palestine (former British colony; occupied by Israel). The current discussion takes place within the context of a new Cold War between the United States and Russia; and the substance of the discussion has to do with the very relevant question of ecclesiastical independence from meddling by great power politics. Note how the statement put out by the four primates emphasises canonicity, Eucharistic unity, impartial defence of the powerless against attacks (including the situation in Syria and the near-forgotten plights of Mar Gregorios Yûhannâ Ibrâhîm and Met Paul Yâzigî!) and strategies of third-party mediation – not in a naïve Pollyanna way, but as a strategy to avoid coöptation by great power politics.

One further note: the histories of all of these countries – Cyprus and Ægypt particularly – are deeply intertwined with the Non-Aligned Movement; and in Cyprus particularly the rôle of the Orthodox Church in articulating and promoting Non-Aligned goals under the government of Archbishop Makarios III was not insignificant. Note how it is the Archbishop of Cyprus who seems to be taking a leading rôle even now! This is a valuable aspect of our recent historical witness as a Church that tends to be sidelined in discussions which centre the political witness of the Church on either Moscow or Constantinople. These are interesting times indeed, and the three Patriarchates of Antioch, Jerusalem and Alexandria seem to be carrying forward a true Gospel light and the spirit of Christ in a time darkened by the fog of cold war. May God protect them and grant them many years!

Our father among the saints the Holy Hieromartyr Boniface, Wonderworker of Crediton, Enlightener of Germany, Equal-to-the-Apostles; and those martyred with him at Dokkum

Saint Boniface of Fulda

Among the single most distinguished of the holy saints of the British Isles – in honour alongside the Romano-British (i.e. Welsh) Protomartyr Alban, the wonderworking hermit Saint Gúðlác of Crowland, the great Northumbrian wonderworking saints Cuðberht of Lindisfarne and Ceadda of Lichfield – is Boniface, a kindly, gentle and wonderworking missionary similar in aspect and approach to the later Russian Saint Herman the Wonderworker of Alaska.

In the world named Wynnfrið, he was born to a loving home, a caring mother and a doting father – who lavished greater affection upon him than upon his other brothers. Even so, at the age of five, young Wynnfrið conceived a conviction to enter the monastic life and devote himself to the service of God, and began to converse with any priests or monks that stopped by Crediton to preach. His father liked this not at all, and used every means at his disposal to keep Wynnfrið from the cloister. This caused Wynnfrið to cling ever more stubbornly to his desire to join the monastic life, and the two of them were often at odds. His father was struck by a sudden and deathly illness, and on his deathbed he gave Wynnfrið his blessing to take the cowl at the monastery at Exeter which was then under the rule of Abbot Wulfhard.

Saint Willibald (Boniface’s hagiographer and nephew, son of Saint Richard and brother of Saints Wealdburg and Wynnebald) tells us that Wynnfrið was possessed of many virtues. He had a prodigious memory, to which he committed the Gospels, the Psalms, the Prophets, the sayings of the Holy Fathers, the lives and sufferings of the martyrs. He thanked God in prayer each time he ate and drank. He did not speak very much, but when he did speak it was a meet word for the ears of his hearers, whether they were in high or lowly position. When he rebuked, he rebuked gently and with love; when he taught, he taught with the strength of his reason and faith. Willibald tells us: ‘neither flattering and fawning upon the rich nor oppressing and browbeating the freedmen and slaves, in the words of the apostle, he had “become all things to all men that [he] might by all means save some” (I Cor 9:27).’

As monk, Wynnfrið did not seek office, even that of the priesthood, until he had passed the age of thirty and obtained the recommendations of his superiors and brethren. As priest, Wynnfrið kept all of the ascetical Benedictine disciplines, fasts and prayers, and to these also gave alms and did works of mercy as he was able, and abstained wholly from wine and beer. So deeply was he trusted by his abbot and brethren, that during a church council held during the reign of Ine of Wessex, Wynnfrið was recommended at once to deliver the king’s and council’s judgement to Saint Beorhtwald, who was then Archbishop of Canterbury. Both the king’s and council’s missive to the Archbishop, and the Archbishop’s back to Ine, Wynnfrið related exactly and in the right order, first to last, in minute detail – thus vindicating the trust the Church had placed in him, and in addition earning a good name with both the king and the West Saxon folk. He rose in prominence at such councils, but his mind remained intent on God and not on the matters of the world.

Wynnfrið began to desire to preach the word of God in parts where it was not known, but gave no voice to that desire until he conferred with his abbot – who at first, stunned, refused this request from his beloved monk. However, as God willed it, Wynnfrið’s prayer was answered, and his whole abbey furnished him with money and food for his travels. In 716, Wynnfrið left with two monastic fellows for London, where he departed by ship for Dorestad, where Saint Wynnfrið stayed some time, seeking to work alongside Saint Willibrord in converting the Frisians. He got caught, however, in the middle of a fierce struggle between the Frisian king Redbad and the Frankish king Charles Martel, in which the Christian churches (associated with the Franks) were attacked and destroyed, and replaced with heathen steads of worship. Seeing his purpose frustrated, Saint Wynnfrið returned to Southampton in his homeland.

He rejoined his Benedictine brothers in Exeter, and they soon began to insist – particularly after the passing of their abbot Wynnberht – that he succeed to lead them as abbot. However, Boniface steadfastly declined despite their tearful entreaties, having set his heart upon missionary work. He waited until the fall when another monk named Stephen was appointed Abbot at Exeter, and then departed on a pilgrimage to Rome and the tombs of the Apostles. He met with Pope Gregory II, who blessed the mission of the priestmonk Wynnfrið and assisted him in his plans to bring the Gospel to the German people. Pope Gregory II appointed him a bishop, and with that office bestowed upon Wynnfrið the name of the Martyr Boniface of Tarsos in Cilicia.

It is worth dwelling a little on the life and martyrdom of the worthy Roman saint whom Pope Gregory II chose as Wynnfrið’s patron.

The first Boniface was a low-born thrall, in bondage to a villa near Rome under the rule of a young woman named Aglaïa. Boniface had some vicious weaknesses – for drink and for beauty particularly – but he was young, able-bodied, keen of mind and wit, of handsome onsight and a thrifty steward; in addition to this he was open-handed to the needy and sweet in temper. He caught Aglaïa’s eye and was not averse to her advances; soon enough the two of them were cohabiting in an irregular manner. Time went on, and both of them turned to Christ – desiring to embark on a better way of living, Aglaïa asked her paramour to go into the East and bring her back the relics of some holy saint or martyr. Boniface asked that if he should be killed on the way, if Aglaïa would take his own bones as holy relics to venerate. Aglaïa laughed and called him a ‘drunken old fool’, thinking it one of Boniface’s jokes, and sent him on his way with several companions from her household.

This was during the persecutions of Diocletian, and a great slaughter of Christians was being made at Tarsos on his orders, on the southern coast of Asia Minor. Thither went Boniface, and he came upon the stadium in which Christians were being tortured and put to death. Boniface wept and began to kiss the sufferers’ feet, and went before Diocletian’s man and declared himself a Christian, too. At first the Roman soldiery tried to restrain him, thinking him mad, but he so firmly persisted that he began to annoy them. They bound him, stripped him naked, beleaguered his body with beatings, boiling tar and other tortures, and at last beheaded him. Five hundred fifty Cilicians came to believe in Christ as they witnessed the way he greeted his death.

Time went by and he did not fare back. The companions that Aglaïa had sent with him went out looking for him – soon enough they learned the truth, and they wept over him. With bribes to the soldiers they reclaimed his body and his head, and set off back to Rome, where they brought him to Aglaïa. Boniface’s worldly lover, grief-stricken and with tears streaming down her cheeks, remembered his last words to her at once – and she did honour him as a holy martyr. With her household’s wealth she built a shrine over his grave, and lived the rest of her life in holy chastity in the presence of her beloved bondsman’s relics, asking his prayers to God for her soul and doing good deeds – at last reposing in blessedness. She was buried beside her Saint Boniface, and the two of them were known as saints thereafter, with many wonders being wrought at their graves in the Italian church that now bears their names.

Saints Boniface and Aglaïa, commemorated 19 December

Wynnfrið – the Saint Boniface we are concerned with here – was unlike the elder Saint Boniface in some respects. He was high-born, not low; and his hagiographer Willibald tells us he was chaste in mind and life from a precocious early age. Yet he did deeply resemble the elder Boniface in rather more important ways. Wynnfrið was, like Boniface, willing to travel great distances and cross seas for the glory of God. He truly loved and adored women, too, though not in a sexual way: he held affectionate and mutually-edifying correspondence with several learnèd and holy women in England – including Venerable Éadburg of Thanet, his niece Saint Wealdburg of Heidenheim and Saint Leobg‎ýð of Tauberbischofsheim – even from his sojourn on the continent. And, most importantly, Wynnfrið attained to the elder Boniface’s stubborn and steadfast love of God even to martyrdom.

With Pope Gregory II’s blessing, our Saint Boniface fared northward through the kingdom of the Lombards, where he met with their chieftain Liutprant, to whom he gave several gifts to bless his passing. Liutprant gave Saint Boniface and his party both rest and safe passage through the Alps, and also provisions for the journey. From here Saint Boniface ventured through the kingdoms of Bayern and Thüringen – and it is presumably in this segment of his faring that he met Sturm and his parents, who gave the lad to Boniface as an oblate. Boniface left Sturm with his trusted fellow Benedictine Abbot Wihtberht in Fritzlar. In both Bayern and Thüringen Boniface spoke with the leaders of the folk, and preached to them the Gospel of Jesus Christ. Willibald tells us that his reception was mixed: some of the German heretogs heard and heeded his words; others hardened their hearts against him and his Lord.

By the time Boniface had returned to Francia, he learned that the Frisian king Redbad had died – and was again eager to spread the word of truth in the Frisian lands. With no Redbad to hinder or harry him, his scattering of the seed of Christian doctrine in heathen Frisia brought forth a great blossoming harvest, and Saint Willibrord and his helpers baptised many in the name of the Holy Trinity. Boniface helped them as he was able for three years, and was never wanting for work to do. As Saint Willibrord grew feeble in his old age, he began to search for a successor to take charge of the Lord’s work in Frisia; Boniface was the most obvious choice. For a long time, Willibrord attempted to persuade Boniface to accept his bishopric, which Boniface, out of his wonted meekness and compunction, repeatedly declined. Willibrord rebuked Boniface for his stubbornness, after which Boniface revealed to the elderly saint that he had been given the omophor of Germany by Pope Gregory and dare not disobey him by taking another. Only upon learning this did Willibrord unwillingly relinquish his claim upon Boniface and give him his blessing to accede to the see the Pope in Rome had appointed him.

Saint Boniface made his way, with God’s help, to a place which Willibald calls Amanburch (modern-day Amöneburg in Marburg-Biedenkopf, Hessen), where he converted the local margraves – the twin brothers Dettic and Devrulf – and a great throng of folk, and righted in their midst a small kirk for them to worship Christ. And then, just as Saint Augustine had done before him, he began corresponding with Pope Gregory II in order to help address various pastoral issues that arose after the conversion of the Hessians. However, in response, the Pope summoned him to Rome at once and began to interrogate Boniface’s dogmatic soundness. He was made to pen a confession of faith, which the Roman Pontiff examined for its orthodoxy. The Pope was soon convinced of the Saint’s firm and right faith and invited the Saint into his confidence. Boniface soon learned the grounds of the Pope’s concern: among the Hessians, some of the folk he had converted had begun reverting to heathen practices of worshipping in sacred groves, blood-sacrifice, omen-reading and witchcraft.

Pope Gregory lay an omophor upon Boniface’s shoulders and sent him back to Hessen. Boniface made his way stealthily through Francia and came to Hessen, where he found the situation was even worse than had been reported to the Roman Pontiff. The Hessians had started to worship at a vast oak which was sacred to Þórr in a place which Willibald calls Gäsmere (today Geismar). Here is Willibald’s account of what followed:

Taking his courage in his hands (for a great crowd of pagans stood by watching and bitterly cursing in their hearts the enemy of the gods), he cut the first notch. But when he had made a superficial cut, suddenly, the oak’s vast bulk, shaken by a mighty blast of wind from above crashed to the ground shivering its topmost branches into fragments in its fall. As if by the express will of God (for the brethren present had done nothing to cause it) the oak burst asunder into four parts, each part having a trunk of equal length. At the sight of this extraordinary spectacle the heathens who had been cursing ceased to revile and began, on the contrary, to believe and bless the Lord. Thereupon the holy bishop took counsel with the brethren, built an oratory from the timber of the oak and dedicated it to Saint Peter the Apostle.

Boniface felling Þórr’s Oak

He then ventured into Thüringen, where the situation was yet worse. There had been a political crisis in which two tyrannical heretogs had killed many of the Hessian notables and caused the common folk to flee to the Saxons for protection. Many of the Hessians had gone to heathenry, or instead to heretical teachings – of whom the chief heresiarchs are named as Torchtwine, Zeretheve, Eaubercht and Hunræd. These four conspired to kill Saint Boniface, but their scheme was uncovered and they were punished.

Saint Boniface lived among the Germans for some time in great poverty and hunger, but continued to preach the word of God among them. Before long, as his preaching began to bear fruit, the churches which he had founded in Thüringen were restored and monastic communities were established, like that at Orthorpf (Ohrdruf). Missionaries from Britain arrived to strengthen these communities and the faith of the people – bringing with them books and scholars. After receiving confirmation in his see from Pope Gregory II’s successor Gregory III, Saint Boniface righted two kirks with Benedictine cells attached to each: Saint Peter’s in Fritzlar and Saint Michael’s – now Saint John the Baptist – in Amöneburg. To these churches Saint Boniface invited a great number of Benedictine monks to serve, and many answered his call cheerfully.

This done, Saint Boniface set out again for Rome to receive the younger Gregory’s blessing, and again stayed with the kindly Lombardic king Liutprant on his return journey into the Teutonic lands – for he now was an ancient old man, and travel was for him no longer as easy as it had been in his youth. He fared into Bayern and stayed with Odilo Gotfridson, the Agilolfing heretog of that land, who had invited him. Once situated there, Saint Boniface set about restoring the Church and banishing from among the people the various heretical and schismatic self-styled bishops and priests. Odilo gave Saint Boniface the authority to establish four diocæses in his realm – Salzburg, Regensburg, Freising and Passau – and appoint bishops for each one.

In Francia Charles Martel died and his sons Carloman and Pepin came to power. By Saint Boniface’s advice, religious practices in Francia were regularised, including preventing the abuse of women in concubinage. Boniface was elevated to the Archbishopric of Mainz, and presided over a great council meant to establish the true faith as proclaimed in the Œcumenical Councils of the Church. Such councils had been rare in Frankish lands on account of the constant warfare of the Frankish lords, and as a result, the faith was often not on firm grounds. Saint Boniface encouraged Carloman and Pepin to put aside their fathers’ violent ways. Indeed, the holy and peaceful Saint Boniface was known to complain of the Franks, in particular of Pepin of Herestal and Charles Martel, that they ‘shed the blood of Christians like that of the pagans’. (Willibald, it should be noted, rather plays up Saint Boniface’s relationship with the Frankish kings. In truth, Boniface was keen to preserve the political independence of the new churches he set up among the heathen peoples of the East – and this he often did by appealing to the Pope.)

Saint Boniface knew that he was reaching the end of his earthly life, and thus set up good and trustworthy men in the Church to keep his work alive even after he had gone to his heavenly reward. Among these were the same Willibald who wrote the Life of Boniface; Burchard, to whom he commended the Saxons and the Slavs; and Saint Lul of Hersfeld whose feast we just celebrated. He then made preparations – first taking Lul into his confidence – to make his final journey into Frisia with a number of companions.

On this venture into Frisia in 754, Saint Boniface converted thousands upon thousands of the heathen, baptising men and women and children with the help of his assistant, the auxiliary bishop Eoban of Utrecht. Of his other companions, Willibald names these: the priests Wintrung, Walthere and Æþelhere; the deacons Hamrind, Scírbald and Bosa; and the monks Wacchar, Gundaecer, Illehere and Haþwulf. Hildebrand, the lay-thegn of the saint, was also there, as were some forty more men whose names are not known. Willibald relates that these were so close to each other in the love of God that they were ‘of one heart and soul’. Saint Boniface took these men and pitched camp on the riverbank of Bordne, to lay hands on the newly-illumined of the Frisians – these folk having been sent home in the meanwhile, so they could again gather to be confirmed.

When that day dawned, the fifth of June, things turned out rather differently. Frisian heathens burst in upon the teld-ground with spears and shields in their hands, and some among the thegns of Saint Boniface rushed out to meet them with their own weapons. But Saint Boniface, hearing the din of oncoming weapon-weather, rushed out himself and rebuked his followers, saying that ‘we are told in Scripture not to render evil for good but to overcome evil by good.’ He gave courage to his priests and deacons and monks with spiritual exhortations and with the promise of æternal glory. But even as he was speaking the heathen rushed upon them and wounded them with their spears and their swords, spilling the holy blood of the witnesses upon that riverbank.

The martyrdom of Boniface

The heathen lay waste to the camp and made great plunder of the holy things they had with them – the reliquaries of the saints, the holy vessels and the books, imagining them to be gold and silver. In their greed, the heathen Frisians broke into two quarrelling factions and began to slay each other over the booty. The most of them having killed each other, the survivors broke into the chests and found to their dismay, not gold or silver or jewels, but instead the musty bones of long-dead martyrs and the leaves of various holy books. These they had strewn into the marshes or hidden away in other steads. But, by the grace of God, after Christians came to recover the relics of Saint Boniface, many of these books were found unspoiled, and were thereafter used in churches for the salvation of souls.

The relics of Saint Boniface and his companions were fetched and brought back by boat to the town of Utrecht, where they were kept in state and honour until they could be retrieved. Saint Lul came from Mainz to retrieve the bones and have them interred in his own city, even though the Frankish king and the townsfolk of Utrecht did not desire that the saint should leave. Even so, Willibald relates how a wonder was wrought at Utrecht and how the church-bell there began to ring of its own accord, striking a great and holy fear into the townsfolk of Utrecht. Thereafter they did not hinder Saint Lul in translating the bones of holy Boniface back to Mainz. Willibald does not mention the dissension between Saint Lul and Saint Sturm over the resting-place of Saint Boniface; and he only briefly mentions that it was Saint Lul’s intention that Saint Boniface be interred at Fulda – though other sources differ strongly on this point.

As to the water’s edge where Holy Boniface and his fellow-martyrs fell, the converted Frisians planned to raise a great earthen terp at that spot to spare it from the waxing and ebbing tides, on which a kirk would be built to Saint Boniface’s memory. The terp was built, and the folk began to wonder how they would bring up fresh water for themselves and for their horses and oxen on the way home. A certain Abba, who was there on the orders of Pepin, rode his horse up the terp to see it from all sides. But no sooner than he had begun, the horse foundered in the sod of the terp, its hoof sinking as it gave way. The other Frisians got down and went to Abba’s side to free the poor frightened thing, and as they dragged it out by its hind legs, a great wonder showed forth. Where the horse had been drawn out, a clear spring was welling up and bubbling out on all sides, with fresh water sweet to the taste pouring out and clearer still than any other water in the lowlands. It came out in such welters that it flowed into a sizeable stream. Thunderstruck, the Frisian men fared back to their homes, each with as much of the water as he could carry, in awe at the work of God they had seen. Word of the spring soon spread throughout Frisia.

Shrine of Saint Boniface, Dokkum

In the glorious martyrdom of the latter Holy Hierarch Boniface of Crediton we can see the wisdom in Pope Gregory II’s bestowal upon him of the patronage of the earlier Boniface of Tarsos. Boniface loved the Frisian nation with a great, all-giving, kenotic and self-sacrificial love, just as deeply and as wholly as the earlier Boniface (ultimately) loved his mistress Aglaïa – and the both of them willingly underwent violent deaths and gave of their earthly flesh for the sake of their respective beloved. It is most unfortunate that the Christian freedom that the peaceable Boniface desired for all the folk among whom he served was gained only at the cost of their political freedom at Frankish swordpoint; a trend which would come to be resisted only by the Slavs of later times. Even so, Christians on both sides of the English Channel have good grounds to be grateful to this holy and wonderworking father of the Church who gave so much of himself for our sakes. Holy, righteous, God-bearing and victorious father Boniface, herald of Orthodoxy in the West, selfless and loving equal to the Apostles, intercede for the sake of us, thy sinful children, to the only Lover of Mankind!

O holy Boniface, hieromartyr and equal of the apostles,
Godly scion of England, boast of Germany, praise of France and glory of Holland!
Arrayed in vestments dyed red in the blood of thy sacrifice,
Intercede with boldness before the throne of the King of all,
That He pacify all the nations and visit our souls with great mercy.

Venerable Pedrog of Padstow, Abbot of Llanwethinoc

Saint Pedrog of Padstow

The fourth of June in the Orthodox Church is the feast day of one of the founding saints of Cornwall, in the far southwest of England. Saint Pedrog – whose name is cognate with that of Saint Padrig, and indeed who is sometimes associated with him – was a missionary hermit and monk in Cornwall. He was known to Saint Samson and Saint Gwyddnog, and their relations ended up being friendly even if they went through some territorial disputes.

Pedrog was born to Glywys ap Solor, the legendary king of Glywysing in southcentral Wales. Glywys was one of these legendarily prolific kings, who had with his wife Gwawl twenty-two children – twenty one sons and one daughter. Among the sons were Saint Gwynllyw (rival and later son-in-law to Brychan Brycheiniog), Merchwyn and Pawl Penychen (with both of whom Saint Illtud had several ill run-ins), Edelig (mentioned in the Life of Saint Cybi) and Saint Pedrog. Physically, Pedrog is described as ‘handsome in appearance, courteous in speech, prudent, simpleminded, modest, humble, a cheerful giver, burning with ceaseless charity, always ready for all the works of religion because while still a youth he had attained by watchful care the wisdom of riper years’. Of all his sons, Pedrog was the only one who (at first) sought to take up the ascetic life, rather than be included among his father’s heirs in the cyfran division of his kingdom. Instead, he took a handful of disciples and left to study the monastic life in Ireland. In Ireland he made the acquaintance of Saint Cóemgin of Glendalough, who took instruction from him and who shared his love of animals – a trait we shall see below.

When Pedrog returned to Britain, he had some sort of run-in with Saint Samson and Saint Gwyddnog over the issue of his dwelling-place. This dispute has been glossed and smoothed over in various ways, in most of the hagiographical materials I have to hand, but the basic contours of it seem to have been that Pedrog’s arrival caused a bit of a fuss with Samson, who made an appeal to Gwyddnog over the use of his cell. Gwyddnog appears to have ruled in Pedrog’s favour, though he made Pedrog give several concessions to Samson before his departure – two of which were to keep the name of Samson in his dwelling-place; and to remember Samson at every Liturgy. Gwyddnog also offered Pedrog the use of his own kirk, which is now the one at Padstow but which was then named for him: Llanwethinoc. Saint Gwyddnog’s name continued to be associated with the site until after the Norman Conquest. At any rate, the dispute in which all three holy men of Wales and Cornwall were involved was settled to everyone’s satisfaction, it seems, as none of them seem to have bore the other two any ill will after.

Saint Pedrog lived there for thirty years. He had a discipline common among the Welsh saints, of reciting the Psalms whilst standing in cold water. At the end of these thirty years he decided to embark on a pilgrimage to Rome, which he made and completed. On his way back, he had fair weather and smooth farings until he reached Devon – the town of Newton St Petrock. Once he reached Newton, so close to his home in Cornwall, it began to storm so heavily for many days. He is reputed to have predicted to his companions that the storm would pass overnight, but it continued so hard that he could not go forward no matter how fervently he prayed for the storm to end. Stricken into repentance for his arrogance, he returned the way he had come, and once he had gotten to Rome, he continued on, setting sail for Jerusalem. Not stopping in Jerusalem, Saint Pedrog made his way all the way to India. He made a desert hermitage on an island in the Indian Ocean, where he lived for seven years, being sustained by God on berries and nuts and fish from the sea. There, in the wild places of that island, he met a wolf, which he managed to tame with humble patience and persistence. When at last he returned to Cornwall from India, the tame wolf came with him – this wolf is depicted in much of the artwork commemorating Pedrog.

Pedrog returned to his cell in Cornwall where he lived the rest of his life. He was disturbed once in prayer by a deer that had fled into his cell, and he gave shelter to the poor frightened creature when a powerful nobleman with his horses and hounds came hunting it. (This appears to be a common trope in British hagiography, and even among the Saxons.) The powerful nobleman, in this case, happened to be Custennin King of Cornwall, who was then a pagan still. Custennin was obviously impressed enough with Pedrog that he converted to Christianity and gave him his official protection.

Pedrog came again across the domain of another holy man – this time a Cornish man named Saint Guron – and again lay claim to his monastic dwelling. With the support of the king, Saint Pedrog naturally got his way; and Saint Guron had to leave for Gorran Haven. But at Bodmin, Saint Pedrog established a monastery – now St Petrocs Church there – which quickly attracted monks and flourished in the centuries following his death. Saint Pedrog reposed at Treravel, whilst travelling between Nansfenten (now Little Petherick) and Llanwethinoc (now Padstow). On account of his holiness and humility, Pedrog is revered in Cornwall particularly, but also in France (where he is known as Saint Perreaux), England and Wales. Holy father Pedrog, pray unto Christ our God that our souls may be saved!

O Pedrog, Master Builder of the Faith in the West,
Who didst prefer the heavenly warfare to thy kingly heritage and military prowess:
With thy companions thou didst travel
Through the West Country establishing churches
And didst include the animals in thy loving care.
In thy monastic zeal thou didst recite the Psalms in rivers:
Through thy prayer may the flow of Christian Faith
Ever increase in our land!

St Petrocs Church, Padstow

Holy Hierarch Éadfrið of Lindisfarne

Illuminated page from the Lindisfarne Gospels

Today in the Orthodox Church we commemorate the monastic scribe (and later bishop of Lindisfarne) who actually did much of the artistic work in the illuminated Lindisfarne Gospels, Bishop Saint Éadfrið of Lindisfarne. At least three Northumbrian saints are known to us primarily for their devoted and loving work on this beautiful piece of religious art: not only Éadfrið but also Venerable Billfrið and Bishop Saint Æþelwold of Lindisfarne. There is a good reason that this project is associated with several saints, whose monastic and episcopal careers span a period of a good sixty years between them.

So he wrote a book, the modern reader might find himself thinking – big deal! Well, actually, it was very much a big deal. In our age of tree pulp and commercial publishing, we tend to forget that producing books before the advent of movable type was a matter of exhaustive hard work and dedication, with each stroke meticulously traced out beforehand and laboriously inked in the appropriate colour. Considering the lives of the monks at the time, and the regularity with which they were expected to undertake both prayer and manual labour, the making of the Lindisfarne Gospels appears to us an even bigger feat of artistic ingenuity and effort. The creation of this beautiful and precious book was both a work of ascesis and a work of public Gospel witness, an ‘active portal of prayer’ undertaken on behalf of all and for all. Also, this project was intimately associated with the cult of Saint Cuðberht of Lindisfarne, to whose blessed memory Éadfrið had a particular devotion. As Dr Janet Backhouse at the British Library, commenting on the making of the Lindisfarne Gospels, puts it:

The making of the Lindisfarne Gospels is different, this is opus dei, the work for God elevated to a new level. And when you think about some of the works that these people would have been reading at the time, possibly Cassiodorus's words that every word written was a wound on Satan's body, this is the miles Christi, the Soldiers of Christ, spiritual frontlineism of the first order. Cassiodorus, again quoting the psalmist and other biblical sources, said that the scribe preaches with his fingers, that this is the most active form of preaching and ministry that somebody who focuses their life upon service to God and the bigger community can actually achieve.

The skins of at least one hundred and fifty young cattle – and those of the absolute finest quality – would have been used for the vellum. Undoubtedly these came from gift-exchanges with perhaps dozens of different Yorkshire hamlets over at least two decades. Tanning and curing the vellum from these hides would have been a long, labour-intensive and smelly affair (as manure played a key rôle in the process); then the hides would have to be scraped until they were a suitable colour, texture and thickness. Only then could the process of tracing and inking the book begin – this process took at least ten years of team labour by the monks.

The ink that was used in the Lindisfarne Gospels was a dense, carbon-heavy near-black probably made from soot or black from lamp-oil. For the illuminations which Saint Éadfrið commissioned, somewhere around 90 different pigments were used. These were created from different mixtures, salts and lead compounds prepared mostly from a half-dozen local minerals and vegetable extracts; however, some of the dyes may have come from the Eastern end of the Mediterranean, and the lapis lazuli used in preparing the deep blues may have come from as far afield as Afghanistan or China. Egg whites or fish glue were used as binding agents for the dyes. The tracing, as Dr Backhouse has found, was done in lead point – perhaps an early version of the pencil which, before her research, was thought to have been a much later invention. The lines were ruled with a stylus. The ‘light box’ technique, which had been used for illumination in the Islamic world – whereby the manuscript was vertically framed and backlit by a candle or lamp – was employed in the creation of these Gospels. Certain stylistic elements of Germanic rune-work were used, apparently, after some experimentation with uncial and Roman capital lettering, producing a work that is unmistakeably English. The Lindisfarne artists were certainly fond of both the overlapping, ‘snaking’ gæometric forms common to the Nordic countries of an earlier time, as well as of Celtic motifs.

By the way, the painstaking and labour-intensive mediæval process of preparing vellum and binding books, though slightly different from the Lindisfarne method described by Dr Backhouse, is admirably described in Edith Pargeter’s novel The Heretic’s Apprentice, one of the Brother Cadfael series of historical-fictional crime thrillers. William of Lythwood – the wool and leather merchant whose death on pilgrimage prompts the events of the novel – has a brother, Jevan, whose own business is making vellum which is then sold to the Benedictine monastery in Shrewsbury to be used in illumination. Pargeter lavishes a good deal of attention on the description of Jevan’s workshop in the book, as well as the stages of the work that is done there.

Despite this not being the only holy text so produced in this time period – others being known to exist in Durham and Echternach – this was indeed a great effort which required massive discipline, dedication and collaboration. It is very little wonder that, in later decades after the repose of Saint Éadfrið, Saint Billfrið the goldsmith would seek to produce a cover worthy of such a work, enameled with precious metals and studded with gemstones. The exquisite artwork bears witness to the unique spirituality of the Lindisfarne hermits and monks – who owed the establishment of their holy isle to saintly Celtic Fathers, and who lived at the confluence of both Norræne and English cultures, which were then also exposed to Greek and Ægyptian influences from the Desert Fathers. Saint Éadfrið was soon after venerated alongside the father to whom he and his disciples expressed such devotion, and all of his relics, those of his predecessor and the holy book which he had commissioned, were saved from the ravages of the Danes in the 870s.

The history of the Lindisfarne Gospels themselves after the Norman Conquest is fairly murky. It was supposed to have ended up in Durham, but this apparently cannot be proven. It did, however, end up in London sometime after Henry VIII’s iconoclastic rampages – but not necessarily because of them. In the seventeenth century it was in the collection of a private London book collector named Robert Bowyer, and passed into the hands of Sir Robert Cotton, whose collection became one of the foundational resources of the British Library.

Holy father Éadfrið, binder and illuminator of Holy Writ and mighty foe of ignorance, pray to Christ our God that our souls may be saved!

Venerable Cóemgen of Glendalough, Wonderworker of Ireland

Saint Cóemgen of Glendalough

The third of June in the Orthodox Church is the feast day of Saint Cóemgen, or Kevin, of Glendalough. An Irish saint of the turn of the seventh century, Saint Cóemgen founded the famous Glendalough Abbey in Wicklow, in the heart of a little valley nestled among the Wicklow Mountains. He drew inspiration, as many of the early Celtic monastics did, from the Eastern Desert Fathers. Much like the Desert Fathers, or the Russian saints of the Northern Thebaïd, Cóemgen lived close to nature, and many of the wonders associated with the saint involved his ability to speak with wild animals, who became biddable at his urging.

Cóemgen [also Kevin] was born in Leinster to Cóemlog and Cóemell; his name means ‘dear-born’ or ‘kindly-born’. The Gælic root cóem, or in modern Irish caoimhe, is cognate with the English word ‘home’; while the suffix -gen should be familiar to any student of Greek. It was said that when Cóemell gave birth to him that she felt no labour pains. Shortly after he was born, an unmarked pure white cow came to Cóemlog’s door and tamely let itself be milked; and it was from this milk that the infant saint was fed. The saint had something of a temper as a youth, but his parents recognised that he was good with animals. He also had pity on the needy. When he was still only a young child living with his parents, several beggars passed him by on the road. They were hungry, and asked Cóemgen for something to eat. Of course Cóemgen had nothing but his father’s flock, and so he gave the beggars four sheep. He expected to be beaten for losing four of Cóemlog’s sheep, but when he returned to his father’s house, he found to his amazement that he had exactly the same number of animals in his flock as he had left with.

By this same tradition, he was given at a young age to be raised and educated by the great Cornish hermit, Saint Pedrog. It was from Pedrog that Cóemgen obtained the reverence for Christ and learned of the Desert form of eremeticism – as well as, apparently, a gentle reverence for nature and a gift with wild animals. He was already living with monks at the age of twelve.

It was said that while he lived with Saint Pedrog, a young Cóemgen knelt in prayer at the start of the Lenten Fast. He held his hands outstretched, and so still, that a wild blackbird which was nesting that spring chose Saint Cóemgen’s hand as the perch on which to build it! Cóemgen held himself as still as a tree branch, such that the blackbird could build her nest, lay her eggs, warm them and hatch them all throughout that Lent, without in the slightest being disturbed. Throughout Lent the blackbird fed not only her chicks, but also the saint who sheltered them, with berries and nuts that she flew out and found. By the time Lent was over, the blackbird’s chicks were grown large enough to fly for themselves, and the nest was left empty. It was only when the blackbirds had no more use for the nest that Saint Cóemgen went to rejoin Pedrog to celebrate the Lord’s Pascha.

On another occasion, several hungry vagrants came to Saint Pedrog’s monastery and asked Cóemgen – who was then in the kitchen preparing a meal for the lay-brothers in the field – for food. Cóemgen gave them everything they asked for. When the brothers came back from the field and found no food waiting for them, the elder monks rebuked Cóemgen for his profligacy. But the young boy merely told the brothers working in the kitchen to fill all the empty pitchers with water and gather together the bones left by the vagrants. Cóemgen then went off by himself to pray. As he did so, the hungry field workers found that the water in the pitchers had turned to ale, and the bones were now full of meat as though they had never been touched.

He was ordained a priest by Éogan mac Cainneach; and he was led by an angel over the Wicklow Mountains to Glendalough, a place which is marked by two lakes, with one feeding into the other. He settled on the south side of the upper lake, in an early artificial cave called ‘St Kevin’s Bed’. He made this into his hermit’s cell, and spent seven years inside in solitary prayer and isolation. He wore rough clothes, went barefoot, and ate mostly wild worts and roots, with some occasional fruit and fish as well – the last of which were brought to him by a wild otter that lived in the lakes. In the winter, he would submerge himself naked in the ice-cold water and recite the Psalms. It happened that one day he dropped his Psalter in the lake, but it was retrieved for him by the otter, who fetched it out of the water unstained and unblotted.

On another occasion, a wild boar which was being hunted broke out of the woods and hid behind Saint Cóemgen as he prayed. The hounds came after the boar, but upon seeing the saint they at once became docile and lay harmless on the ground. The hunters saw all this, but they still wanted to kill the boar. As Saint Cóemgen continued to pray, a flock of blackbirds lit on the tree above him. The hunters took this as a sign that Cóemgen was a holy man, and left the boar alone. (Variants of this story appear in the hagiographies of a number of British and Irish saints.)

He gained a certain amount of respect from the local people. One poor neatherd living nearby was surprised to find that one of his cows started to give prodigious amounts of milk, a full fifty times as much as any of his others. He began to observe the animal to see if it was behaving any differently than the others. He followed it when it began to stray – apparently by habit – toward the Upper Lake of Glendalough. It went into St Kevin’s Bed, and lay at the feet of the hermit as he prayed to Christ, and licked his feet. The poor neatherd observed all this in trembling awe, and came before the mouth of the cave and knelt before the hermit, thinking him in heathen superstition to be a god or a færie. Saint Cóemgen saw this, and at once rushed out to the neatherd and raised him to his feet, showing him that he was every bit as human as he. He then taught the neatherd about Christ. The neatherd and his wife and children agreed to be baptised, and he sent his son to live with Saint Cóemgen as a disciple. Soon the word spread about this holy hermit who lived at Glendalough, and many men and women gathered to hear the Holy Gospel.

Soon Cóemgen began to realise that he could no longer sustain a solitary hermit’s life, and set about trying to found a monastery. He could not, however, get permission from the King of Leinster – by tradition, the forebearer of the Uí Tuathaill – who was then still a heathen. The King of Leinster had, however, a tame pet goose which would fly and dive and catch fish for the king’s entertainment. This goose was much stricken with age, however, and infirm in the wings, and could no longer fly. It so happened that Cóemgen went to visit the King of Leinster in disguise as a poor itinerant tradesman, and offered to make the goose young again as long as the king would live. In exchange, though, Cóemgen asked for as much land as the goose would fly over.

The incredulous king, who didn’t believe this silly tinker could do such a thing as make his lame old goose young again, agreed on the spot. Saint Cóemgen took the goose in his arms, and made her spread her wings out. He made the Sign of the Cross on the bird’s breast, and at once her wings became whole again, and she flew up high and gaily just as if she were but newly-moulted. The goose flew out over the two lakes of Glendalough and circled round them both, then flew back into Saint Cóemgen’s arms. The gobsmacked King of Leinster could do no other than give Saint Cóemgen what he asked for, which was indeed the valley of Glendalough, such that he could build his monastery.

The construction was plagued with setbacks. The workers that Cóemgen hired to help him build agreed to pick stones from the construction site and haul masonry to the upper lake. And they agreed to work from when the larks began to sing until when the lambs slept. However, the quality of the masonry from the workmen began to suffer. Indeed, one of them was hit in the eye by a stone and was stricken blind. Cóemgen found him, and made the sign of the Cross over his injured eye, and his sight was restored. On further investigation, Saint Cóemgen found that the workers were fatigued because the larks began singing far too early in the morning. So he scolded the larks and told them to allow the workers to sleep in. From that day forward, it is said, no lark has been heard to sing in Glendalough.

Glendalough Abbey became a thriving school and centre for monastic life. Saint Cóemgen welcomed all who came with an earnest desire to learn and to work; young men from both rich and poor families were welcome there and received the same treatment. Cóemgen would not refuse to see anyone who came to him for help, and they all left healed and edified. One young boy living nearby was wracked with seizures, and he was told that only an apple from Glendalough Abbey would heal him. Of course, Glendalough had no apple trees whatever. So when Saint Cóemgen heard this, he went to a stand of willows on the grounds and bade them bear forth fruit. The willows produced sound, ripe apples, and Cóemgen had one of these apples sent to the young boy, who on eating it was cured of his seizures.

One late source on Cóemgen’s life has it that he went to Rome on pilgrimage, for the purposes of obtaining relics which he brought back for the monks at Glendalough to venerate. He returned to Glendalough, but soon felt the desire to again go wandering in pilgrimage in his old age. First, however, he took counsel with his close friend, Saint Ciarán the Younger of Clonmacnoise, whose wisdom Cóemgen had come to respect. Indeed, Cóemgen was the one who would attend Ciarán at his deathbed, and administer to him the Gifts before his blessed repose. On this occasion, though, Saint Ciarán spoke to Cóemgen and told him: ‘Birds cannot hatch their eggs while they are flying.’ Saint Cóemgen took this as meaning that if he went on pilgrimage, his pupils and monks would suffer in their spiritual life. God was calling him to watch over his monastery.

And watch over it he did. Saint Cóemgen lived to the age of one hundred and twenty, being born in the year 498 and dying in June of the year 618. He reposed peacefully in the Lord, and to the last he continued to work and to teach and to hold to the ascetic disciplines he’d kept his whole life. Holy father Cóemgen of Glendalough, pray unto Christ our God for us sinners!

With hymns of praise let us all bless the noble Cóemgen,
Who by his godly love poureth divine grace
Into the hearts of those who honour him;
For he dwelleth now with the saints and angels in heaven,
Where he standeth before the throne of the Most High,
Praying unceasingly for us all.

Glendalough Abbey, Ireland

Holy Hierarch Oda of Canterbury

Saint Oda the Good

In the Orthodox Church today we commemorate another holy Archbishop of Canterbury, Auði or Oda ‘the Good’ or, in Old English, ‘Oda se Góda’. Sadly, the rhyming cognomen – which was coined by Saint Dúnstán according to the tradition – hasn’t carried down to modern times. Archbishop Saint Oda was also known by the betimes-deserved epithet ‘the Severe’.

He was born around the year 870, which means his father was all but certainly part of the Great Heathen Here led by Ívarr the Boneless and Ubba; Oda was born in East Anglia quite shortly after their landing. In what seems to have been an act of teenage rebellion, the young Oda was drawn to Christianity and spent a good deal of time in church – much to the consternation of his heathen father, who tried to hinder him from going, and even disowned him when he continued to visit the church. Oda’s longing for the Christian life was, however, wholly in earnest, and he ended up being baptised and adopted into the household of the Christian landowner Æþelhelm (who may have been a mother’s-side kinsman) who encouraged young Oda in his Churchly career. After Oda was ordained to the priesthood, he accompanied Æþelhelm on a pilgrimage to Rome, on which his adoptive father fell ill. Oda was able to cure Æþelhelm’s illness with a cup of wine which he had blessed.

The early part of Oda’s tenure as a bishop is somewhat unclear. According to William of Malmesbury he was consecrated as Bishop of Wilton in 920 (or 923); the slightly more proximate (and, according to the Catholic Encyclopædia, plausible) historian Éadmær of Canterbury has it that he was Bishop of Sherborne in 925. What is clear, though, is that he was certainly Bishop of Ramsbury by 927. He accompanied the court of Æþelstán King, and – according to one tale – was present at the Battle of Brunanburh which saw Æþelstán and the English nation pitted against an invading alliance of Vikings, Scots and Irishmen from the kingdoms of Dublin, Scotland and Alt Clut. During the battle, Æþelstán’s sword fell from its scabbard and was lost. By a wonder of God, Oda found the sword in his own hand, which he gave to the king, thus sparing him from a grim fate. This tale may or may not be pious exaggeration, but what is fact and even more significant, is that the half-Danish Oda managed to secure a truce between the Viking prince Óleifr Gúðriðarson of Dublin – who had fought against the English at Brunanburh – and Æþelstán’s half-brother and successor Éadmund Æþeling.

Éadmund Æþeling wished to promote Saint Oda to the Archbishopric of Canterbury after the repose of Archbishop Wulfhelm in 941, but Oda refused several times. He pointed out that the last Archbishops of Canterbury had all been monks, and he was not. But as Éadmund King insisted, Oda went to be tonsured a Benedictine at Abbaye Fleury and then meekly accepted the appointment. (This is the same Abbey to which he recommended his dear nephew Saint Osweald of Worcester to study and to take the Benedictine cowl.) Among the very first things that Saint Oda did upon his appointment was to order much-needed repairs to Canterbury Cathedral, and historical records relate that for three years afterward there were no storms or wind within the cathedral pale.

Oda earned his nickname ‘the Severe’, not because he was particularly tyrannical as an archbishop or as a monk, but instead because he used his archepiscopal amvon to insist firmly to the nobles that they abide to a strict rule of justice and order. To this end in particular, he assisted Éadmund in codifying a law-book for his kingdom. Oda insisted that England’s wealthy and high-born abide in regular marriages rather than keeping mistresses, uphold the cause of the powerless in courts of law, fast, give alms and pay tithes to the church. He also wrote an introduction to the Vita of the saintly (but controversial in his own lifetime) Northumbrian bishop of York, Wilfrið. He remained on good terms with the subsequent king Éadred, and struck up a strong and lasting friendship with Éadred’s trusted advisor Saint Dúnstán, who was then Abbot of Glastonbury Abbey. During Éadred’s reign, Oda – though a Benedictine himself only in a technical sense – became firmly attached to and a steadfast supporter of the order’s reform movement in England headed by Saint Dúnstán and sponsored by Éadred. It was known that Oda favoured Dúnstán to succeed him as Archbishop of Canterbury.

Oda was responsible for the coronation of the generous but ill-fated Éadwig Eallfæger, who spent the day of his feast dallying with his unfortunately-consanguine sweetheart Ælfgifu and her mother. Oda was a firm and implacable foe of this particular match: not only because of the incident at the coronation feast, but because Ælfgifu and Éadwig were second cousins – a match forbidden under the Church canons. He ultimately succeeded in having the marriage annulled, though Éadwig would die in murky circumstances some short while later.

Oda also crowned Éadwig’s successor Éadgár ‘the Frithsome’, whose rule in England was much more stable. However, Oda himself would not live much longer. Sensing his death nearing, he sent for his nephew Saint Osweald, but the younger churchman didn’t make it in time. Archbishop Oda reposed in the Lord and gained the heavenly kingdom on the second of June, 959.

Oda was succeeded, sadly, not at once by Dúnstán but instead by Ælfsige, who died of illness en route to Rome on a pass through the Alps. Byrhthelm was then sent, but he too died early – and Dúnstán then succeeded to the archbishopric. Dúnstán had a particular devotion to Saint Oda, and would never pass by his tomb without stopping first to pray there. Oda’s tomb became known for the wonders and healings wrought there. Holy Father Oda, saintly archbishop, upholder of God’s justice and rectifier of monasteries, pray to Christ our God for our salvation!

Holy Hierarch Lul of Hersfeld

Statue of Saint Lul in Bad Hersfeld

Today on the New Calendar in the Orthodox Church we commemorate the West Saxon companion, friend and fellow-missionary to the Continent of Saint Boniface and sometime-rival of Saint Sturm of Fulda, Saint Lul of Hersfeld, the Bishop of Mainz.

Although he is nowadays commemorated primarily in Germany, Saint Lul was in fact born in England in 710 to wealthy West Saxon parents, who sent him to study at Saint Aldhelm’s monastery at Malmesbury, where he was tonsured a Benedictine monk. At the age of twenty-seven, he undertook a pilgrimage to Rome, where he met our holy father Boniface. Thereafter Lul became the spiritual son of Boniface; Lul went with Boniface to Frisia in order to assist the older English monk in proclaiming the Gospel to the people there. At first, Lul seems to have been attached to the Benedictine Kloster Sankt-Michaels in Ohrdruf which was founded by Saint Boniface in 724 and which was then under the care of Abbot Wihtberht. Lul was sent again to Rome in 751 to help secure for the monastery at Fulda complete political independence from meddlesome Frankish kings – and thereafter was appointed choir director in Mainz, also being Saint Boniface’s favourite to succeed him as bishop.

After the martyrdom of Saint Boniface at the hands of the heathen in Frisia in 754, Lul acceded to the bishopric in Mainz. He wanted the relics of his beloved starets translated from Dokkum to Mainz – though they ended up instead, by God’s will, at Fulda Monastery – and commissioned a Vita for Boniface. On the other hand, over the objections of Abbot Sturm, Lul expanded the Diocæse of Mainz to include the missions of Erfurt and Fritzlar which had been abandoned as a result of the incessant warfare between the Frankish kings and the heathen Saxon heretogs. The clash between these two strong-minded and strong-willed Teutonic personalities escalated during the 760s as Lul re-established a rival Benedictine house to Fulda at Bad Hersfeld and re-aligned himself with the Merovingian ruling family of Francia for the purposes of renewing missionary activity among the Saxons. At one point, perhaps in retaliation for having lost the argument with Abbot Sturm for Saint Boniface’s relics, Lul advised the Frankish king Pepin to have Abbot Sturm exiled to Jumièges for political disloyalty; Sturm bore this exile with equanimity and did not make any objection.

Abtei Hersfeld

As can be seen from this incident, the long dispute between Saint Sturm and Saint Lul may be seen to have a this-worldly political dimension. And in this matter their given names (Sturm or Storm; and Lul or Lull) seem to be quite ironically at odds with the temperaments of each man. Sturm, indeed, was a peaceful monk who preferred to employ peaceful means in mission. Lul, on the other hand, had few objections to political settlements that involved force.

Sturm was himself a Bavarian, and even if he did not condone the heathen practices and violence of his continental Saxon cousins, he still sympathised with them to an extent that he did not wish to see them converted to Christianity at the point of a sword. He apparently felt – not without reason – that his missionary efforts among the Saxons were hampered by Frankish political violence. Saint Lul, on the other hand, was much more the warrior-monk. He seems to have been much more comfortable leveraging the political power of the Franks to further the interests of the Church on Saxon territory, even acting as a political and military advisor to Karl the Big. This political ‘pivot’ did not go unrewarded: in 775 Karl gave Abtei Hersfeld under Bishop Lul the prestige and status of his Imperial patronage and protection, and later on Lul was given the right to translate the bones of Saint Wihtberht to Bad Hersfeld, which attracted great traffick of pilgrims to the monastery. Eventually, thanks to the efforts of both men, the dispute was reconciled, and on his deathbed Saint Sturm prayed with his monastic brothers, asked them to forgive him and also asked the forgiveness of Archbishop Lul for any offences he had done.

Lul was given an archbishop’s omophor as well by Pope Hadrian in 781. Though his religious feast, though, is instead kept on the first of June, he died five years later in peace among his brothers in Abtei Hersfeld, on the sixteenth of October 786 – which date is still kept in Germany as the oldest surviving folk festival in that country: Lullusfest. The great longevity of this festival among the folk of Bad Hersfeld and the enthusiasm with which they celebrate it every year are both signal indications of how deeply-loved the abbot and archbishop was among his adoptive people. Holy Father Lul, righteous missionary among the Germans, pray to Christ our God that our souls may be saved!