Tag: saints

Cuthbert: monk, prior, bishop, hermit, miracle-worker, and saint (20 March)

In the Uniting Church’s resource provided for worship leaders, Uniting in Worship, there is a Calendar of Commemorations, based on the cycle of annual feast days for saints in the Anglican, Catholic, and Orthodox churches—but broadened out to be much wider than this. Many days of the year are designated to remember specific people. Today (20 March) is the day to remember three Celtic pioneers, Cuthbert, Aidan, and Bede. Cuthbert of Lindisfarne is remembered as monk, prior, bishop, hermit, and miracle-worker—and, eventually, as saint.

Born in Northumbria into a noble family in the mid-630s, Cuthbert was raised in a Christian society, as King Edwin of Northumbria had recently converted to Christianity and (as was the way) brought that faith across the society. Accounts of the life of Cuthbert, written in the later medieval period, claim that there were miracles taking place even in his childhood. The historicity of these claims is highly dubious.

We do know that Cuthbert had quite a career: he was, in turn, monk, prior, bishop, and hermit, before his death. Matching the miracles claimed during his childhood and into his adult life, there are many claims of multiple miracles which allegedly took place after the death of Cuthbert on 20 March 687.

We can’t, of course, substantiate those miracles—the most striking of which relates to Alfred the Great, King of Wessex, further to the south (Wessex was the southernmost part of the Anglo-Saxon Kingdom). Alfred was apparently inspired by a vision of Cuthbert, encouraging in his struggles against the invading Danes. (A saint supporting military action … hmmmm.) He won, of course! The fact that a southern king admired a northern cleric meant that Cuthbert came to be regarded as a focus of reconciliation across the kingdom.

We do know that the body of Cuthbert, originally buried at Lindisfarne on the day that died, was removed and placed into a decorated oak coffin, and reburied in 698. The eleven-year-old corpse was, it was claimed, completely preserved-the first of the post-mortem miracles associated with Cuthbert. We know this from the 8th century account of Cuthbert written by the Venerable Bede, a scholar-monk at Jarrow, who wrote extensively covering science, history, biography, scriptural commentaries, and theology. (Bede is also remembered today in the UCA Calendar of Commemorations.)

Three centuries after his reburial at Lindisfarne, the body of Cuthbert was taken by wagon to Durham, where it was buried again. However, before that, it had been exhumed when Danes overtook the monastery at Lindisfarne in 875, and taken by the monks with them as they wandered the northern countryside. It is now located in Durham Cathedral, where it is said that it is buried (bizzarely) with the head of Oswald, King of Northumbria, who died some decades before Cuthbert’s life.

The life of Cuthbert included various phases. Although raised in a noble household, Cuthbert was attracted to the ascetic life. He had a period of military life, but then in 651 he joined the monastery at Melrose Abbey, an offshoot of Lindisfarne Priory, where Boisil was Prior. Lindisfarne had been founded in 634 by Aidan (who is also remembered today in the UCA Calendar of Commemorations). When Boisil died in 661, Cuthbert was appointed as Prior. He was subsequently invited to become guest master at a new monastery at Ripon, but soon he returned to Melrose as a monk. He became Prior once again in 664.

Cuthbert participated in the Synod of Whitby in that year; this was the Synod that decided to leave behind the Celtic form of Christianity that had been prevalent in much of Northumbria, led from the Abbey at Iona. The specific issue was the way that the date of Easter was calculated. The Synod adopted the Roman custom of dating, and looked to Rome, rather than Iona, for leadership. Cuthbert adhered to this decision and introduced Roman practices at Lindisfarne, where he became Prior in 665, the year after the Synod of Whitby.

Cuthbert continued his ascetic lifestyle as Prior through the ensuing decades, preaching as he travelled through towns and villages; it is said that he preached also to nobles and to royalty, and also that he performed various miracles during this period, as a result of which he later became known as “the wonder worker of Britain”. He maintained his simple lifestyle, with few material needs, as he travelled, and on into the next phases of his life.

Cuthbert moved to what today is called St Cuthbert’s Island, near Lindisfarne, and then soon after to Inner Farne Island, further south, wher he established his abode in a cell in a cave. Elizabeth and I have visited the Farne Islands, as well as Lindisfarne. The northeast coast of Britain is exposed to strong, icy winds blowing across from the Arctic; “living rough”, as we might describe the conditions of Cuthbert’s life, required a strong constitution and a determined mindset. Cuthbert obviously had this.

On this island, Cuthbert befriended the eider ducks and instituted laws to protect the ducks and other seabirds that made their nests on the Farne Islands. As well as his strong environmental credentials, for which we give thanks, Cuthbert is also remembered for his strong misogynistic attitude, for which we lament.

At the west end of Durham Cathedral, a thick black line, made of marble, has been inserted into the flooring. The line (still visible when we were there in 1997) marked the furthest into the Cathedral that women were permitted to step. The reason for this was the belief that Cuthbert would be offended if women came too close to him. This was deduced on the basis of the rules that he introduced in the monastery at Coldingham, where the “improper familiarity” of monks and nuns led to the monastery being consumed by fire—a result interpreted as an act of God!

When Bishop, Cuthbert ensured that there was rigorous separation of the genders in all places where monks and nuns lived throughout the diocese. This meant that women (nuns) were unable to visit the holy sites at Lindisfarne, Inner Farne, and Durham Cathedral. Subsequent to his earthly life, Cuthbert was believed to have acted to punish females who transgressed relevant boundaries—some struck dead, one other driven to dementia and killing herself. And that is the basis for the story (fact? or fiction?) about the line in the floor at Durham Cathedral.

Cuthbert was elected as Bishop of Hexham in 684, but was reluctant to leave his hermit’s cave; he was persuaded to take up the appointment as Bishop of Lindisfarne instead. He was consecrated in March 685 but late the next year, he resigned from his episcopal office and returned to his hermitage. This short tenure as Bishop of Lindisfarne explains why he is remembered as “Cuthbert of Lindisfarne”. He died two decades later, in March 687, aged in his mid 50s.

As already noted, numerous miracles after the death of Cuthbert are attributed to his intercessory powers; accordingly, he is honoured as a Saint. He became closely associated with the powerful Bishop of Durham from the 11th century onwards; the people of the region were known as “the people of the saint” (that is, Cuthbert). In the Battle of Neville’s Cross (just up the hill from where we lived in Durham in 1997), a vision of the saint inspired the Prior of Durham Abbey to raise the banner of Cuthbert, thereby ensuring their protection and victory in that battle.

That same banner was carried by Northumbrians in their battles against the Scots, and the shrine of Cuthbert behind the altar in Durham Cathedral (where the body was interred in 1104) was a pilgrimage site through the medieval period (for males—but not, as explained, for females).

So, to the above list—Cuthbert of Lindisfarne, monk, prior, bishop, hermit, miracle-worker, and saint—we add environmentalist, and misogynist. And we remember him, today.

The resting place of Cuthbert in Durham Cathedral

Saint Basil: scholar and gift-giver

Today (1 January) is the feast day of Saint Basil the Great in the Eastern churches. Basil wrote many theological works and is remembered (along with the two Gregorys, of Nyssa and Nazianzus—pictured below) as one of the Cappadocian Fathers, who played an influential role in the development of patristic thinking about the triune God.

It is said that Basil was tall, thin, partly bald, with a long beard. (He is the one on the left in the icon above.) He ate no more than was absolutely necessary for his survival; he never ate meat. It is said that he had only one worn undergarment and one overgarment.

Basil said that prayer was the seasoning for our daily work, as we season food with salt; that sacred and holy songs can only inspire us and give us joy and not grief. His philosophy fits well into the Christmas Season, when we season our lives with carols!

At the age of 28, Basil “left the world” and became a monk; at 35 a priest, then at 41, the Bishop of Caesarea. It is said that Basil, being born into a wealthy family, gave away all his possessions to the poor, the underprivileged, those in need, and children.

For Greeks and others in the Orthodox tradition, St Basil is the saint associated with Santa Claus. In Greek tradition, he brings gifts to children every January 1 (St Basil’s Day). It is traditional on St Basil’s Day to serve vasilopita, a rich bread baked with a coin inside.

It is also customary on his feast day to visit the homes of friends and relatives, to sing carols for the New Year, and to set an extra place at the table for Basil.

The celebration of St Basil on 1 January marks the day of his death. In the Western Church, because 1 January commemorates the Solemnity of Mary, Mother of God, Basil shares his saintly commemoration on the next day, 2 January, with Gregory of Nazianzus.

St Basil’s Hymn is one of many traditional Greek carols (often referred to as calanda) that are still sung by children on St Basil’s feast day (New Year’s Day). In the tradition still practiced to some extent in modern times, Greek children roam the neighborhoods from house-to-house on St Basil’s Day, playing instruments and singing songs, bidding New Year’s tidings to everyone, and receiving gifts of sweets and pastries from householders.

Here is the hymn (in a quirky and rather stilted translation):

It’s the beginning of the month
beginning of the year
High incense tree
Beginning of my good year
Church with the Holy Seat
It’s the beginning of our Christ
Saint and spiritual
He got out to walk on earth
And to welcome us
St. Basil is coming from Caesarea
And doesn’t want to deal with us
May you long live, my lady
He holds an icon and a piece of paper
With the picture of Christ our Saviour
A piece of paper and a quill
Please look at me, the young man

John: fisherman and follower, eyewitness and evangelist, apostle and saint

Today is the feast day of John, remembered in the Catholic tradition as Saint John the Apostle and Evangelist, and included in the Uniting Church’s list of commemorations as John, Witness to Jesus.

The fourth Gospel in the New Testament has long been accredited to the disciple named in the three Synoptic Gospels as the fisherman who was the brother of James and the son of Zebedee, one of the earliest called to follow Jesus (Mark 1:19: 3:17; Matt 4:21; 10:2; Luke 5:10; 6:14). Ironically, however, this disciple is not specifically named in the fourth Gospel. (Apart from John the baptiser, the other John noted in this Gospel is the father of Simon Peter; John 1:52; 21:15–17).

In the early fourth century CE, Eusebius wrote in his Ecclesiastical History (6.14.7) that Clement of Alexandria had described this Gospel as the “spiritual” Gospel, written to complement the “physical” depictions of Jesus found in the other three Gospels. (Clement was Bishop of Alexandria at the end of the second century CE.)

This view has exercised a widespread influence throughout Christian history; in the twenty–first century, John’s Gospel is often cited as the easiest way for new converts to understand the “spiritual truths” of the Christian faith. It is frequently said that it contains the most direct expression of the simple Gospel message: “God so loved the world that he gave his only Son …” (John 3:16).

More recent scholarly study of this Gospel, however, has indicated that it is a complex and intricate piece of literature. The literary style of this Gospel is distinctive amongst the Gospels found in the New Testament. Jesus speaks at far greater length than the succinct sayings and compressed argumentation reported of the Synoptic Jesus. Some of the key images included in these speeches are ripe with symbolic significance.

There are multiple layers of meaning to be explored in the fourth Gospel. A number of key words contain ironic references or wry puns. Some scenes tell of misunderstandings which arise because of the different meanings built into the text. A hint of secrecy runs through the narrative—secrecy regarding the deeper, hidden meaning of Jesus and his story. The work is a complex literary creation.

An anonymous figure among the disciples—“the disciple whom Jesus loved”—lays claim to be the author of this work (John 21:20, 24). Who is this figure? Over time, the evangelist came to be equated with the disciple John, son of Zebedee, brother of James. Nothing in the text itself explicitly supports this, however.

Over the past few decades, a different understanding about the origins of this work have developed from scholars who have explored the authorship of this Gospel and the context in which it was written. There is widespread agreement that this work was not written, in the form that we have it, by this John who was one of the earliest followers of Jesus.

Some scholars developed the notion that this figure of “the beloved disciple” was a symbol embedded within the narrative, representing an earlier authority for the evolving traditions about Jesus. The Gospel itself, they consider, came to be written down many decades after this authority figure had first begun to recount the story of Jesus. The shape of the Gospel was heavily influenced by the nature of the community of faith through which these stories were passed, over a number of decades.

This has led to a detailed hypothesis concerning the origins and development of the community of believers which gave birth to this Gospel in written form. (The North American scholars most often associated with this line of interpretation are Raymond Brown and J. Louis Martyn.) This hypothesis makes two central claims.

The first claim is that, in its earliest stages, the community which produced this Gospel had been essentially Jewish. That community received and retold stories which may well have come from the John who was a follower of Jesus. The second claim is that, by the time the body of the Gospel was written in the form that we know it, this community found itself in an antagonistic relationship to the dominant form of Judaism. This opened the way for Gentile ideas, so that they are found mixed with Jewish ideas in the final form of the Gospel.

So if this Gospel was indeed stimulated by the teachings of one of the first followers of Jesus, a Jewish man in Galilee, known as John, it reflects a remarkable trajectory in the first century of the movement initiated by Jesus, tracing its development from a Jewish renewal movement towards a global religion. The stories from the Apostle have presumably been reworked and reshaped over decades as that trajectory develops.

The “disciple whom Jesus loved” certainly occupies a prominent place in the narrative of the fourth Gospel. He reclines on the breast of Jesus at the final meal in Jerusalem (John 13:23) and stands at the foot of the cross with Mary, the mother of Jesus (19:26–27).

After Mary Magdalene announced that the stone at the entrance of the tomb where the crucified Jesus had been laid had been removed (20:1–2), he runs to the tomb, with Simon Peter (20:3), arrives first, and sees that the tomb is empty (20:4–5)—but leaves it to Peter to see the inside first (20:6–7), before himself entering and attesting to the empty tomb with his own eyes (20:8).

Later, when seven of the disciples are fishing on the Sea of Galilee, this same beloved disciple is the first to recognise Jesus standing on the beach next to their fire; this time, he announces the identity of Jesus to Peter (21:7). A little later, Peter draws from Jesus the words about this disciple remaining with him (21:20–23). Finally, the same beloved disciple has the last word in the later-added Appendix to the Gospel, affirming his role as eyewitness and evangelist (21:24).

This is the figure that, in the tradition, is linked with John, the fisherman brother of James, the son of Zebedee, one of the earliest followers of Jesus, accorded a place as one of The Twelve Apostles.

In the book of Acts, the disciple John visits Samaria with Peter, in order to authorise and sanction what Philip had been teaching and doing in that region (Acts 8:14–17). That episode indicates the respect and authority that John was held to have as the movement developed—although the author of Luke and Acts writes some decades after the events he describes, at the end of the first century, and his material is filtered through various intermediaries (see Luke 1:2).

“Apostles Peter and John Blessing the People of Samaria,”
by Giorgio Vasari, 1511-1574, Italian.

However, in one of his early letters from the 50s, Paul himself acknowledges this important position of John, along with James (brother of Jesus) and Peter, the “acknowledged pillars” of the church. Paul relates how he went, with Barnabas and Titus, to Jerusalem (Gal 2:1), in order to receive the approval from the mother church for his activity amongst the Gentiles. Accordingly, “James and Cephas and John, who were acknowledged pillars, recognized the grace that had been given to me, they gave to Barnabas and me the right hand of fellowship, agreeing that we should go to the Gentiles and they to the circumcised” (Gal 2:9).

This corroborates the view we find in Acts, that John had a position of importance in the early church. It doesn’t demonstrate, however, that this John wrote the book of signs, the work we know as the Gospel of John.

The scholar Jerome, born in Dalmatia (now Albania), lived for some time in Palestine in the late 300s. Jerome recounts an anecdote still being told at that time about John the Evangelist. When John was old and feeble and no longer able to walk or preach, he would be carried among the faithful in church and would repeat only one thing over and over again: “My little children, love one another.”

This, of course, is the central mantra in the first of the three letters that bear the name of John (see 1 John 3:11-17; 3:23; 4:7–12; also 2 John 5; 3 John 6). The legend explains how these anonymous letters were attributed to the apostle John.

Polycarp, through Saint Irenaeus, tells us that the Apostle John lived a long life, which ended peacefully in Ephesus around the year 100 CE. If that was so, then John was the only Apostle not to die a martyr. That may then equate him with the John who claims authorship of the book of Revelation, exiled on the island of Patmos (Rev 1:9). However, the style and language of this last book of the New Testament differs significantly from the style of the Johannine gospel and letters.

The Encyclopedia Britannica reports that two rival sites at Ephesus initially claimed the honour of being the grave of John. One eventually achieved official church recognition, becoming a shrine in the 4th century. By the 6th century the healing power of dust from John’s tomb was famous, and the church of Ephesus claimed to possess the autograph of the Fourth Gospel. We don’t have that manuscript today, however.

John was said to have written the Acts of John, a domestic work that was known in the second century; but it was condemned as heretical at the Second Council of Nicaea in 787 CE. And so the traditions about John continued to grow.

Indeed, in some Medieval and Renaissance works of painting, sculpture and literature, John is often presented in an androgynous or feminized manner, perhaps reflecting the ambiguous identity of “the disciple whom Jesus loved”.

St. John the Apostle by Jacques Bellange, artist
and printmaker from the Duchy of Lorraine, c.1600

All of which demonstrates the maxim that I hold for early Christian writings: the further away from the first century we get, the more information is known about the writers of the Gospels!!

Joseph of Arimathea: rich and righteous, devout and a disciple of Jesus.

In the Uniting Church’s resource provided for worship leaders, Uniting in Worship, there is a Calendar of Commemorations, based on the cycle of annual feast days for saints in the Anglican, Catholic, and Orthodox churches—but broadened out to be much wider than this. Many days of the year are designated to remember specific people. Today (19 March) is the day to remember Joseph of Arimathea—a figure best known for the scene, reported by all four Gospels, when he takes the body of Jesus from the cross and places it in a tomb.

Joseph was a common biblical name—son of Isaac, father of Jesus, amongst others. This Joseph is distinguished by his home town, Arimathea. All we know is that it was a town in Judea (Luke 23:51). It is thought it may be Ramathaim Sophim, the birthplace of Samuel (1 Sam 1:1, 19), which appears in the LXX as Greek Armathaim Sipha.

In the earliest Gospel, this Joseph is described as being both “a respected member of the council” and as one who was “waiting expectantly for the kingdom of God” (Mark 15:43). The kingdom of God is what Jesus was preaching, according to Mark (1:15; 4:11) and that is what the crowd lining the streets into Jerusalem understood him to be bringing (11:10). Mark’s report indicates that Joseph, who shares this expectation with Jesus, “bought a linen cloth, and taking down the body, wrapped it in the linen cloth, and laid it in a tomb that had been hewn out of the rock; he then rolled a stone against the door of the tomb” (Mark 15:46).

Matthew reworks this description; he is “a rich man” (rather than a member of the council) who was “a disciple of Jesus” (Matt 27:57). By contrast, Luke introduces Joseph as “a good and righteous man” (Luke 23:50), echoing the much earlier descriptions of Elizabeth and Zechariah (1:6) and Simeon (2:25).

Luke explains that Joseph, “though a member of the council, had not agreed to their plan and action” (Luke 23:50–51). Differentiating Joseph from the others in the council seems important for Luke; after all, in Luke’s account, the council had brought Jesus to Pilate, saying that “we found this man perverting our nation, forbidding us to pay taxes to the emperor, and saying that he himself is the Messiah, a king” (23:2).

When Pilate demurs, council members press the point: “he stirs up the people by teaching throughout all Judea, from Galilee where he began even to this place” (23:5). After sending Jesus to Herod (a curiously unhistorical action, given the actual governance arrangements at the time), Pilate states his belief, for a second time, that Jesus is innocent (23:4, 14), before the “the chief priests, the leaders, and the people” together agitate for the release of Barabbas (23:13, 18). Luke’s more detailed description of Joseph places him at odds with this whole sequence of events; “though a member of the council, had not agreed to their plan and action” (23:50–51).

Luke further indicates that Joseph “was waiting expectantly for the kingdom of God” (23:51), picking up on Mark’s description. In the context of Luke’s two volumes, however, this description aligns Joseph very closely with the enterprise that Jesus was engaged in; “I must proclaim the good news of the kingdom of God to the other cities also; for I was sent for this purpose”, Jesus declares (4:43); “he went on through cities and villages, proclaiming and bringing the good news of the kingdom of God” (8:1).

Jesus sends out both the twelve, and then the seventy, to proclaim the kingdom of God (9:1–2; 10:1, 9–11); he instructs his followers to pray, “your kingdom come” (11:2) and to “strive for [God’s] kingdom” (12:31); he tells. parables of the kingdom (8:10; 13:18, 20); and teaches that “the kingdom of God is among you” (17:20–21).

As Jesus draws near to Jerusalem, those travelling with him “supposed that the kingdom of God was to appear immediately” (19:11); indeed, as he enters the city, people acclaim him as “the king who comes in the name of the Lord” (19:38). At the last meal he shares with his disciples, Jesus looks to the fulfilment of the kingdom (22:14–18, 28–30), and one crucified alongside Jesus shares this hope, saying to him, “Jesus, remember me when you come into your kingdom” (23:42).

Jesus continues this after his death and resurrection, “appearing to them during forty days and speaking about the kingdom of God” (Acts 1:3); subsequently, key followers of Jesus proclaim the kingdom in key locations— Phillip in Samaria (8:12), Paul and Barnabas in Antioch (14:22), and Paul in Ephesus, (19:8). This was Paul’s common activity everywhere (20:25); the final picture of Paul is that he lived under house arrest in a Rome, “proclaiming the kingdom of God and teaching about the Lord Jesus Christ with all boldness and without hindrance” (28:31).

So Joseph, “waiting expectantly for the kingdom of God” (Luke 23:51), is firmly aligned with Jesus and with his followers in Luke’s Gospel. He is clearly, as Matthew reports, “a disciple of Jesus” (Matt 27:57).

In the fourth Gospel, Joseph performs the same task, requesting the body of Jesus from Pilate, and securing a safe place as the resting place for the body. He does this in conjunction with Nicodemus, “who had at first come to Jesus by night” (John 19:39). We first meet Nicodemus earlier in John’s narrative (3:1–21); at this time, he engages in what might be characterised as an appreciative enquiry with Jesus, under the cover of night (3:2), presumably so that he didn’t “out” his interest in what Jesus was teaching. It’s perhaps worth noting that Jesus spoke about “the kingdom of God” in his conversation with Nicodemus (3:3, 5)—the very same phrase that is key to the preaching of Jesus in Mark and Luke.

Some chapters later in John’s narrative, as Jesus experiences intensified opposition whilst in Jerusalem for the Festival of Booths (7:1–13), and the Pharisees and temple authorities join forces to send the temple police to arrest him (7:32), Nicodemus appears once more. The temple police return the temple, saying that they will not arrest him (7:45–46).

Nicodemus steps in; he is introduced as the one who “had gone to Jesus before, and who was one of them”—that is to say, one of the disciples (7:50). He speaks boldly: “our law does not judge people without first giving them a hearing to find out what they are doing, does it?” (7:51). The dismissive reply of the Pharisees further aligns him with Jesus; “surely you are not also from Galilee, are you?” is their rejoinder (7:52). His allegiance is clear, at least in the minds of the Pharisees, if not also the narrator of the Gospel.

Nicodemus returns a third time, after the death of Jesus, when the body of Jesus is requested by Joseph of Arimathaea, who is here,clearly identified as being “a disciple of Jesus, but secretly, for fear of the Jews” (19:38).

Joseph of Arimathea is here described as being “a disciple of Jesus, but secretly, for fear of the Judean authorities” (19:38). The fear of the Judean authorities has been a recurrent motif in John’s narrative (5:1; 7:13; 9:22; here, and 20:19). (The term I translate as “Judean authorities” is most commonly rendered as “Jews”, but this translation is too wide and does not accurately reflect the way the term is used in John’s Gospel.)

Once again, Joseph is identified as a disciple of Jesus (John 19:38; so also Matt 27:57, and, as we have argued above, that is the implication in both Mark 15 and Luke 23). Both Joseph and Nicodemus, we might presume, were numbered among the “many, even of the authorities, [who] believed in him”, but who, “because of the Pharisees, did not confess it, for fear that they would be put out of the synagogue” (12:42).

The manner in which the body of Jesus is removed from the cross into the grave, anointed with an extravagantly large amount of spices, myrrh and aloes and wrapped in linen cloths “according to the burial custom of the Jews”, and placed in a previously unused tomb (19:38–40), reflects the tender, respectful approach of these two of Jesus’s disciples.

The body of a crucified person would normally be thrown into a communal grave outside the city; all four Gospels take pains to report that this as not the fate of Jesus. The historicity of this claim must surely, however, be significantly doubted. The point of the narrative is not historical verification. The intention is to continue to attest to the significance of Jesus, acknowledged as king, given exactly the kind of extravagant funerary rites that were befitting for a king.

And that is the gift that Joseph of Arimathea offers to followers of a Jesus, even to this day: a compassionate, respectful treatment of the body of Jesus. It’s good to remember him for this, today.

Patrick (and snakes) … and Gertrude (and cats) on 17 March

We have all heard of Patrick, a fifth century missionary and patron saint of Ireland, who is touted as being the cause for the lack of snakes on the island of Ireland. The legend is that the snakes that were on the island had all been banished by Patrick, chasing them into the sea after they attacked him during a 40-day fast he was undertaking on top of a hill. 😫 Shades of Jesus, the Gerasene demoniac, and the poor pigs, who took the legion of demons into the sea (Mark 5).

But what about Gertrude? She shares the same day—17 March—with Patrick; it is the feast day for both of them in the calendar of the Roman Catholic Church, for 17 March was the day that both Gertrude, as well as Patrick, was said to have died.

So, while all of Ireland and all of the Irish diaspora vigorously celebrates Patrick today (wearing green clothes, drinking lots of Guinness, with hair dyed green, walking in street parades and telling predictable jokes with incomprehensible accents), spare a thought for Gertrude of Nivelles, who shares her patronal festival with Patrick the Confessor.

Gertrude lived in the seventh century in the nation we now call Belgium. Her father was a powerful Frankish nobleman in the court of the king, Dagobert I. It is said that, at the age of ten, Gertrude refused a marriage proposal from the son of a duke, “saying that she would have neither him nor any earthly spouse but Christ the Lord.”

When her father died a few years later, her mother Itta shaved her head into a monkish tonsure to deter would-be suitors from marrying into her wealthy family by force. Itta and Gertrude established a monastery at Nivelles and retired to a religious life. So here’s the first reason to admire Gertrude (and her other Itta): a monastery for females was one of the few options for females in antiquity to preserve their intellectual, economic and sexual autonomy.

It is said that Gertrude kept cats in the monastery to keep rats and mice under control — a wise and sensible move, so a second reason to like Gertrude.

There are some illuminated manuscripts, church fresco paintings and stained glass windows which depict Gertrude in a garden setting, surrounded by cats, rats and mice (often with a mouse running up her staff). However, there is no ancient written claim that is explicit about Gertrude and cats; it seems that this connection is a late 20th century invention! Nevertheless, we can roll with the newish evolution of the tradition, and honour Gertrude for her care of cats, can’t we?

Gertrude, and her feline friends, are important in my household. We have three cats, all ragdolls, all quite handsome, aged 14, 11, and 8; they are all well-fed and cared for, able to roam into any room of the house (but not outdoors, unless in the special enclosure). They are living the good life every day with their two full-time live-in servants; and every so often, they go on vacation to Curtin Cat Care to be spoiled 😁.

Gertrude’s mother Itta died in 650, so the 24-year-old Gertrude took on sole governance of the monastery, and was known for her hospitality to pilgrims. She died in 659 – worn out in her early thirties, says the Cambridge Medieval History, “because of too much abstinence and keeping of vigils”.

Mel Campbell reports that the story is told, that a visiting Irish monk, whose brother Gertrude had sheltered, predicted she would die on St Patrick’s Day, and that “blessed Bishop Patrick with the chosen angels of God … are prepared to receive her”. Begorrah, it was so!

Mel Campbell also writes, “On a day that has become unfortunately associated with public displays of boorish masculinity, wouldn’t it be nice to honour a saint whose domains of patronage have traditionally been belittled as feminised and domestic? Gertrude was an independent woman who refused to be treated as a chattel.”

And THAT, above all else (even above our feline friends!) is cause for remembering and honouring Gertrude of Nivelles.

I have taken much of the information about Gertrude from https://junkee.com/today-is-also-st-gertrudes-day-celebrate-the-patron-saint-of-cats/53228

There’s a page honouring her as a saint at https://catholicsaints.info/butlers-lives-of-the-saints-saint-gertrude-virgin-and-abbess-of-nivelle/