Island

St Cuthbert turns three waves of the sea into blood in order to prevent his followers from taking his relics out of England. © The Master and Fellows of University College, Oxford Cuthbert, Lindisfarne and Durham

Cuthbert is, with little doubt, one of the better-known British saints, his holy sites on the island of Lindisfarne and in Durham have proved remarkably popular pilgrimage destinations both historically and up to the present day. Such popularity can be attributed to a number of factors: to the community gathered round him during his lifetime and the preservation and recording of stories from his life, to the discovery of his incorrupt body after his death, and to the monastic and ecclesial centre built around his relics. The association between his life and the British landscape is, however, equally significant: the Island of Lindisfarne where he spent a period of his life is both beautiful and relatively accessible, feeding into attractive Romantic ideals of Celtic spirituality, whilst the Cathedral at Durham which houses his relics dominates the landscape of the city, its Norman styling constantly reminding passers-by of the long history of Christianity in the region. The holy lives of Cuthbert and the monks which surrounded and succeeded him have come to shape experiences and imaginings of the landscape where they dwelt, and as such have worked their way into the very fabric of the area. 

Lives of Cuthbert

Our main sources for the life of Cuthbert are two lives of the saint—one metrical, one prose—written by Bede, and an earlier, anonymous life of Cuthbert—likely documenting tradition at Lindisfarne—written by a local monk towards the end of the 7th century. In addition to purely written texts, we are also lucky that illustrated editions of the saint’s life were produced and have survived. A manuscript currently in the possession of University College Oxford (Univ MS 165) and another in the possession of the British Library (Yates Thompson 26) both contain full cycles of illustrations to go alongside Bede’s prose. Whilst the British library manuscript is somewhat more elaborate, and can be viewed online, it is the earlier, Univ illustrations which we use in this post. The manuscript was produced in Durham in the late 11th century, possibly as an aid to private devotion. The illustrations alongside the text serve both to illuminate and to interpret the life of the saint, drawing out spiritual meanings and helping the reader (as they will also do here) to contemplate the events of the narrative.

Hermit and Pastor 

Of the habitation which he made for himself in the Island of Farne, when he had expelled the devils. © The Master and Fellows of University College, Oxford

Whilst Cuthbert’s principal goal seems to have been to live a life of solitary devotion to God, this life is often in tension with the demands of, and his service to, those around him, most notably when he somewhat reluctantly accepts the pastoral role of Bishop. His move from Lindisfarne to the more-isolated island of Farne is a physical demonstration of his desire to focus on his own solitary path. 

Univ 165 contains an illustration of Cuthbert’s eremetic life full of depth and symbolism. Magdalena Elizabeth Carrasco explores the rich Christian tradition connecting church, God and individuals with architectural imagery. In this image, the curvature of Cuthbert’s body conforms to the shape of the cell, drawing on long Christian tradition that the cell plays a crucial role in shaping the monk through his devotion to and within such a space. She suggests, at the same time, that the depiction of stones in the image, alongside the close association of an individual stone with the saint, draws on the idea of the church as living stones, representing the saints which, shaped and formed into polished and refined blocks, together form the building blocks of God’s church (see, for example, 1 Peter 2 or Ephesians 2). 

The image in the Oxford Vita Cuthberti… establishes Cuthbert himself as a squared stone, but it also makes clear how that spiritual perfection may be achieved by others who follow his example. Taken by itself, the large square block of stone would serve as a metaphor for Cuthbert’s own spiritual perfection. Yet there is clearly more at stake here than a celebration of Cuthbert’s isolated asceticism. By depicting a building composed of many stones, as well as the process of construction itself, the artist celebrates the life of the Church as it develops through time, both historically and spiritually. 

Interpreted literally, as a straightforward narrative act, the right-hand portion of the illustration is illogical, since the hermitage appears to be complete and there is no open space into which the stone may be inserted. In one sense the saint, the stone, and the hermit’s cell are discrete units, yet Cuthbert holds the stone in a way that suggests their commonality, even identity. He is as large as the cell, and the curvature of his body conforms to its shape, as though the cell has formed him physically as well as spiritually. Both saint and stone overlap the cell to suggest the equivalence of all three elements: the smooth, regular stone conveys the spiritual perfection of the man of God, achieved through the disciplined life of the hermit’s cell. The architectural imagery is neither a (relatively) realistic illustration of medieval building practices, nor an explicit statement of corporate institutional power, as might be the case with other illustrated vitae, but rather a multivalent visual metaphor, encompassing both the nature of Cuthbert’s spiritual perfection and the means by which that perfection might be emulated by others

Of his manner of life in his bishopric. © The Master and Fellows of University College, Oxford In the illustration of Cuthbert as monk and bishop we see again not just an illustration of an event, but an image with a clear spiritual purpose. Whilst Otto Pächt emphasises the way in which the illustrations of miracles in Univ 165 depict sudden temporal changes by their layering of multiple moments side by side, Carrasco draws attention to the way in which the illustrations often seem to lean in the opposite direction, depicting simultaneity rather than sequential change, thereby emphasising “the saint’s ability to transcend conventional limitations of historical time and partake of the timeless wisdom of God”. 

In many cases the emphasis is not on sudden change ... but rather on notions of continuity and permanence. Cuthbert’s exceptional virtues enable him to intervene, as God’s agent, in the temporal affairs of men; in Cynthia Hahn’s words, he functions as a “lightening rod for the power of God.” But in addition to showing the effects of Cuthbert’s spiritual grace on the members of his community, the artist is also interested in characterizing the specific attributes of Cuthbert’s spiritual personality. Some of these, such as the gift of prophecy, are unique to Cuthbert as a saint, whereas others constitute a model of behavior accessible to the members of the monastic community entrusted with preserving Cuthbert’s legacy. In both cases, the narrative structures minimize or negate the notion of change over time in favor of portraying that which is permanently valid. This is fully in keeping with the attitude of the Durham monks, for whom Cutherbert’s incorrupt body, as well as the saint’s spiritual ideals, remained a continuous living presence. 

In the case of this image we are therefore shown qualities as applicable to those succeeding Cuthbert as to the saint himself. We are shown that, despite taking on the role of bishop, Cuthbert remains steadfast to his solitary monastic path, the connected arches symbolising the unity he brings to the dual ideals of monk and bishop. He neither becomes so involved in the affairs of the community as to neglect his path of spiritual formation, nor so closed-in on himself as to become unavailable to those around him.

How he entertained an angel, and whilst ministering to him earthly bread, was thought worthy to be rewarded with bread from heaven © The Master and Fellows of University College, Oxford

How Cuthbert passed the night in the sea, praying; and when he was come out, two animals of the sea did him reverence. © The Master and Fellows of University College, Oxford

How the crows apologized to the man of God for the injury which they did him, and made him a present in compensation. © The Master and Fellows of University College, Oxford

How, at a time of sickness, he restored a dying boy in health to his mother. © The Master and Fellows of University College, Oxford

People, Animals and Angels

Anne Lawrence-Mathers highlights a number of themes in the illustrations of Univ 165: Cuthbert’s contact with angels and animals, his gift of prophecy, his role as healer and protector of his community, and his role as teacher, true monk and scholar. Whilst the lives of Cuthbert are filled with miracles from end to end, these are not arbitrary accounts of the supernatural but, rather, serve to depict specific trajectories and characteristics of Cuthbert’s life as a saint. Mathers, for example, draws attention to the depiction of Cuthbert’s act of hospitality unwittingly offered to an angel, through which he is rewarded with bread from heaven:

The miniature shows St Cuthbert seated companionably beside the angel, holding only the latter’s hand in his bosom [rather than washing his feet]. This had the effect of emphasising St Cuthbert’s equality with the angel, even at the expense of his humility.

Bede’s narrative similarly seems to reconfigure Cuthbert's relationship with animals. As a result of his spiritual gifts and development animals do Cuthbert service and obey him, whilst simultaneously performing roles and comprehending instructions which seem to bring them out of an entirely subordinate animal kingdom and into the realm of personal relationships. Otters attend Cuthbert whilst praying, warming and drying him as he keeps vigil through the night, and Cuthbert honours an eagle who brings him food as an equal, rebuking his companion for not giving the eagle its due share in return for her ministrations. Likewise he has stern words to offer for birds feeding on the crops that he, and not they, has sown. Such things do not belong to the birds unless God had offered them specific permission. On a second occasion, when he rebukes some birds for taking thatching from a hut for their nest, the birds subsequently atone for their offence by making an offering in return.

Cuthbert’s relationships with other people are perhaps most vividly illustrated through depiction of prophecy and of healing. Whilst Cuthbert's prophecies can sometimes provoke surprise and confusion, not always foretelling the most welcome of events, the depictions of healings provide somewhat pleasanter material. The illustration of Cuthbert’s restoration of a dying boy to his mother provides one of the warmest illustrations of the manuscript, and it is clear that Cuthbert, in the scene, provides a welcome presence to those around him, his saintly power serving not to elevate or separate him into a separate realm of detached devotion but to provide precisely the loving and restorative power that the community through which he passes is in need of. He is not simply a passing healer from whom power leaks accidentally but, holding the child in his arms, he adopts a similar pose to the child's mother, as, together, they care for the ailing boy. 

After his Death

His last instructions to the brethren; and how, when he had received the viaticum, he yielded up his soul in prayer. © The Master and Fellows of University College, Oxford

Cuthbert’s miracles continue after his death, and the healings seem to be of much the same character and power after he has been buried as during his life itself. Indeed, this is one of the characteristics of sainthood, the continued life of the saint in the kingdom of God reflected by a continued relationship with the world in which they once lived. In MS 165 this is reinforced by a continuation of the same mode of illustration both after Cuthbert's death and even further, into supplementary material documenting events beyond the frame of Bede's original narrative. Such continuity seems to be especially evident in the drawing depicting Cuthbert’s last instructions to the brethren and his yielding up of his soul in prayer. Whereas the majority of illustrations throughout the manuscript depict figures in contrasting colours, at this final moment we are offered an illustration of three monks all clothed in blue around his deathbed. Whilst it is far from clear whether all three should be seen as representations of Cuthbert or as different members of the monastic community, this illustration seems to offer a suggestion that Cuthbert’s life is one that is reproducible, offering the saint as an object of emulation whose presence and example continues to flourish within the community of monks.

St Cuthbert's body divides the sea. © The Master and Fellows of University College, Oxford

Cuthbert himself, however, is not the originator of this spiritual line, and Magdalena Carrasco points to a number of illustrations which connect him with the earlier figure of Moses and of Benedict. These connections are drawn out most vividly in the illustration depicting a post-Bedan episode; the division of the sea by Cuthbert’s body as it is carried forth on dry land at high tide as the guardans of his body flee the army of William the Conqueror. The illustration is clearly drawn to resemble the Israelite crossing of the Red Sea, and the similarity of the cask bearing Cuthbert's body to the ark of the covenant reinforces this connection to the long line of saints within which Cuthbert and his community stand. This event bestows upon Cuthbert a great deal of power and status as a saintly worker of miracles, able to achieve the same miracles as a great figure such as Moses. At the same time, however, Cuthbert's saintly status belongs to him not as a new pioneer showing a path previously undiscovered, but in his faithfulness to the continued pattern of saints before and after him. In devoting himself to the tradition which he has inherited he gives this tradition fresh momentum for those who follow in his footsteps. 

Ramsey Island Tradition reports that the priest Justinian set up his hermitage on the island of Ramsey, or Ynys Dewi, off the western coast of Wales as early as the 6th century, after receiving a revelation from God that he should leave his home in Bretagne. His name appears very early in Welsh calendars. 

Friends, Separation and Conflict

His choice to renounce the world through an eremetic existence did not mean, for Justinian, rejecting friendship. We know that on the island he met a hermit, Honorius, who had already established himself on Ramsey and became friends in Christ with him. He is also said to have had a community of monks who followed him to the island to live under his spiritual guidance. His other connection is with the archbishop, saint David who was impressed by Justinian's holy life and chose him to be his confessor and spiritual father. It is interesting that the connection between the two saints can be traced also in the name of the island which is called in Welsh Ynys Dewi after David. At the same time Justinian was not always  friendly and easy-going. He came into conflict with the monks in St David's community, prompting him to move further away, to the hermitage of Ramsey island and, once there, he persuaded Honorius to send his sister and the female part of the monastic community away from the island. According to one version of the legend he was even murdered by his own monks who were outraged by the strict regime he imposed on them.

Ascetic Struggle

Justinian’s story shows clearly the nature of the ascetic path as a struggle against temptation, and against the different forms that this can take in the world around. The story of Honorius’ sister is one instance of Justinian's attempt to pursue such a struggle. Another story tells of how, later in his life, five men come to Justinian, telling him that his good friend saint David is very ill and wants him to visit. Justinian leaves the island and begins the journey to David in a boat before realising that the men are actually demons who, following his chanting of psalm 69 (70 in Hebrew numbering)—which likely he knew by heart through habit of reciting the psalms in prayer—reveal their true nature and fly away in the form of crows. Similar stories are common within ascetic narratives, and we find similar tales of temptation as far back as the desert fathers. Temptation for the ascetic, is firstly a matter of internal struggle, and a battle with thoughts within, but this often spills out into the world around, sometimes becoming associated with demons, or often with other people - not only women, but family members. It is a particular danger for the monk when he is tempted away from his cell and his chosen existence into the world around him, momentarily stepping away from his single-minded path. Often the form of the temptation seems a worthy one, and the monk will seem foolish or arrogant for turning away from it—as might be the case in either of the stories above, however often the wisdom of his decision and the potential dangers of abandoning it are made clear. The choice to remain steadfast to his choice despite the normal patterns and expectations of the world is part of what sets the ascetic existence apart as a distinct pathway that conforms to an alternative order and worldview.

Relic casket at St David's cathedral Supernatural Events

Justinian’s life is not one that is full of miracles, but nevertheless we find within it, at key moments, supernatural elements. In addition to the story of his temptation, the story of his death contains events in which the boundaries between the natural world and the supernatural are, if not always completely broken, at least substantially blurred. From the place where he was killed, a well is said to have sprung up to cure the sick, his killers were struck with leprosy, and his body is said to have picked up his severed head and walked with it to the place where he wished to be buried. The sources of his story are late, and it is possible, even reasonable and tempting, to write such elements off as late embellishments, particularly as they strike against many of our expectations of what such events should, ideally, look like. This, however, is precisely part of their challenge to us - they testify to an understanding of the world in which God and created reality intersect and interact in ways that are foreign to us. They remind us that there are other ways of conceiving this relationship that can speak to us of profoundly different ways of living and cut across our expectations to ask whether there are indeed other possible ways that God and the world might interact. 

Beyond Death

Even though under more-rationalist modes of thought the details of the saint's death would best be considered as simply a stereotypical medieval legend, there are are nevertheless a couple of observations worth making. The death of the saint is the day of his celebration in the church calendar because it is regarded as the most important event of his life, the final transcendence of the soul from the ascetic struggles to the Heavenly Kingdom of God – the ultimate goal of every Christian saint. Whereas for the saint this is the beginning of new life, for people it also marks the establishment of the saint's cult. The narrative about Justinian shows through miracles how the saint himself contributes to this: he chose the place of his burial which gave people the opportunity to build a church dedicated to the saint in Llastinan, near Fishguard. There the saint's body continued to serve people even after his death through miracles. David, Justinian's friend took care of the body, arranging a new tomb in his own church, now St David's cathedral in St Davids, Wales. The authenticity of relics always presents questions and challenges. The earliest of the remnants held in the casket in the Holy Trinity Chapel have been carbon-dated to the 12th century. Nevertheless, within the story the honouring of the relics is not simply a tale of an obscure medieval cult but is shown instead as a personal expression of love to the friend passed away and a testimony to Justinian's care towards the people living nearby his island and pilgrims. The holiness of the saint's soul, ensured by his relationship with God, extends to his body. This embodiment of Christian love in the cult of relics at the same time points towards the notion, in the eastern theological tradition, of sainthood as theosis, that the saints become God by divine grace.  

Battling the elements

Let us, however, speak also of the churches as islands. Moreover, Scripture says in another place: ‘Many islands are converted to me.’ Would you know that churches are called islands? The prophet Isaia says in the name of the Lord: ‘Speak to the inhabitants of this isle.’ ‘Let the many isle be glad.’ Even as islands have been set in the midst of the sea, churches have been established in the midst of this world, and they are beaten and buffeted by different waves of persecution. Truly these islands are lashed by waves every day, but they are not submerged. They are in the midst of the sea, to be sure, but they have Christ as their firm foundation, Christ who cannot be moved

Jerome, Homilies on the Psalms 24 (Psalm 96)

Hitda Codex - Christ and Apostles on the Sea of Galilee Islands, according to Jerome, are not easy places to live. Undergoing a constant battle with the forces surrounding them, they stand out over and against the blows of the world, yet never being completely overcome. This image provides one means by which to picture the Christian life, providing a way of understanding the struggle towards God whilst being assailed by conflicting thoughts, desires, worries—in the language of the fathers, the passions. ’Spiritually interpreted’ writes Jennifer O’Reilly ‘the islands may refer not only to all churches, set in the turbulent sea of this world, but to individual souls which are battered daily by various thoughts and temptations. These islands cannot be broken. Rather, they break the advancing waves. Their foundation is Christ : ‘behold, the isles stand fixed, and at last the sea is calmed’.

Whilst the early ascetics in the Christian East went to the desert, for the British saints one of the most natural places in which to engage in this battle was on an island. Indeed, Britain's status as an island has clearly had a great deal of meaning and significance for Christians and Christian writers reflecting on their faith and vocation. O’Reilly, in her exploration of the Venerable Bede suggests that, in the story of the church in Britain, islands act as spiritual symbols. Cuthbert, for example, subdues an island, transforming it from a hostile environment unsuited for human habitation into a place of both spiritual and agricultural fruitfulness. Meanwhile the features of Farne, separated from the world, become a symbol for the saint who, in his pursuit of the solitary life of the fathers, sets up a dwelling place so as to be able to see nothing but the heavens from inside.

Offshore and inland

The Venerable Bede

Ely is in the province of the East Angles, a country of about six hundred families, in the nature of an island, enclosed, as has been said, either with marshes or waters, and therefore it has its name from the great plenty of eels taken in those marches; there the aforesaid servant of Christ desired to have a monastery

Bede's Ecclesiastical History of the English People

It is not just offshore landmasses which are capable of acting as islands of holiness, however. O’Reilly points out the way in which, for Bede, inland sites surrounded by trees or rivers are able to serve the same function: ‘Britain is thus portrayed as a multitude of isles. Topographically very different from each other, these ‘islands’ of diverse monastic communities and eremitical individuals, men and women, of various dates, of both Irish and Anglo-Saxon origin, of Columban or Roman formation, scattered from north to south of the island of Britain, are all distinguished by their purity of life and detachment from the carnal preoccupations of this world. All are geographically remote from Rome and Jerusalem but close to heaven.’ Britain is a holy archipelago of saints and monks seeking out God from their scattered dwelling places. Whilst some may venture out to sea in order to pursue a life of holiness, this is something which is equally possible from other locations, if they are approached in the same manner.

May Britain exult in the profession of his faith; and may many islands be glad, and sing praises in honor of his holiness 

Bede's Ecclesiastical History of the English People

The limits of geography

O’Reilly draws out another sense in which Britain’s island nature is significant, however, and that is it’s position as an island ‘at the end of the earth’. Drawing on imagery found within the Old Testament, islands are places distant from the temple in Jerusalem, they are places associated with the gentiles, peoples enslaved to idols. Prophecies speak of the way in which God will one day reach out even to these distant islands, and they will hear his voice. This is picked up by later commentators as an image of the way in which the gospel spreads outwards from Jerusalem, as the apostles and their successors fulfil Christ’s command to take the gospel to the very ends of the earth. The kingdom of Christ is universal, and through the gospel a wonderful quote from Jerome suggests that ‘Access to the courts of heaven is as easy from Britain as it is from Jerusalem, for “the kingdom of God is within you”’. Bede’s narrative is one in which the people of Britain, as an island nation enslaved to idols, are freed from this bondage, converting to Christianity or, where they are at odds with other parts of the church, converting to the fullness of the apostolic faith.

The association between islands and saints, then, is not merely an accident of geography, but provides a means to symbolically grasp a great many aspects of faith and spirituality. As in Bede's narrative, islands are both many and diverse, reflecting the diverse circumstances and paths of the individuals that found themselves there, sometimes through circumstance, but often through individual choice. As in Jerome, they represent the distinction to be made between the Church and the world, enclosed by the sea but not simply collapsing into it. They never, however, symbolise pure isolation, and—despite Bede's concern for authority—the rich tapestry described within his narrative demonstrates in many ways a decentralised picture of the Church; an archipelago of self-sufficient communities, which are nevertheless engaged in a constant proces of contact and exchange.

Bardsey

Bardsey Island

Bardsey, or Ynys Enlli in Welsh, is a small island near the Llŷn Peninsula—2.5km long and about 1km wide. Over the course of its existence, the island became a crucial location for the Celtic Christian Church, attracting many monks and pilgrims. It was the place where Saint Cadfan founded his famous monastery. The Celtic churches before the Norman conquest had a distinct monastic character, being relatively decentralised compared to the Roman church, and organised around monasteries and abbots rather than bishops residing in urban centres. By the early 6th century Wales had several tens of established monastic communities. The monastery was a focal point of evangelisation and education from which priests could reach out to the laity of the neighbouring daughter churches. Such centres of monastic devotion and pastoral care presented a special model known as clas, an autonomous community with the abbot as its leader. Later in the 11th century Celtic monasteries of the clas type complied with the Roman system and became Benedectine and Augustinian orders. 

Cadfan

St Cadfan

Cadfan came over to Wales from Armorica (part of contemporary France) towards the end of the 5th century, as part of a large group of saints and learned men, with the desire to renew the faith of the local people. On arrival, Cadfan founded a church on the Welsh mainland, whilst later he went on to found a monastery on the nearby Bardsey Island. Having come to Wales as part of a large group (numbering several hundred), it is perhaps understandable that Cafdan, alongside a selection of companions, chose to move toward the relative isolation of Bardsey. Here the pressing political and military conflicts sometimes stirred up on the mainland would have become a more distant reality, the relatively treacherous sea crossing serving to create a place of solitude and retreat. It is impossible, however, to consider Cadfan’s story simply as an entirely solo undertaking, and it remains tempting to consider the later popularity of Bardsey in relation to the size of the group that came across with him, the influx of people able to make an impact beyond that of a single man on his own. Whilst we know relatively little of Cadfan’s life a later ode in praise of Cadfan by Llewellyn Fardd largely focuses on his legacy, the church he established standing as a monument dedicated to God, a place of worship that stands as a pillar of the Gospel, a place of devotion, belief and communion. Cadfan’s shaping of this area of Welsh landscape as a place of God comes down to us where much about the man himself has been lost to obscurity.

Church of fair Cadfan, brilliant to behold
Bright whitewashed church proudly whitened,
As though it had been fashioned by God himself
He fashioned for the Godhead a choice residence
When he came from Brittany to the community of Christendom
The blessed youth nurtured no sin:
May God bless the devout servant. [...]
Blessed the voyage of his company
When he came to the realm night by night, day by day,
When there came to the issue of Emyr the desire to gaze upon
Aber Menwenfer in the evening and in the morning [...]
The noble country of Cadfan where there coexist always
the noble gospel, humble guide, [...]
May the valiant wise God guard Cadfan's domain
(Song to Cadfan - Llewlyn Fardd I)

Pilgrimage

Bardsey has a particular reputation as a place of pilgrimage; firstly for the saying that three pilgrimages to Bardsey were equivalent to one journey to Rome, and secondly for its reputation as the burial-place of 20,000 saints. It is easy to be suspicious of mathematical calculation of the merits of pilgrimage, and in such wariness we find ourselves in good company. The fathers of the church, in their discussions of pilgrimage, are always keen to guard against its mis-use, and to outline what it does and doesn’t mean within a Christian worldview. A focus on the ability to approach God from any place is often combined with an emphasis on the Christian’s spiritual pilgrimage towards heavenly things, as a stranger no longer attached to or at home in the world. Nevertheless, within such an understanding it is clear that from an early stage pilgrimage became a crucial part of Christian practice. In one sense, pilgrimage represents precisely such dislocation from the world, abandoning the comforts of house and home in order to set out on a devotional journey of repentance and transformation mapped out by the things of God. For Saint Jerome it seems to represent the gathering together side by side of precisely those who are members of the scattered and non-localised kingdom of God in a beautiful and priceless vision of the church. Similarly, in their veneration of relics—a phenomenon often associated with pilgrimage—the early Christians are careful to steer clear of potential misunderstandings of this practice as something akin to the worship of idols, and to make it clear, instead that whilst the saints are honoured through acts of devotion it is ultimately the God whom they served who is being worshipped through such acts. Such veneration, and the potential for the granting of miracles through relics and saintly remains demonstrates the ongoing life of such holy men and women as part of the communion of saints—those who had united themselves to God in this life continue to unite themselves to him beyond the grave and continue to share fellowship with those remaining on earth. 

Saint Lide, who is also known by variants such as Elid or Elidius, was a Cornish hermit who made his residence on what is now known as St Helens in the Isles of Scilly. Whilst relatively little is known about him, it seems clear that he played an important role in establishing the Island as a site of Christian devotion. This tradition continues to the present day with the annual pilgrimage to the island in 2014 being joined by around a hundred people including a local bishop.

St Lide and Olaf Tryggvason

The view from St Helen's

A hermit living on the Scilly islands is mentioned in Heimskringla, a collection of sagas about Old Norse kings written by Snorri Sturluson in the 13th century. One of the sagas tells a story about king Olaf's gradual conversion to Christianity. The episode that interests us runs as follows: The Norwegian king Olaf Tryggvason was going on a long-term visit (985-988) to the British Isles and, after visiting Scotland and Ireland, he “came to the islands called the Scilly Isles, lying westward from England in the ocean”. There he met a hermit who in the holy spirit foretold to  him about his future kingdom. After the prophecy was fulfilled Olaf returned to the holy man and asked him about his wisdom."The hermit replied, that the Christian God himself let him know all that he desired; and he brought before Olaf many great proofs of the power of the Almighty. In consequence of this encouragement Olaf agreed to let himself be baptized, and he and all his followers were baptized forthwith. He remained here a long time, took the true faith, and got with him priests and other learned men."

So was Saint Lide the hermit who conferred with Olaf? The reconstructions involve a lot of guesswork. The story of a saint predicting a kingdom to a future king is a typical legendary pattern and some scholars suggest that it was taken from Pope Gregory's story about the conversion of the Gothic king Totila after meeting St. Benedict. An earlier saga by Oddr Snorrason, a 12th century Icelandic monk, also reports that Olaf was baptised on the Scilly Islands in 993. However, the legend may go back to the 11th century since among the sources for Heimskringla were scaldic poems belonging to a long-lived oral tradition. In any case, the account in the Norwegian sagas may reflect the existence of a Christian community on the Scilly Islands that was famous for its spiritual toils and gifts.

Cults of saints in Cornwall

Although the early history of Christianity in Cornwall is somewhat murky, there is evidence from an account of the life of St Samson of Dol that it was probably well-established prior to his arrival in the 6th Century. It thus goes back well before that time, possibly even to the early centuries after Christ. Whilst Lide’s shrine can be singled out for its continued ability to draw distant pilgrims through until the later middle ages, Lide stands within a rich and multi-faceted Cornish tradition of veneration. Nicholas Orme suggests that, whilst the presence of saint cults in Cornwall was not necessarily particularly unusual, what is unusual about Cornwall is its possession of a great number of distinctive local saints in addition to its veneration of more-international figures. Evidence for these can still be found dotted around the cornish countryside in the forms of place names and buildings named after particular figures. The names of St Austell or St Ives, for example will be familiar to any tourist.

Hermits and islands

The Hermit's Hut on St Helen's

Helen O’Neil suggests that the Isles of Scilly ‘were the type of site which attracted the early Celtic Christians’, noting the large number of Celtic monastic sites that were founded in the 5th and 6th centuries. A remote site such as this clearly provides an attractive location for the solitary aspects of life as a monk or hermit. Even today islands around Britain remain important pilgrimage sites, the islands of Iona and Lindisfarne being popular examples. Evidence for a cult on St Helen’s comes from a number of sources. Pope Pius II, writing in 1461 speaks of ‘The faithful who go in great numbers to the chapel of St Elidius’, granting indulgences to those who visit as a result of the site’s need for repair following raids from pirates (whom he excommunicates). Likewise the poet and antiquary John Leland, writing in the 16th Century mentions ‘Saynct Lide’s Isle, where in tymes past at her sepulchre was gret superstition’. The island houses the remains of a number of buildings, the earliest being a round hermit’s hut and oratory probably belonging to the founder. The earliest pottery dates back to the 11th century suggesting this as the period around which the island began to be inhabited. By the early 12th century O’Neil suggests that ‘the original hermit must have become a figure of veneration, as St Ilid, and have been commemorated by the erection of a chapel to mark the site of his grave’. Three rectangular huts, all enclosed by a precinct wall indicate the expansion of the site to house multiple hermits following in Lide’s footsteps.

Why did St Lide choose a remote uninhabitated island to live and to serve God? The tradition of Christian asceticism, which goes back to the Egyptian monks of the 4th century, supposes that one may save his soul and approach God only by renouncing the world's pleasures and by taking on an ongoing fight with one's own sinful passions. Christian hermits of past ages were determined to leave their ordinary life behind and to explore completely new places in order to start their new life in Christ there. Perhaps, a small island, being naturally isolated, seemed to St Lide a perfect place for praising God, thanking Him for the beauty of His creation and contemplating his own inner spiritual life.

Troparia

A troparion in the Eastern Orthodox tradition is a short hymn in honor of a saint or a holiday. It summarises in one stanza the key points of the saints' life and deeds or the main events of the holiday, usually in a poetic way. E.g. the troparion of Christmas:

Your birth, O Christ our God, dawned the light of knowledge upon the earth. For by Your birth those who adored stars were taught by a star to worship You, the Sun of Justice, and to know You, Orient from on High. O Lord, glory to You.

The troparion is usually sung to one of 8 tones but can be also said without music. Not all saints have their troparia written. In cases where a saint doesn't have a troparion yet, we shall compose it ourselves based on the main principles of this liturgical genre.