By about the midpoint of our Spring 2019 Celtic Saints and
the Arts class, we have considered the beginnings of Celtic Christianity from
several standpoints. We have also considered the lives of Bridget and Columba, among
others; and we have noted several Celtic distinctives including meaningful closeness
with nature, the importance of silence and listening, and the spirituality of
pilgrimage.
I’ve referenced that this is the Spring 2019 class because
most of the saints we’ve studied have their saint days during the weeks our
class is meeting during this spring semester. A summer or fall class might be
set up similarly but with the saints of those seasons.
At this midpoint, we considered the well-known martyred Celtic
saints. We started our session with a meditation on grieving and the
recognition that life is mixed and that, in reality, it involves grieving right
along with celebrating. Experts and our experience tell us that we don’t stop trying
to relate with our lost loved ones just because they’ve died. Those
relationships continue on and lay claim to us. We also find that the stages of
grief are not experienced as a one-time sequence but as modes we cycle back
through over all our years of living with loss.
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| Detail of St. Alban's window at All Saints' Episcopal Church here in Lakeland, FL |
Both the first English and Irish martyrs gave their lives in
the place of others. St. Alban traded clothes with the Christian clerk
Amphibalus and persisted in his faith unto death even once it was realized he
was not Amphibalus. St. Odran, Patrick’s charioteer, traded places with Patrick
when he discovered an assassination was imminent. Patrick was unaware of the impending
danger and willingly drove the chariot so that, as he was led to believe, Odran
could get some rest.
Our third saint who gave or lost his life was St. Oran. Oran
was a companion of Columba and, according to one legend, volunteered to be
buried alive in the foundation of the first chapel on Iona so that it might be
a sturdy structure.
Other legends exist as well. Some theorize that Oran was the
oldest of the Columban brothers and was simply the first to pass on. In so
doing, he modeled for the community how to die a good death. Others suggest his
burial was necessary to sanctify the traditional burial ground for Christian
use. Still others think he might have been Columba’s son adding a profoundly
moving and theological resonance to however his death came about.
Our groups’ discussion highlighted the possibility that, in
the 6th century Christian context, it might not have been far-fetched
for an aged monk to embrace that his time had come. He might have gladly
embrace eternal sleep with perhaps a little palliative care as he did so. We
think of the many today in hospitals and in homes who might be ready to move
on. May there be blessing with them and their communities.
My own theory is that Oran was an anchorite and his
sacrifice of the outer world enabled the community to root and to thrive. When
I mentioned this theory to a friend with a special interest in monasticism, I
was told that there was a special liturgy for consecrating an anchorite and it
was essentially a funeral rite. This excerpt from Thomas Cahill's Mysteries of the Middle Ages addresses the anchorite experience.
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| St. Oran's Chapel, a 12th century structure on the Island of Iona |
Whatever the actual historical
situation regarding Oran, that buried-alive legend goes on to tell us that
after several days, Columba had a stone removed so as to check on Oran. Oran
was still able to communicate and he told Columba that he had encountered God
and had seen Heaven and Hell and they weren’t like Columba thought!
That’s so very thought provoking.
At the very least, it invites us
to listen and not to get too carried away with our own understandings of things
of a cosmic nature. We might have it wrong, just like the great Saint.
Maybe the story also speaks of the
wisdom that being installed in an institution sometimes limits one’s ability to
speak of the most important truths.
Finally, questions I ask myself:
Who am I burying alive? Whose voice am I silencing? Who have others buried? From whose mouths
might I help clean the mud?
