Alban, Odran, and Oran

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.

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 6^th 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. 

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?