Heavenfield

From Bede’s History III.12 (McClure and Collins, p. 129)

“It is related, for example, that every often he [King Oswald] would continue in prayer from matins to daybreak; and because of his frequent habit of prayer and thanksgiving, he was always accustomed, whenever he sat, to place his hands on his knees with the palms turned upwards. It is also a tradition which has become proverbial, that he died with a prayer on his lips. When he was beset by the weapons of his enemies and saw that he was about to perish he prayed for the souls of his army. So the proverb runs, ‘May God have mercy on their souls, as Oswald said when he fell to the earth’”

This passage has attracted the most attention for his palms up posture. I’ve read here and there some odd talk about it reflecting pre-Christain postures. Nonsense… look around your local church and then look at ancient murals and art and you will see palms up postures throughout.

What has attracted my attention is the claim that he prayed continually from matins to daybreak. This is one sleep deprived king! Did he have insomnia? Matins is supposed to be the midnight office and daybreak is lauds. Obviously, matins can’t be really midnight. In reality various monasteries and churches set matins at various times of the night. It is likely that each monastic system had a schedule set for daily prayer, and it was practiced by members of the house(s) where ever they were. It seems likely that Oswald followed the schedule from Lindisfarne, led by a personal priest. This also suggests that the hours of the office were done somewhere within Bamburgh’s enclosure so that it was easily accessible to Oswald.

It is one of the mysteries of Oswald’s reign that his personal priest is not mentioned. We know that his brother Oswiu had personal priests — Utta, later Abbot of Gateshead, and Eadhead, later Bishop of Lindsey– and his son Oethelwald had Caelin, brother of bishops Cedd and Chad, as his personal priest. All of these priests were from the Lindisfarne family, and as the founder of Lindisfarne it is almost certain that Oswald would have had an Irish priest by his side. There wouldn’t have been any English priests trained until at the very earliest late in Oswald’s reign. Given that Bede is promoting the close relationship between Oswald and Bishop Aidan I suppose its not surprising that his personal priest, who really couldn’t be Aidan, isn’t mentioned.

One of the things this calls to mind is that first of all, Oswald was surely, remarkably pious. After an evening in the hall with his court, getting up before dawn for prayer is impressive. It may also be the only time during the day when a king could quietly think. Once the rest of the court awakes, the day’s business will begin and by evening his hall will be full of his retainers. It also occurs to me that this formal position, with palms turned up, indicates that Oswald was a rather impressive, kingly figure otherwise these odd details would not have been remembered.

This also brings up Oswald’s understanding of Latin. How many kings would go daily to hear the office if they couldn’t understand it. Granted, he may have just wanted to be present when what he considered to be sacred rites were preformed and to pray silently to himself. Still it all suggests quite a lot of formation on Oswald’s behalf done by Iona before he returned and afterwards fostered by the monks of Lindisfarne.

Today is the feast day of St Egbert of Iona.

“The monks of Iona accepted the catholic way of life under the teaching of Egbert, while Dunchad was abbot [707-717], about eighty years after they had sent Bishop Aidan to preach to the English. The man of God, Egbert, remained for thirteen years on the island which he had consecrated to Christ, lighting once more, as it were with the gracious light of ecclesiastical fellowship and peace. In the year of our Lord 729, when Easter fell on 24 April, after he had celebrated a solemn mass in memory of the Lord’s resurrection, he departed to be with the Lord on the same day. … It was a wonderful dispensation of the divine providence that the venerable man not only passed from this world to the Father on Easter Day, but also when Easter was being celebrated on a date on which it had never been kept in those places.” (Bede, HE V. 22, McClure and Collins, p. 287)

It is interesting that Bede notes that Egbert had been on Iona 13 years, placing his arrival in 716 the very year that the monks had been driven out of Pictland and the same year that King Cenred, brother of Bede’s King Ceolwulf became King of Northumbria. Given that Bede credits Columba as the missionary (apostle?) to the Picts in his chronological summary (HE V.24), their expulsion from Pictland 52 years after their similiar expulsion from Northumbria is significant. Here Bede couldn’t help himself but to note that Egbert consecrated the island for Christ - meaning that St. Columba’s consecration of Iona had to be repeated.

I believe I have noted elsewhere that Bede is a bit loose on this date, manipulating it to suit his purposes. Here he wants to show Egbert’s coming to Iona with the explusion from Pictland. In HE III.4 he claims that the Columban calculations of Easter lasted until 715, 150 years after the coming of Columba to Iona. If he allows these dates to slide a little, then the 52 years since Whitby should be considered about 50 as well.

So Bede’s chronology in the summary of HE V.24 goes like this:

• 449: English arrive in Britain
• 565: St Columba founds Iona.
• 597: Augustine arrives in Britain, noting its roughly 150 years after the English arrive. [In III.4 he notes Columba dies about 32 years after arriving on Iona, ie. 597! - expressly not noted in the summary even though the summary notes he was the missionary to the Picts]
• 716: Egbert converts Iona to Roman Easter calculations (and reconsecrates the island!) about 80 years after Aidan arrives in Northumbria. [Therefore, Egbert converts Iona 150 years after Columba comes to Iona; Augustine converts the English 150 years after their arrival in Britain. Aidan's arrival about 80 years earlier nearly splits that time in half...]

Makes me wonder what kind of symbolism Bede saw in those 150 year intervals. It seems that it took both Iona and ‘the English’ 150 years to fully mature for Iona to come into the Roman fold and for the English church to produce missionaries, correcting the primary source of their own missionaries. The only symbolism I can think of that is 150 is the 150 psalms, but I may just have psalms on the brain. Given that the Irish divided their pslater into thirds of 50 pslams each; 50 years from Whibty to explusion from Pictland would also fit the symbolism.

Egbert is one of the few fellow Englishmen that Bede specifically called a saint in his History. The entry in the chronological summary actually calls him “St. Egbert”; he is the only one so designated in the summary. To me, the entry in the Greater Chronicle is the most remarkable considering how few Anglo-Saxons Bede records there. Bede is a little odd in which Englishmen (and women) who he includes in the Greater Chronicle: Kings Aethelfrith and Aelle, Aethelberht and Edwin, and saints Aethelthryth (with K. Ecgfrith), Egbert, Willibrord, Cuthbert, and his abbot Coelfrith. Many of these references are pretty slight, but Bishop Egbert’s entry is every bit as elaborate as Cuthbert or Willibrord. A further study of Egbert and his importance to Bede seems merited.

In his letter to King Aldfrith of Northumbria, whom he pet names Acircius, Abbot Aldhelm of Malmesbury gives the following description of his relationship with the king.

For a long time ago, in the era of your young manhood, when your talented Sagacity was equipped with the septiform munificence of spiritual gifts by the hand of a venerable bishop, I recall that I acquired the name of ‘father’ and that you received the appellations of your adoptive station together with the privilege of heavenly grace. (Episola ad Acircium, Aldhelm: The Prose Works, Lapidge and Herren, trans, 1979).

How does an abbot of Malmesbury in Wessex become the godfather of a half-Irish Northumbrian prince in his “young manhood”? There is no reason to think that Aldhelm had ever been to Northumbria. It is possible that Aldhelm became his godfather while Aldhelm was studying in Canterbury, but that would put a young half-Irish Northumbrian prince in Canterbury. Alternatively, Malmesbury was founded by an Irish monk so that the half-Irish Aldfrith could have visited Malmesbury as part of youthful travels.

The first big problem is why was he baptized as a young man. Infant baptism was practiced at this time, and the Irish and King Oswiu were both Christians. Could it be that there were re-baptisms of those who had been baptized by followers of Iona? In his discussion of the causes of the Synod of Whitby in 664 is because they feared that their baptisms were invalid. The actual re-baptism of all or some of the Lindisfarne-baptized clergy and at least nobles is something that the Lindisfarne-friendly Bede might not want to advertise.

If this is the case, then Aldfrith was a young man soon after 664. He must have been born no earlier than 640, so late in King Oswald’s reign. This would rule out that he was born before Oswald and Oswiu returned to Northumbria. It also means that he was of similar age to his brother Alchfrith, who was apparently not considered a bastard like Aldfrith.

It is possible that Aldfrith had consented at the encouragement of Aldhelm to be re-baptized before 664. We know his brother Alchfrith was certainly favorable to the Roman church before 664. Yet, I think this is unlikely. We know that he was also a very good friend of Adomnan of Iona, and Bede claims that Aldfrith was actually present on Iona when his brother King Ecgfrith was killed in Scotland. Adomnan traveled to visit Aldfrith in Northumbria at least twice, and probably three times during Aldfrith’s reign.

Another possibility is that Aldhelm is actually referring to sponsorship of confirmation. I don’t know much about confirmation in this period though. Perhaps Aldhelm’s stress on the bishop’s hand rather than waters of baptism does suggest that this is confirmation. This would be easier to reconcile with his “young manhood”.

Aldfrith’s relationship with Wessex is a very interesting topic that really hasn’t been fully explored. In addition to his relationship with Aldhelm, he also married the sister of King Ine of Wessex, who was a kinsman of Aldhelm. Aldfrith separated from her during their lifetimes and she entered a convent. In fact, she is one of the nuns that Aldhelm’s On Virginity is addressed to. This makes them a very special couple to Anglo-Saxonists — to him was dedicated the beloved riddles of Aldhelm and to her, On Virginity was sent. What does this tell us about Aldhelm’s relationship to this couple?

Recently Bishop Duncan of Pittsburgh made the following statement:

“My prayer for us who have gathered here is that…we will be such a threat to the present order that we will be found worth killing, if only Columba’s white martyrdom, but, if it be so, let it be the red martyrdom,” Duncan said, contrasting the “martyrdom” of asceticism with that of death. Episcopal Life, 28 Sept 2007

So what he is referring to is a Irish homily that provides for three types of martyrdom, not that any necessarily fit the current situation.

From the Cambrai homily, 7-8th century (contemporary with Bede):

“There is not…the holy Apostle has said from his great love; everyone’s sickness was his own, everyone’s offense was his own, everyone’s weakness was his own. In these wise words of the wise man we see that fellow-suffering is a kind of Cross. Now there are three kinds of martyrdom that are counted as a cross to us, namely, white, blue and red martyrdom.

[It is white martyrdom for a man when he separates from everything that he loves for God, although he does not endure fasting and labor thereby. (1)]

The blue martyrdom is when through fasting and hard work they control their desires or struggle in penance and repentance.

The red martyrdom is when they endure a cross or destruction for Christ’s sake, as happened to the Apostles when they were persecuted the wicked and taught the law of God.

These three kinds of martyrdom take place in those people who repent well [blue], who control their desires [white], and who shed their blood [red] in fasting and labor for Christ’s sake.” (Celtic Spirituality, ed. by O. Davis, T. O’Loughlin, Paulist Press, 1999, p. 370)

A few comments on these forms of martyrdom. First they are not a major theme in Irish literature. They occur in only two sermons and are not mentioned in hagiography. In other words, no hagiographer (ie. religious biographer) claimed that his favorite saint was a white or blue martyr. Specifically, Adomnan never calls Columba a white martyr or any other type of martyr.

Stress on the three types of martyrdom and identification of Columba as one is a completely modern phenomenon, as far as I know. If there is an early example of white martyrdom in the early literature, the best I can think of is Bede’s description of Egbert of Iona, who takes on a rigorous ascetic regime and voluntary exile from home in thanksgiving for surviving the plague of 664. Note that this was undertaken as a personal thanksgiving, he was not excommunicated or forced from his homeland and Bede doesn’t call him a white martyr. We really have no idea why Columba left Ireland. Adomnan briefly mentions a temporary excommunication that I have previously discussed (here and here), but Adomnan does not link this to Columba’s relocation to Scotland. Adomnan does claim that Columba did return to Ireland several times after his establishment of Iona and he was in communion with other Irish churches.

I should also point out that the Celts, both Welsh and Irish, had a fondness for groupings in threes. Their triads as memory aids are well known. (We can even see some triads embedded in Bede’s History.) So, it doesn’t seem unusual at all that they would develop the concept of three types of martyrdom, another type of triad.

After reading these descriptions I will leave it to you to decide if you think the bishops meeting in Pittsburgh last week meet these criteria.

~

Translation notes:

(1) Section in brackets is an amended translation by Proinseas Ni Chathain (Celtica 1990, 21:417) that makes sense. If white martyrdom’s included fasting and labor, then it wouldn’t be sufficiently different than a blue martyrdom.

You may have heard of green martyrdoms… the Irish word glas is best translate as blue, as both Davis (1999) and NiChathain (1990) translate it. I suspect the urge to call this type of martyrdom ‘green’ is related to the reputed eco-friendliness of the Celtic saints. Yet, when I visited Lindisfarne a few years ago, it was the blue of the sea and sky that nearly overwhelmed me.

Did you ever notice that you can tell that Adomnan of Iona was a lawyer in all of his surviving works? Of course, to medieval historians Adomnan is best known as the promoter or author of the ‘Law of the Innocents’, which protected women, children and clerics from the violence of war and domestic abuse of women. This work gained Adomnan the praise of the 9th century Oengus the Culdee who wrote in his Martyrology for September 23:

“To Adomnan of Iona, whose troop is radiant, noble Jesus has granted the lasting liberation of the women of the Gaels.”

As ground breaking as this law was, what really wows the historians is the list of guarantors of the law, probably the most impressive group of kings, bishops and abbots of any similar medieval list. This is proof that Adomnan was a good politician too.

During Adomnan’s tenure as abbot of Iona he seems to have found a need for more local laws as well. The Canons of Adomnan — distinct from Cain Adomnan — have nothing to do with international politics, like the ‘Law of the Innocents’ or his work to liberate hostages from Northumbria. These canons are about simple things like food laws, what is good to eat even if scripture says all is ‘clean’. O’Loughlin quotes canon 1 in his Celtic Theology (p. 75):

“Sea animals found dead on the shore and where we do not know how they died, can be eaten in good faith; but may not be eaten if they are putrid.”

Sea animals here probably refers to mammals like dolphins, whales or seals. Jesus’ lesson that all foods are now clean, in contradiction to the Jewish food laws, played havoc with local food health norms.

In reality, we can see Adomnan the lawyer at work in all of his surviving works. Thomas O’Loughlin (Celtic Theology, 2000 and elsewhere) has written about the importance of Arculf, the eyewitness of the holy land, in Adomnan’s De Locis Sanctus (On the Holy Places). Even though more of this work is Adomnan’s own research than he admits, he feels the need to claim reliance on an eyewitness. Close inspection of the works shows that Arculf’s material is mainly descriptive of contemporary churches and shrines. Background material and conclusions come from Iona’s library.

Adomnan’s background is also apparent in his Life of Columba, where he provides a number of witnesses. In cases like Oswald’s vision of Columba, he provides a chain of witnesses back to Oswald himself. Adomnan builds his case for Columba’s sanctity carefully and methodically in the face of fierce criticism of Iona, as it became isolated from the growing insular church of Rome. Indeed, I wonder if Adomnan’s unique format of three books — prophetic revelations (I), miracles of power (II), and visions of angels (III) — also reveal is legal training. Rather than writing a narrative of Columba’s life, he has presented three different types of evidence, arranged as a lawyer might lay out his case.

In short, the corpus of Adomnan’s work — ‘Law of the Innocents’/Cain Adomnan, Canons of Adomnan, De Locis Sanctus, and Life of Columba — provides a unique window into the work and mindset of a seventh century Irish priest-lawyer. Adomnan may be a unique case of surviving works in international law (Law of the Innocents), local law (Canons of Adomnan), geography/exegesis (De Locis Sanctus) and theology/hagiography (Life of Columba). (I hope to write more on hagiography as theology in the future.) Adomnan wore many hats — priest, abbot, lawyer, exegete, historian/geographer, hagiographer/theologian, and politician. However, I believe that these works show the that he fundamentally saw and approached the world as a lawyer.

As today is St. Adomnan’s feast day, I would like to remember him with a collect written by Thomas Owen Clancy in The Radical Tradition: Revolutionary Saints in the Battle for Justice and Human Rights. (G. Markus ed., 1993, p. 114):

Lord God, your servant Adomnan, filled with the power of your Spirit, walked the paths of peace and justice and brought reconciliation to a divided world. Grant that by this same Spirit we may act wisely and courageously so that Innocents may find in your Church the sign of liberation for which they long.

One of the first English plagues with a significant record of its effects is the plague of 664. Everything we know of this plague comes from Bede’s Ecclesiastical History of the English People. The few chronicle records that refer to the plague year derive from Bede’s History. The royal ramifications seem to be fairly mild; only King Eorcenbert of Kent died in the plague and was successfully succeeded by his son. On the other hand, the plague had profound repercussions in the church.

Canterbury sidelined

Initially, I thought that Archbishop Deusdedit’s strange absence or even mention in association with the Synod of Whitby in 664 could mean that he had already died in the plague. However, Bede directly contradicts this. When Chad is sent to Canterbury for his consecration in c. 665-666, after King Oswiu had already gotten tired of waiting on Wilfrid to return from his consecration on the continent, they first learn that Deusdedit had died in the plague in July 664. This is a startling lack of knowledge on events in Kent. Northumbria appears to have accepted Rome (for up to two years!) without making contact with Canterbury, and recall that Wilfrid was sent to Bishop Agilbert of Paris for consecration. The reason given is that there are not enough canonically consecrated bishops in England to consecrate him, but there is no mention of knowledge of Deusdedit’s death. For that matter, as archbishop of the province he should have approved of Tuda’s appointment to Lindisfarne, and then his successors. King Oswiu clearly believed that he was still in control, even after deciding for Rome.

To stay on track here though, late knowledge of Deusdedit’s death in the plague highlights the lack of contact with Canterbury at this critical time. It also means that his death can not be used to help further date the synod. Had the Archbishop of Canterbury at least been consulted on episcopal selections the double consecration of Wilfrid and Chad to replace Tuda would not have occurred.

When Northumbria discovers Deusdedit’s death, the kings of Northumbria and Kent agreed to send Wigheard to Rome to be consecrated Archbishop of Canterbury. He also died of plague in Rome and finally Theodore of Tarsus was chosen to come and sort out the mess in England. He doesn’t arrive until 669, five full years after the synod and plague. Given the political climate an outsider as archbishop with no local political loyalties was a blessing. It is hard not to see Agilbert as a shadow over many of these events, but that is a topic for another day.

Lindisfarne Weakened

Lindisfarne is left crippled after the double blow of the synod of Whitby and the plague. The new Irish Bishop of Lindisfarne, Tuda, dies of the plague within months of his consecration, exact date unknown. On 26 October 664, Bishop Cedd dies of the plague while visiting his Northumbrian monastery of Lastingham and is buried there. When word quickly reaches his see in Essex, Bede says that about 30 of his followers from Essex come to live at Lastingham and all but one boy die in a second wave of pestilence. Cedd’s brother Chad is recalled from his study in Ireland to become abbot of Lastingham, probably indicating that their other two brothers Cynebill and Caelin, who were both associated with the founding of Lastingham, had also died in the plague. The loss of Tuda and Cedd and so many Anglo-Celtic monks and clergy seemingly left Lindisfarne and the Anglo-Celtic party weak.

Lastingham wasn’t the only monastery depopulated by the plague. The monastery of Gelling, founded to pray for kings Oswine and Oswiu, was allowed to dissolve as its monks joined Wilfrid’s monastery of Ripon (presumably with their lands). Not surprisingly given the association of Bishop Aidan with both kings Oswiu and Owine, Gelling seems to have had an Irish orientation before Whitby. Bede’s Abbot Ceolfrith was one of the monks of Gelling to join Ripon in 664. His brother, a previous abbot of Gelling, died that year of the plague in Ireland, where he had retired to study.

The Rise of Wilfrid

The plague had a direct role in the rise of Wilfrid of Ripon to Bishop of York. Had Tuda not died at such a critical time in the reformation of the Northumbrian church, it is unlikely that Wilfrid would have been promoted to the episcopate so young or gained so much power. Indeed, had Theodore already been archbishop, the see would have been divided from its reception into the Roman system.

Wilfrid’s rise in power was meteoric. He had only been ordained a priest by Agilbert a few months before the Synod of Whitby, and had been given the monastery of Ripon, confiscated by his patron King Alhfrith from Abbot Eata, probably only within the year before Whitby and now within a year after Whitby he was sent to Gaul for a grand consecration as Bishop of York in splendor in Compiegne and took a two year tour of Gaul. No doubt much of his tour was to highlight the work of Agilbert among those rough barbarians to the north, but Wilfrid seems to have soaked it up well. One wonders how much else Wilfrid learned from Agilbert…

Wilfrid was a very complex character, both a great builder and a stubborn obstacle. There is no doubt that Wilfrid built up the church and brought in needed innovation from the continent. He also stubbornly refused to let his vast see be divided, even though there was no way he could possibly serve it all. He learned to like the lordly displays of the Gaulish metropolitans and has been called both a Germanic lord and a prince-bishop. To the humble, ascetic Irish, Wilfrid’s behavior was deeply offensive.

Conversion of Iona

The plague highlights the number of influential Englishmen studying in Ireland in 664, of whom the most notable was an English noble named Egbert. In thanksgiving for surviving the plague, Egbert vows to remain in voluntary exile from his home (England) for the rest of his life. He becomes a bishop, perhaps to English peregrini, in Ireland. We know that he is the driving force behind the missions to Frisia that Willibrord eventually spearheads, and he finally undertakes his mission to Iona. After many years of work, he convinces Iona to accept Rome in about 716. For Bede, this was the crowning achievement of the Northumbrian church of his age. And so history comes full circle, the plague that came in the wake of the synod of Whitby produce a pilgrim that finally brought Iona into the church catholic.

In summary, the plague becomes a full participant in the unfolding of events in the late seventh century. It highlights how marginalized Canterbury had become before the arrival of Theodore. It weakens the entire church by carrying away many of the conversion age generation. It is a vital cause for the rise of Bishop Wilfrid of York, who became a dominant figure in England for the entire second half of the seventh century. Lastly, it produced the thankful pilgrim who eventually brought Iona, the mother church of most of England, into the catholic church and back into communion with its former daughter territories in England and Pictland.

I am so glad that Martin, Bishop of Argyll and the Isles (Scottish Episcopal Church) as returned to his blog today. I have become quite attached to his journeys and reflections in a very short time. I invite you to drop by and visit with Bishop Martin on his pilgrimage through the Gospel of Matthew following Columba.