Clement of Rome, P.M.

“Out of love the Lord took us to himself; because he loved us and it was God's will, our Lord Jesus Christ gave his life's blood for us -- he gave his body for our body, his soul for our soul.”

So wrote Clement, accounted the fourth bishop of Rome, in a letter to the Corinthians. I’d like to think that if I’d been comprehensively harangued by St. Paul, I’d keep on my best behaviour for a bit, but the church in Corinth had still failed to learn its lesson. On this occasion, they seem to have lost their bishop, deposed their presbyters and collapsed into bickering groups. The bishop of Rome was obliged to write on behalf of his church to try and sort the problems out. Clement’s letter is rich in references to scripture (including Paul’s earlier epistles) and the doctrines of the Trinity and Christ’s priesthood.

As with many early Christians, where Clement came from and what became of Clement in the end is unclear, although he may have been a freed slave. Some say he died a natural death around 100 AD, but widespread tradition claims that he was tied to an anchor and drowned, but that the sea receded over the following centuries, revealing his relics still tied to their anchor. His disciples bore these back to Rome for burial in the Basilica of San Clemente. As he had so conspicuously withstood tide and current, he was taken as a patron of mariners, and British churches dedicated to him were often founded by Vikings, who came to hold him in great regard after their (eventual) conversion.

Appropriate hymns for St. Clement’s day include the Methodist fave ‘Will your anchor hold?’ and ‘The day though gavest’ which is set to a tune called ‘St. Clement despite having nothing to do with him – the fact that the composer was one Clement Scholefield may, however, be significant.

St Catherine of Alexandria, 4th Century

There are two exciting facts about St Catherine. Okay, three. The third is she's my name saint, or whatever such a person is called. The first is - and I only just discovered this - on her day, women who are unmarried by the age of 25 (which I was, very much so) pray for husbands, and make each other bonnets.

St Catherine, St Catherine, O lend me thine aid
And grant that I never may die an old maid.

The second is that she lends her name to the Catherine Wheel, a fabulous kind of firework, named after her because she was sentenced to death on the wheel but the wheel broke.

She seems to have been a very feisty woman, not afraid to tell the Emperor that he was wrong. Not a shy and retiring saint.

St. Hilda was a noblewoman who founded abbeys at Hartlepool and, later, Whitby. This latter was a double-monastery at which both men and women lived (separately) and worshipped (corporately).

In real life, Hilda is best remembered for hosting the Synod of Whitby at which she succesfully argued that the Church in Northumbria should follow the customs of the wider church in the interests of seeking better unity with other Christians. In a rather brilliant move, the modern church honours her on two separate occasions – in October, for Roman Catholics, and today, for Anglicans. In fable, she is best remembered for turning a plague of snakes into stone, a local attempt to explain the ammonites which abound on Whitby's beach. One wonders if St. Patrick tried the same trick!

Her monastery was destroyed by Vikings, but the religious life lived on in the area – as a Benedictine monastery in the Middle Ages, and in the Order of the Holy Paraclete, an order of Anglican female religious who now live in Whitby. I’ve noted their website below. Famed for her wisdom, she is a patron of culture, and especially of female learning: the Oxford college dedicated to Hilda also gave us our first female Prime Minister (whose middle name, coincidentally, is Hilda) although that probably shouldn’t be held against her… She continues an example of practical piety, wisdom and the quest for unity.

“Rooted and Grounded in Love”
The Order of the Holy Paraclete

In Norwich there is a certain street in which are mixed redundant churches, half-timbered houses, pawn shops, office blocks and slums in a happy mix. Off this street runs an alleywall into a group of sixteenth century buildings called ‘Elizabeth of Hungary Yard’. This intrigued me for many years – I now know it was named after a quondam pub of that name which stood there. Today, the Church recalls the woman who gave her name and image to that forgotten drinking-house, S. Elizabeth, and the affection with which she has been regarded throughout Europe.

Born a princess, she spent her time working in the hospital she had founded; so, she in Patron of nursing homes. When famine struck Germany, she sent grain as a form of aid relief; so, she is Patron of bakers; when she declared her intention of nursing the poor, she was ill-treated by the courtiers who were presumably rather worried what the neighbouring potentates would think; so, she is Patron of those ridiculed for faith – not actively persecuted, but ridiculed… I think there’s enough of us in that category amongst the Anglican world, so she may be quite busy. The women of her family seem to have been noted for their piety – her aunt and niece are also regarded as saints, as his her husband, to whom she was betrothed at the age of four.

As might be expected from her work with the poor, she was a member of the Franciscan Third Order, newly established in Germany. After being widowed, she was expelled from her castle, and died at the age of just 24, exhausted by exile, her ceaseless ministration to the poor and the harsh spiritual disciplines of her confessor, which apparently involved corporal punishment. Buoyed by reports of healing miracles, her grave soon became a great shrine, and she swiftly became one of the best loved of the saints, her fame apparently reaching even the publicans of Norwich!

St. Hugh of Lincoln, BC, c1135-1200

Bishop of Lincoln, famed for his sense of justice, for opposing the wrath of mobs and kings, and taking a swan as his best friend.

Hugh was born at a place with the unlikely name of Avalon (in Burgundy, and not, presumably, King Arthur’s). In his youth, he lived with his father in an Augustinian monastery, but harboured a desire for the austere life of a Carthusian. This seems to have caused a bit of a struggle between his respective superiors, both of whom wanted their Orders to keep hold of this palpably holy young man. After eventually becoming a Carthusian, he was brought to England by Henry II as prior of the Charterhouse at Witham in Somerset which Henry had founded to get out of having to go on a Crusade. Although he had founded it, he seems to have neglected to provide Witham with much in the way of funding, as both of Hugh’s predecessors had died from illness contracted due to living in a building without a roof.

Hugh made hisself a nuisance to Royal Authority, but King Henry seems to have grudgingly acknowledged that Hugh spoke justly, which may explain various contradictions in their relationship – as may Hugh’s famously sharp sense of humour. For example, Hugh was amongst those who denounced the King for failing to appoint bishops in good time (under the feudal system, the revenues from vacant bishoprics reverted to the Crown, and this led to monarchs who were strapped for cash – i.e., most of the – not appointing bishops for years, or even decades) – but when Henry finally resolved to make some appointments, Hugh was offered Lincoln.

In typical fashion, Hugh refused, on the grounds that the Canons of the Cathedral hadn’t elected him fairly (it was another mediaeval custom that the Crown would tell cathedral chapters what the results of their episcopal elections would be, well in advance). Eventually, the canons and his Carthusian superior were able to persuade him to take the post. He excelled in this, needless to say, remaining resident in his diocese and beginning the rebuilding of the Cathedral – medieaval cathedrals underwent continually rebuilding, largely as a result of fire, but on this occasion the damage had been caused by an earthquake, of all things. He travelled tirelessly around his vast diocese, not only carrying out his many duties but also tending to lepers and presiding over trials on behalf of the pope.

Both as a prior and as a bishop, Hugh was remarkable for opposing abuse of power. He railed against the unfair forest laws that left most English people forbidden from making use of land set aside for royal hunts. Even when supervising building works at Witham he was sure to ensure compensation for those whose lands the King had appropriated for the space.

Hugh also stood up to a mob who were attempting to lynch a local Jews, demanding that they let their vicim free. Lincoln had a significant Jewish population at the time who suffered serious persecution: in fact, some years after Hugh’s death, the city mob became convinced that their jewish neighbours had murdered a Christian boy for use in a blood rite, and drove them out, slaughtering many. In a post-script grisly for its irony, the murdered lad was installed in the cathedral as a saint – and given the name of ‘Hugh’.

However, the story with attaches most to the real Hugh is a far happier one – the curious tale of the Swan of Stowe. This excellent creature moved into his episcopal manor at the time of his appointment, and, evolving a great love for Hugh, lived there for the fourteen years of his prelature, even guarding him as he slept (swans are very loyal creatures, and physically very strong – as an alternative to the guard-dog, they present many admirable qualities, apart from their inability to bark or make any equivalent loud noise; they do not normally live longer than seven years in the wild, but ages of up to forty have been reported for well-treated specimens, so the age of Hugh’s friend is unremarkable).

He was canonised in 1220, and his shrine became a great centre for pilgrimage. His relics are now lost although his white stole is held at the Charterhouse at Parkminster, Sussex.

In short, a man who was unafraid in his holiness and one of the great adoptive saints of England. Not to mention an ornithologist.

St Willibrord of York

I was a bit confused about whether Willibrord was Frisian and evangelised Yorkshire, or vice versa - but it seems he was from North Yorkshire. He has also been said to be "joyful of character and holy of life". I can think of a lot of people I've known who have been joyful, but not holy, and several who've been holy, but not joyful, but it is a real gift to be both.

Leonard, Hermit, 6th century

It’s been hard to find out anything at all about this saint, beyond that he was a hermit, and lived in the 6th century. He was a French nobleman who “went bush”. I’ve always been attracted to the idea of being a hermit but I think the lack of shops would do it for me. I took a course on the Archaeology of Scotland in my first year as a student (completely unrelated to my course of study) and the lecturer, who was no fan of the church, suggested that the reason the Celtic church had taken hold in Scotland rather than the Catholic church was because of the hermit-monk model rather than the centralised-administration model, which was more appropriate for the dispersed population of Scotland at the time. So there you go. Hermits as post-modern evangelism.

St Martin of Porres, 1639

Another very interesting person who I'd never heard of. A mixed-race friar from Peru, he is listed as "patronage African-Americans, against rats, barbers, bi-racial people, poor people, public education, public health." (I assume teh only one he's actually against is rats) I think this one might be a Guardian reader. This image is from Portland, Oregon.

Richard Hooker, priest, apologist, 1600

My very first holy person was born in the same place as I was and attended the same university (though not the same college). I had never heard of him before, but he sounds like he was a good Independent reader type of person - much like myself.