On the Saints

During the Roman days from the Late Republic (100 BC or so) through the Late Imperial period (4th century AD) and beyond, an important part of Roman culture was the patron/client system. An aristocrat would never appear in public, i.e., the Forum, without a bevy of followers surrounding him. These could be anyone from the lesser aristocracy down through the middle class to freed slaves. They had a special relationship with him. Some were long-time family friends or the great-grandchildren of slaves freed by the aristocrat’s family, others may have related to the family business or could be promising men from lesser families in the country town where the aristocratic had his villa. He helped them by means of his connections, supplying them with jobs, favors, information, and protection—legal and sometimes physical. In return, they assisted him in any way that they could and attended him in public. They were his clients; he was their patron to whom they looked for aid.

Often whenever saints and the veneration of saints are discussed—especially by protestants—the paradigm is that of polytheism. Saints are equated with other gods, especially the pagan gods of the countryside who got “turned into” saints so that their worship could continue without Church persecution. A more historically, culturally, and theologically correct paradigm is that of the patron. After all, they’re not referred to as patron saints for no reason…

Within the first century of Christianity proper we have records of the invocation of saints, that is, asking certain departed Christians to pray for a particular community (this is in a mid second-century document whose name and particulars escape me at the moment). Let’s step through a few theological particulars to see how we get to this point and affirm it, especially as modern Christians.

First, from earliest Christianity, Christians have believed in the power of intercessory prayer and have prayed for one another and have asked for prayers in return. Paul does this in his letters which are the earliest literary remains of Christianity. Second, Christians—again, from the time of Paul—have believed in a certain fluidity between the realms of life and death precisely because of the salvation wrought by Christ on the cross. Through Baptism, we are baptized into the life of God. And, as Jesus argued against the scribes and Pharisees, Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob are not “dead” in the conventional sense for God is the God of the living and not the dead. Thus, there is a rather ambiguous status given to the dead-in-Christ. Are they dead-dead or just dead? Third, there is an element of religious experience that we moderns find difficult to access either historically or psychologically. The fact remains that the earliest Christians had convincing evidence—that is, evidence convincing to them—that the relics, the physical remains and items of certain holy people had miraculous powers. Please note that references to these begin in the gospels and Acts (Matt 9:20; 14:36; Acts 19:12).

Thus, the Roman Christian communities began looking to their spiritual heroes as patrons. As they were aided and sustained by earthly patrons, so they were led, and guided by their spiritual patrons. The notion of patron saints gave them a tangibility to a religion that could otherwise be quite cerebral and other-worldly. A Gaulish freed slave would not know Palestine or its geography; he might have never even met a Jewish person before. And yet, he could affirm what he knew about the Gospel, not just because of the wonders his priest told him but because a certain holy hermit who had died several winters back—to whom he might have given bread and water—was powerfully guiding the local community by healing his great niece when she asked for his prayers at his grave.

The local character and physicality of the veneration of the saints is critically important for us detached moderns to understand. Relics were a piece of salvation history made physical and tangible, sometime even a person from your very neighborhood. In other cases, it was a literal piece of one of the great movers and shakers of early Christianity like one of the apostles. It was in the service of this theology that the bodies of the saints were eventually dismembered and sent throughout Christendom. I got a piece of this recently—one of my favorite parts of touring the Metropolitan Museum of Art was gazing at the reliquaries, especially those few that were said to contain fragments of the True Cross. Whether they actually were said fragments is less historically important to me than the feeling of tangibility of holy history as I stood before them.

Now, imitation of the saints was always a part of this as well. The idea was that the saint had enacted the theological truths of Scripture, had followed in the life and manner of Christ and the apostles and that this connection was signified by the miracles that God accomplished through them. Without question the saints were to be imitated but often they had a freedom and a station that regular humans could not follow. Not everyone can be a holy hermit. Instead, one can offer praise to the holy hermit and ask to become his spiritual client; that he would serve as a holy patron, or a patron saint to watch and pray over your soul as an earthly patron did for the body.

You may never have heard this perspective on the saints before, especially if your background is protestant. But think on it, pray on it, see if it makes sense in your spiritual life. I have found it powerfully true in mine and at most every Eucharist I think on my heroes, Bede, Benedict, Boniface, Dunstan, King Alfred, those to whom I am joined in that holy meal through their own incorporation into the body of Christ. I ask for them to pray for me as I offer them the praise that they deserve for their lives and their witness to Christ.

On this feast of the glorious and ever-blessed Virgin Mary, let me direct a few thoughts specifically in her direction. First, I think that in Roman Catholic practice there are a few practices that uncomfortably stretch the line between veneration and worship. Worship is due only to the uncreated Trinity; veneration is due to all people or things that point to the uncreated Trinity. The Blessed Virgin is definitely due of veneration but never worship. Second, I can see a solid historical reason why we may want to think about our stance towards these practices. There is no doubt that the Church through centuries in its local, human, and institutional instantiations where it has been an ass especially to women. The sacramental system which we Anglo-Catholic High Church types find so freeing and that connect us so closely to the Gospel and Christ can be used as a system of barriers between the people and God especially if mediated through a power-hungry priesthood. The saints are different, however. There is no restriction of access to them. And as medieval histories abundantly show, having the ear of the king’s mother was often far better and safer than having the king’s ear… If the heavenly King’s own mother were to put in a good word to her Son on your behalf, it would be a good word indeed.

And with that thought I shall conclude for now. Pray for us, O holy Mother of God, that we may be made worthy of the promises of Christ.