Over the past year I’ve found myself being drawn again to the Northumbrian saints of the so-called Dark Ages. This was partly prompted by a realisation that Oswestry, one of the nearest towns to where I now live, is named for St Oswald, and is said to be where he died in battle. It grew further following visits to Northumbria, including to Bamborough Castle and Holy Island, and to Lastingham with its associations with Cedd and Chad, and to Whitby on the North Yorkshire coast. For some, Whitby is a place of pilgrimage because of its associations with Bram Stoker’s Dracula; for others, it’s the Magpie Cafe and its fish and chips that draws them.
For me, it’s always and ever its association with Hilda, saint and abbess of the seventh century double monastery on the cliff top at Whitby. There, Hilda oversaw the spiritual lives, scholarship, mission and ministries of both women and men. She also hosted the Synod of Whitby in 664. It was this Synod that decided the future of the church in the British Isles – would it stay with its indigenous Celtic tradition or go with the growing influence of the tradition of Rome? Rome won the day, ostensibly over the issues of how monks wore their tonsures and how the date of Easter was to be decided, and the path of Christianity in these islands was set for centuries to come.
However, Oswald, Chad, Cedd and their brother saints were not forgotten. Neither was their sister Saint Hilda. Much of the information we have about Hilda comes from Bede and his Ecclesiastical History of the English People. She was of royal heritage and a nun for half of her life, first of all at Hartlepool and then at Whitby, leading the communities in both places with wisdom and authority. She nurtured the ministry of five bishops, including Saint John of Beverley, and encouraged the poetic gifts of the cowherd Caedmon, who composed possibly the earliest poetry in the English language.
An example of Christian leadership
Under Hilda, scholarship at Whitby flourished: she built up libraries and taught both Latin language and literature. Her counsel was sought by religious and temporal leaders, and by the ordinary people alike. As more historical information comes to light, it becomes apparent that the ‘Dark Ages’ were not as unenlightened as previously supposed. A woman like Hilda was unable to gain such influence and authority in the life of church and society again for centuries to come. She was a Mother in God and an inspiration to many.
As a woman of Northern England in Christian leadership myself, I draw from Hilda inspiration and encouragement. I covet her charisms. She worked across borders between languages, cultures, genders and traditions and, as we are led to believe, she held it all together with grace, wisdom, authority and love. Rooted as she was in the Celtic tradition of Christianity, to comply with the decision of the Synod of Whitby may not have been easy for her, but she evidently understood that she was under the discipline of the church and worked with that to continue to ensure the flourishing of her community and her people. She struggled with chronic illness in the last six years of her life, but this barely affected her ministry.
Hilda, as we know of her, was strong, courageous, wise and loving. She was a nurturer of others in their gifts and graces, and a leader of women and men together. If, by seeking to learn a little more about her, something of her nature has rubbed off on me, I will be pleased. Heaven knows we need women like Hilda now, bold enough to lead us through the changes we face towards a better and more positive future.
Written by Revd Dr Jennie Hurd, SCM Friend and Chair of the Synod Cymru, in the Methodist Church in Wales.