Saint Columban-Vagrant of Heaven

The Dark Ages seem darker, if anything, during this century. Italy still lay under the Lombard yoke, Swabia was a blacked-out hinterland, the lands of the Franks and the Visigoths reeked with dreadful crimes, while Britain was, for the most part, still semi-barbarous. You will not be far wrong in picturing the West: war-scarred and heresy-ridden; broken roads, ruined Roman castles, deep timber lands; lovely streams, glorious mountains, swamps and wasteland; semi-savage Franks, Visigoths, Burgundians, Lombards; ill-clad peasants, royal ruffians, worldly clerics and ignorance everywhere. In the East, rife with moral disorder, rival creeds tore at one another’s throats, while it looked as if the Church were going into total eclipse. The garden that was North Africa, already withered by the Vandals, burned dry under the fierce Moslem whose cruel reign blighted her very existence. Need anyone be surprised, therefore, that this age of blood-curdling political drama proved barren of theological thought, devoid of secular learning? With the breakdown of language there were few writers of any note, for grammar and thought had become as rude, as barbarous as the people themselves. Yet the darkest hour is often the hour nearest the dawn, and there were rays of hope amid the black despair. All the Church’s labor in the fields of the world could not be in vain, though tares and cockles threatened to choke the young wheat struggling upwards. The barbarian nations, firmly rooted, will grow many bitter thorns in days to come, none the less the Church will be seen at her work plowing, sowing, watering.

As the darkness slowly merges into dawn, a stalwart, sinewed abbot may be seen engaged in the midst ot the struggle for God’s cause. A great missionary, travelling far and wide, this giant of a man lived much of his life in the sixth century, yet the most fruitful part of his labors belongs to the seventh. There were, to be sure, other great workers in alien fields. None, however, approached his stature, not one left such a tremendous impress on the age. St. Isidore of Seville (560—636) looms, large as an erudite scholar; St. Kilian (686) ranked great as an ascetic; St. Wilfred, (684— 709), Archbishop of Canterbury, excelled in shrewd administrative skill. Yet Columban stands out the peerless missionary, greatest poet of his age as well as the most impressive scholar of Merovingian times. His faith in the Church of God was indestructible; he had a fierce zeal which matched his boundless energy. Here indeed was a Celt of Celts, eager, headstrong, a stickler for discipline, an imperious ruler not to be denied. Like other humans he had his faults, for this stubborn never-say-die pioneer proved impetuous as he was dauntless, passionate as he was vigorous; withal a man more "holy, more chaste, more self-denying, a man with loftier aims and purer heart than Columban was never born in the Island of Saints." No flash in the pan, this Irish abbot, you will have to agree, but a blazing torch who shed faith and hope across Europe. The monasteries he founded became light-houses in that dark sea of strife; the monks who called him Father were the most experienced missionaries of their day. And the rule Columban drew up, an iron rule, prevailed for nearly fifty years in the Celtic houses of Europe, and at one time seemed likely to rival if not surpass the rule of St. Benedict.

Columban, born in Leinster in 543, was a true child of the Irish renaissance, that great source of piety and learning which endured for three hundred years. Big, talented, handsome, the lad knew no peace in his early schooldays because of the advances of wanton maidens forever seeking to win him with soft enticements. The words of Holy Writ, however, gave him pause: "Turn away thy face from a woman dressed up, and gaze not upon another’s beauty, for many have perished by the beauty of a woman, and hereby lust is enkindled as a fire." There was, Columban saw, only one way safe and pleasing to God; he must not give the power of his soul to any woman. Let those fair tempters cast their alluring glances as often as they would, it was better for him to be monk-minded than a bond-man or a home-born slave to sin. One day he brought his problem to an old anchoress who told him with no mincing of words to fly the scene: "For fifteen years I have been homeless in the place of my pilgrimage and never by the aid of Christ have I looked back. Yes, and if my weak sex had not prevented, I would have gone on truer pilgrimage across the sea. And you, alive with the fire of youth, you will stay here at home in your native land with weaklings and with women? Remember Eve and Delilah and Bathsheba and the tempters of Solomon ! Go forth young man, go forth, and avoid the road to ruin and to Hell 1" That was enough for seventeen-year-old Columban, and he broke the news to his parents who made every effort to sway their insistent son. A dramatic scene followed when his anguished mother threw herself over the threshold to block his departure. But the determined youth, nowise deterred, stepped over her prostrate form, and heart-breaking though it must have been, left his home and loved ones forever.

Over the bogs and rivers Columban journeyed westward until he reached Lough Erne, site of the famous school, Cluain-Inis. His teacher there was the great Sinnell, a hermit renowned throughout Ireland for his learning in science, sacred and profane. And so ready a pupil did the sturdy youth prove, to the old scholar’s delight, that he not only composed verse after the style of Horace and Virgil, but also wrote a Commentary on the Psalms. Two years later Columban trudged his way across half the island to County Down in order to sit at the feet of another famous master, Comgall. This fervent disciple of St. Kieran had founded his own school at Bangor, a widely-known abode of saints and scholars. He it was who taught Columban the monastic discipline and later clad the aspirant in the habit of a monk. An Irish monk’s training, you may be sure, was anything but easy; it demanded firm will, a stout heart, and a rugged body. The young novice’s motto, "Not I, but what Thou wilt," called for stern obedience to his abbot. Nor was there any let-down in the life of the cloister. The community rose at midnight for prayer, then again at dawn, and after bearing the day’s burden, retired at sundown. Seven times they prayed publicly after the example of David who wrote, "Seven times a day do I praise Thee, 0 Lord." There was fasting always till evening when the monks partook of a sparse meal; the rule considered fasting just as important as study, labor, and prayer. "He who would trample on the world," the abbot advised, "must trample on himself. Think not what you are, but what you will be. Do not be sure about things that perish and unsure about the better things that will last." Rigor ously Columban followed those counsels, perfecting himself in learning and piety, until one day, inspired by a vision of missionary work far away, he begged Comgall to send him to foreign lands where he could spend himself for the cause of Christ. The old master having granted his request with a blessing, Columban prepared to face the tragic chaos of the barbarian world.

It was the year 589 when the middle-aged monk fared forth on his great missionary undertaking. The little band of twelve embarked on the Irish Sea and reached the coast of Britain, sailing no doubt under the protection of the great mariner, St. Brendan. Why their stay in the island proved so brief is not clear, but very soon the hardy travellers, braving the treacherous waters of sea and channel, made sail for the Breton coast. No sooner had they landed in this strange country than they began preaching the Word of God to folk who hungered for the bread of life. As they continued their work through perils and hazards they must have often bethought themselves of the warning of what they might expect after leaving Holy Ireland. Look for a moment at the Land of the Franks! Only ten years after Patrick’s death (492) Clovis, the fierce battler, had become a Christian; as time went on his four sons (mer-wigs all of them, i.e., great warriors) proved exceedingly bold and eager for strife. Like beasts of prey they went into action, ganged up on Sigismund, King of Burgundy, and in 523 cruelly murdered him with his entire family. Then they went on to conquer Burgundy in 524, Bavaria in 535, and Provence in 536. By the seventh century we find three different divisions of the Frankish kingdom: Austrasia, Neustria, and Burgundy — each with its own petty Merovingian king and its own mayor of the palace. All of them brought only confusion worse confounded because of their greed, lust of power and women, and wicked rivalries. In each state where they ruled nothing was secure or unchallenged; the order of the day was murder, plotting, intriguing, revenge, double-crossing. The field of Columban’s labor, then, was a fierce arena under the shadow of dark power which stretched from the Channel to the Great Sea, from the Rhine to Ocean. True enough, the Irish monks found the Western Franks fairly united, but there was endless quarrelling and division between the two branches in the East: the Neustrian Franks, on the channel seaboard, retained their Roman ways, while the Austrasian Franks, along the banks of the Rhine, clung to their savage code. Even worse than the habitual warlike attitude of these semi-barbarians were the low ideals of their lax clergy and this explains the absence of Christian standards among Frankish kings and courtiers as well as among the masses.

Upon reaching Burgundy the missionaries met King Gun-tram who urged them to stay and preach the Gospel. The invitation accepted, Columban came upon a half-ruined Roman fortress suitable for their needs, deep in a wild and rocky region of the Vosges. His first step was to provide shelter, so the monks rolled up their sleeves and set to work building a monastery — Annegray. As was only natural, progress was made slowly; and they experienced many ups and downs in the early days. Though the King offered them protection, such as it was, they well-nigh starved, subsisting on berries, wild herbs and the bark of trees. Wild beasts ranged about their living quarters, bandits besieged them on every side, yet they stuck together, equal to everything. There was no pause, no truce, no rest, as the abbot, stern, bard-working, fearless, led the way with broad wisdom. And for one and all the Irish rule proved nothing short of providential: "Never rebel in your heart, never talk as you would; never go anywhere on your own account." Oh, yes, they had mastered that lesson back in Bangor, a lesson that stood by them in many a bad fix. Once firmly established in Annegray, they partook of the roughest fare — hard biscuit, vegetables and meal mixed with water; they drank only herb-beer, dressed in the coarsest habits, killed wolves to make hide for sandal-leather. One fine day Columban came across a deep pool, then another, and after that his monks had fish aplenty for the Abbot was able to tell unerringly just where the finny creatures could be caught. Thus they lived a stern sacrificial life yet dwelt in unity, a happy family indeed, where the well being of each was the concern of all.

Now the presence of such a masterful abbot and his little community could not possibly fail to command respect in the neighborhood. Their door ever open to the needy, wandering peasants began making the acquaintance of the newcomers, only to marvel alike at their physical prowess and spiritual powers. As might be expected, folk sick in body and soul came to Annegray; the poor found in the monks their truest friends; the world-weary, won by humility, gentleness and mutual charity, sought entrance into the monastery where they cheerfully submitted to the harsh iron rule. Not only did the rustics become their friends, but Gallo-Roman nobles who came to scoff, stayed to pray. The more they saw of the Irish monks the more they stood in admiration of them, and the fame of Annegray-in-the-Wilderness spread far and wide Loving solitude as Columban did, the fresh érowds simply compelled the abbot to retire to a cave some miles away. But he managed to keep in touch with the community through a messenger whose report could be nothing but numbers, numbers and again numbers. Very soon they saw that it would be necessary to clear and dig and stone the vineyard, so great was the need of another monastery. In 590 they got to work on a new site in a wild piny district eight miles away, and used as foundation stones the ruins of Luxovium (Luxeuil), an old Gallo-Roman castle. Hot springs, stone images, ritual glades, dating back to pagan times, gave the district a desolate touch. Owls, wolves, bears frequented the old ruins which teemed with wild life, making the place even more mysterious. Despite these perils the Irish monks soon turned the uncanny site into a green oasis with "springs of living water" whither multitudes hastened in search of com fort and direction. The King and his nobles used to visit the old abbot here at Luxeuil, and Augustine with his black monks from Rome stopped over on his way to the Angles in Britain. So great, in fact, was the hum and fuss of life about the place that once again Columban was obliged to fly the madding crowd — silence was God’s praise and his own source of strength! On the mountainside he found a cave, and a well near by furnished him drink; best of all from the height he could see afar off his beloved monastery.

The Irish had two flourishing communities now, Annegray and Luxeuil, where choir relieved choir every hour, giving glad praise to God. About this time the abbot wrote his own rule for the monks which embodied the customs of Bangor and was instinct with the ascetic tradition of St. Patrick. And as many embraced their rule, these foundations became the miracle of the day, standing out with a glory all their own: Annegray, an asylum of charity, Luxeuil, the most important bastion of faith in all Gaul. Still more, Columban opened new schools after the Irish pattern, schools which wrought wonders with the young Franks, at first so wild and unmanageable. The abbot’s great talents as scholar and disciplinarian found full outlet in these cloister-schools. As a true Christian educator, he rated training higher than instruction, moral discipline above mental culture, and he strove inspiringly to endue those semi-barbarian youths with a sense of God-given duty. At any breach of bounden charity, forbearance or politeness, there was the rod; for the lazy, lying, stubborn, there was a bread-and-water fast. If a youngster happened to be bullied by an older boy to break the Rule his answer was to be, "You know I am not allowed to do this"; if the other insisted, the boy was to say: "I will do as you command." The boy thus escaped with an act of disobedience, but his abettor was promptly punished with three "fasts" and three "silences" during playtime. Now all these new things the monks did for tough young Franks, made only for good; their ways and lives were an open book and what they taught was bound to spread far and wide. It was inevitable, therefore, that their vigorous methods should incur the jealousy of the lax, the hostility of the undisciplined.

There was no escaping clerical opposition either. Though bishops turned to Columban for guidance, just as powerful nobles placed their children under his care, the rank and file of the clergy frowned upon his relentless reforms, and he once wrote home, "The love of mortification was scarcely to be found even in such places." The unwavering adherence of the monks to Patrician tradition brought about fresh difficulties. Men and women alike were excluded from the cloister; church feasts, especially Easter, fell on different days. Now the Irish monastic discipline in its native land had borne the richest fruit in all Christendom; moreover the Easter date was one brought from the Pope himself by no other than St. Patrick. None the less it irked the proud Franks to be so crossed in their wont and custom by strangers within the realm. Harsh salt this, too brinish for the powers that be. In 602 the bishops assembled in council to apply their authority over religious communities and judge those rules of the Irish monks which ran counter to the laws of the Gallic Church. Lest he might lose his temper and "contend in words" Columban stayed away from the meetings but addressed to the bishops a letter the like of which they had never read before. "As to the Irish Easter," he averred, "I am not the author of this divergence. I came as a poor stranger into these parts for the cause of Christ, Our Saviour.

One thing I ask you, holy Fathers, permit me to live in silence in these forests, near the bones of seventeen of my brethren now dead." When the Frankish bishops persisted, Columban promptly put the matter before Pope Gregory who was ill at the time, so no reply came to Luxeuil. Another letter went to Boniface IV shortly after, but meanwhile the dire course of events had changed the plans of the abbot and his monks.

The skirmishes Columban had with purse-proud parents and intransigeant bishops proved tame alongside the war he waged against the corrupt royalty of his day. Thierry, the Frankish King, though a man of evil life, had the deepest respect for the Irish abbot; he even feared the whole-souled old monk whom he found impetuous to a degree, yet possessed of astonishing intellectual and moral strength. No respecter of persons, Columban rebuked, warned, threatened the untamed King whenever be came to visit Luxeuil. And, remarkably enough, Thierry took it all, for he really loved his stern critic and friend. There was fury among the lawless Franks when they learned that Columban, bringing their King to bar, had made him give up his mistresses and enter holy wedlock as beseemed a Christian. The ire of the chieftains was nothing alongside the wrath of Thierry’s mother, Brunhild, who now concentrated all her malice on Columban. One day the old Queen brought to the monastery two of Thierry’s illegitimate children, brazenly demanding that Columban bless the twain. "What do you want?" the fiery abbot asked. "They are the King’s sons!" she flung savagely in his teeth. "Protect them with your blessing." "No, indeed," he imperiously replied, "you may be sure they will never receive the royal sceptre." That blow, driven at Brunhild’s flaming pride, was never forgiven. Anger gnawed at the old tyrant’s heart and she subtly proceeded to get rid of the aged abbot. A blind fool, any monk who thought he could dictate to her. Let the island breed go back to their habitat across the sea; for that matter let them be liquidated — but this the old schemer dared not do. Her hour came when Thierry succeeded as King of Burgundy; at last she stirred up his nobles and even the bishops so that Columban and all the foreign-born missionaries were ordered to leave Luxeuil where for twenty years they had labored singleheartedly, unsparing of self for the glory of God and the good of the Frankish kingdom. Worse things followed when these tyrants of the body as well as the soul resorted to armed action and threw Columban into prison at Besancon. But the doughty prisoner broke away, got back into his monastery and with a few Irish monks quit the country by way of the Loire River, going on to Nantes. The exiled abbot wrote to the monks he left behind: "They come to tell me the ship is ready. . . . Farewell, dear hearts of mine, pray for me that I may live in God. . . ." The little band of exiles, crowded in a small boat, set sail once more for distant ports. But there were other fields! And the monks were full of hope. and courage, sure that, come. what might, the hosts of Hell would never prevail against God’s Church. There was no time then for pangs, reproaches, or bitter memories, time only for thanksgiving that solid foundations had been laid in Luxeuil. The Franks had planned to send the monks back to Ireland, but Heaven decreed otherwise; their boat foundered when it left the river for the high seas and the tempest tossed missioners at last sighted landfall off the coast of Neustria. Mercifully, the going became easier after they met friendly Eastern Franks. At Soissons, King Clothaire gave the little band warm welcome, even pressed them to stay, but the abbot decided to move on to the court of the Austrasian King, Theodobert. A great reception awaited them at Metz, whence they journeyed on to Mainz where the Rhine made its way into the dangered lands of the Suevi and Alemanni. All along this hazardous route they preached the Gospel, doing all manner of good things in Alpine towns and hills as far as Zurich. In this wild country the odds were a hundred to one against the monks until they reached Lake Constance where traces of Christianity still survived. Here it was that Columban built a church round the little, long-abandoned chapel of St. Aurelia, and Gallus preached to the natives in their own language. Even so, persecution still dogged their steps, and little wonder when the abbot with unbending courage braved the heathen in their very act of sacrifice, even pouring their libations on the ground. The fiery enthusiasm of the man, together with his severe rules of the road, wore down more than one of his monks, so it is not surprising that Gallus fell ill just when they had decided to enter new fields. Unhappily a crisis occurred the day Columban reproached poor worn-out Gallus unable to make the start. At last the abbot decided to leave the sick monk behind and go on to Italy, but not before he had imposed a terrible penance on his foremost missionary who was not to say Mass until the Master had departed this life. So Gallus remained behind with a little group who lived the hermit life while they preached the Gospel in the midst of this savage people. The picture one often sees of the saint with an ugly ferocious bear at his side only tells half the truth of those perilous days when brave Irish missionaries mixed with pagan folk as fierce as wild beasts, never flinching in combat with their pagan superstitions. Gallus wrought many miracles, curing the possessed daughter of Cunzo who was betrothed to Segebert. In gratitude the Frankish King granted the Irish monks an estate near Albon, which they turned into a monastery destined to be the greatest center of arts, letters and science in all Swabia.

Let us return for a picture of Columban’s last adventures before he died. Only a half decade remained for him as he led a little band towards Italy; five years travel-filled, crowded with action, destined soon to bring forth great things. On arriving in war-torn Lombardy the abbot, as usual, went straight to work evangelizing the peasants. Over two-score years earlier the savage Lombards under Alboin had laid waste that region, but under Agiluif those Arian-haters had calmed down somewhat. Wild as they were, Columban declared, the Kingdom of Heaven had been opened for Lombards as well as for Franks, nay for all men. God had sent him and his monks into this sick world that souls aided by grace might rise slowly to true freedom and go forward towards everlasting life. Indeed, many of them did, even the Lombard leaders who but a short time before had acted like blood-thirsty animals pacing to and fro behind bars. It was a great day when Columban converted Agiluif and received from the fiery King an old ruined church in Eborium, a stark devastated district. In the midst of bricks and sermons, building up his new monastery together with equally back-breaking mission work among the Lombards, the indefatigable Irish abbot found time to write a treatise — of all things, against the Arians. The Church in North Italy was torn with dissension over the "Three Chapters," writings said to favor Nestorianism. Pope Gregory tolerated the defenders of the work; not so Columban who always packed a stout cudgel. The abbot of Eborium (Bobbio) wrote an amazing letter to the Holy Father. "We Irish," he said, "though dwelling at the far ends of the earth, are all disciples of St. Peter and St. Paul.

Neither heretic, nor Jew, nor Schismatic has ever been among us; but the Catholic faith just as it was first delivered to us by yourselves, the successors of the Apostles, is held un changed. We are bound to the Chair of Peter, and although Rome is great and renowned, through that Chair alone is she looked on as great and illustrious among us." . .. Later the aging abbot actually journeyed down the Apennines to Rome where he was graciously received by Gregory who gave him many relics.

Once back in Bobbio, there was much to be accomplished at home, in the cloister and afield among the semi-pagans in the district. Small bands went forth to combat the fraud of the Evil One by weeding out deep-lying vices of ignorance and superstition. These monks, instinct with the spirit of St. Patrick, toiled daily in the Lombard wastes, fortifying strange folk with the dew of virtue, the while their genius, winning temperament, childlike simplicity won the hearts. of their hearers. Faith and love of God grew apace as the Church cast deeper roots in the daily lives of a tribe once regarded as the most terrible of all the barbarians. One is left wondering whether Columban amid the Lombards, harked back to the Frankish days. Or was he aware of what had transpired in the interim? We do know that the old abbot in exile wrote from Tours to King Thierry that within three years he and his children would perish, a fearsome prophecy that actually came to pass. But far more dreadful was the end of the King’s mother, Brunhild. She who had sowed the wind now reaped the whirlwind; the evil woman directly responsible for so many crimes received the reward of her misdeeds. The Burgundian and Austrasian nobles, having deserted the despot in time of danger, now proceeded to betray her. Hunted down like a tigress, Brunhild was captured, brought in chains to Reneve, and condemned to death. For three long years the old Queen underwent torture, then they placed her on a camel and exhibited her to the ribald jest of camp-followers; after that, they put an end to her agony by binding the poor broken creature to a wild horse which dragged her to her death. The mangled remains deemed unholy, defiled, and unworthy of Christian burial, were burned outside the camp. Thus ended the strange career of this incredible woman who in her bleak day gave many alms, ransomed prisoners, even encouraged religion, yet for the forty years she ruled never ceased to plot, poison, and mercilessly murder her foes.

Yes, there were weird exits and mysterious entrances in the drama of Columban’s stern and oft-threatened life. Cruel houndings, hateful cries, monasterial earthquakes, growling and glaring Franks, scenes of chaos which he could have summoned before the eyes of memory. On the other hand, what joys in service, what hopes for the future, what love and loyalty from the brethren in Christ. But time was flying fast, the lights of the world had grown dim, and the old abbot, loaded with the burdens of half a century, sank into the infirmities of old age. His once powerful body was now bowed and bloodless, but his face had lost none of its spiritual beauty. Used as he was to solitude, the monastery proved too comfortable, so again he took to the mountainside to spend his last days in a cave. Up there he could keep the Eternal Hills ever in mind and, as he looked down on his beloved Bobbio, his soul’s eyes must have strained far beyond, through half a century to Annegray and Luxeuil. Yes, farther still — across the seas to the beloved homeland, always lingering in memory, which he had left to follow Christ. Near his cave was an unfailing reminder of Ireland, the chapel dedicated to Our Lady — his life, his sweetness, his hope! Here he spent many an hour, living as in a dream, in prayer for his soul’s salvation, in entreaty for his cherished charges. Soon messengers arrived from the western world, from Segebert, King of the Franks, exhorting the Irish abbot to return to Luxeuil. His foes were dead, they assured him, and the old monks longed for his presence. Too late now — a more important herald was on the way, one for whom Columban had long prepared. A little after that came the summons, and the break of the eternal dawn. It was his day and his Lord’s Day, the 23rd of November, in the year 615.

Back in Swabia, Gallus had a vision of the death of his old master. The monks had just finished Sunday Matins when the peace of the hour was stirred by a message from the abbot. They could scarcely believe their ears when the brother announced that Gallus wanted to offer the Holy Sacrifice! "After the night office," Gallus explained, "it was revealed to me that my master Columban had fallen asleep in the Lord!" Mass over, he straightway despatched a seasoned, courageous runner across the Alps. "Hasten to Italy, my son, to the monastery of Bobbio; find out all that has happened to my Father; mark the day and the hour of his death, and return without delay. Do not fear, God will guide your steps." The monk returned many days later with the news that the old abbot had died "at the same hour." He brought for Gallus Columban’s cambult (a staff) and a missive from the monks of Bobbio. "Before his death," it read, "our Master told us to send his staff to Gallus as a token of forgiveness." After that Gallus continued to govern his monks at Albon until, at the age of ninety-five, he followed his former leader, loyal to the last gasp. A church was erected on the old hermit site, Ecdesia Sancti Galluni, and about its precincts grew the great monastery of St. Gall. By the next century it had far famed schools, the best library in Europe, and the ablest teachers in Christendom. Brilliant scholars from the West braved the Alps to study arts, letters and science; while Irish and Anglo-Saxon monks journeyed across Europe to copy manuscript for their own libraries.

When Columban left Luxeuil the seeds had already been sown and bad come to early flower upon the difficult soil of the Frankish Empire. The roots then were his roots, the invisible ultimate fibers were Celtic fibers. And as Luxeuil grew, its schools became famous throughout Europe for their piety and learning. By an irony of Heaven, the Gallic bishops, who had aided in the expulsion of Columban and his monks, had to give way to the pupils of those heroic exiles. New and better hands now grasped the helm and steered the ship so that Truth and Justice sailed on. Before mid-century the Church of Gaul proved the glory of Christendom; by and large her bishops were the most holy, the most distinguished for their learning and doctrine. There were great Episcopal schools at Paris, Lyons, Chartres, Bourges, Le Mans, Vienne Chalons, Ulrech, Maestrich, Trier. So highly esteemed was the Gallic episcopacy in this dark century of ignorance and barbarism that the Pope begged King Segebert to send some of his bishops to Rome that ‘they might go forth from the Eternal City as missionaries to the decadent Eastern Church. Let the barbarian rage, Luxeuil continued doing Columban’s good work; St. Gall, too, whose monks were the pride of Swabia. Gallus himself twice refused the bishopric of Constance as well as the abbatial dignity of Luxeuil, proffered him after the death of Eustace, Columban’s successor. His own place later expanded into a great center, ruled over by St. Otmar whom Charles Martel appointed to guard the relics of the saintly pioneer. And as to Bobbio, Columban’s last foundation proved a mighty stronghold against the Arians; the monks lived in peace among books which their great abbot had brought from Ireland and treatises he himself had composed; nor was it long before their library became the most celebrated in all Italy. Well for the Church that she had such tireless scholars and missionaries because further changes were in store; new foes, more savage than the old, were now on their way to attack and destroy ‘her.

Islamism stood at the gateway of the West, daring to match her bloody scimitar against the Sword of the Spirit. In far-off Arabia the wrath of the infidel had gathered and spread. Its dread inspirer, Mohammed, born in 570, was an Arab fanatic, an epileptic and visionary, who claimed he had a "revelation" from St. Gabriel. Yet this wild-eyed reformer was himself a crafty time-serving sensualist who fell in love with Zeid’s beautiful wife, made her his own, then enacted that any man who would might divorce his wife. When Mohammed entered upon his mission to cleanse his land of bestial behavior and gross idolatry, the Arab tribes rose up against him, compelling the self-styled prophet to flee to Medina for his life. The date of his flight (hegira) in 622 marks the beginning of the Mohammedan calendar, just as A.D. I, is the start of the Christian calendar. In 630 he returned to Mecca in triumph and died three years later, after succeeding in substituting Theism for polytheism, and a higher morality for a lower. No more than that did he achieve despite his fanatical attempt to adapt Judaism to Arabia. Mohammed at first had not contemplated anything like foreign conquest, though he did instil into the Arab mind that their religion was a fighting faith, to be propagated by the sword. His followers set about doing just that in their wild frenzy of conquest; theirs was "the cold doctrine, the cutting steel, and the destroying flame." For Mohammed revealed himself an apostle of lust, violence and bloodshed, while the Arabs’ faith held that death in battle was the open door to eternal happiness. The East, sunk into the dry-rot of heresy, schism and corruption, proved easy prey to these fierce desert-people, doom-sent fanatics intent on blotting out the Church of Christ. By 637 Arab armies had conquered Damascus and Jerusalem; they overran Africa, then Persia shared the fate of Syria and Africa. Before the seventh century ended, the Moslem’s crescent had half-ringed an imperilled Christendom. There was nothing in all history like this Brown Death which shortly, in 711, spread to Spain, even crossing the Pyrenees before it was halted. As one views the awful scene, a great truth stands out above all the din of battle. The Moslem onslaught failed before the counter attacks of the tribes united after century-long labor by the monks of the West. Except for the Benedicts, Gregorys, Columbans, St. Gallus, Bonifaces and their countless spiritual sons, Europe would have succumbed to Mohammedanism. Evidently "the gates of hell shall never prevail".

About St. Columban (b: 559? d: 615), by the Monk Jonas

AND DO NOT wonder that the beasts and birds thus obeyed command of the man of God. For we have learned from Chamnoald, royal chaplain at Laon, who was his attendant and disciple, that he has often seen Columban wandering about in the wilderness fasting and praying, and calling the wild beasts and birds. These came immediately at his command and he stroked them with his hand. The beasts and birds joyfully played, frisking about him, just as cats frisk about their mistresses. Chamnoald said he had often seen him call the little animal, which men commonly name a squiruis from the tops of a tree and take it in his hand and put it on his neck and let it go into and come out from his bosom.

--By the Monk Jonas, 7th Century

American Catholic’s Saint of the Day

November 25, 2007

St. Columban

(543?-615)

Columban was the greatest of the Irish missionaries who worked on the European continent. As a young man he was greatly tormented by temptations of the flesh, and sought the advice of a religious woman who had lived a hermit’s life for years. He saw in her answer a call to leave the world. He went first to a monk on an island in Lough Erne, then to the great monastic seat of learning at Bangor.

After many years of seclusion and prayer, he traveled to Gaul with 12 companion missionaries. They won wide respect for the rigor of their discipline, their preaching, and their commitment to charity and religious life in a time characterized by clerical slackness and civil strife. Columban established several monasteries in Europe which became centers of religion and culture.

Like all saints, he met opposition. Ultimately he had to appeal to the pope against complaints of Frankish bishops, for vindication of his orthodoxy and approval of Irish customs. He reproved the king for his licentious life, insisting that he marry. Since this threatened the power of the queen mother, Columban was ordered deported back to Ireland. His ship ran aground in a storm, and he continued his work in Europe, ultimately arriving in Italy, where he found favor with the king of the Lombards. In his last years he established the famous monastery of Bobbio, where he died. His writings include a treatise on penance and against Arianism, sermons, poetry and his monastic rule.

Comment:

Now that public sexual license is approaching the extreme, we need the Church's jolting memory of a young man as concerned about chastity as Columban. And now that the comfort-captured Western world stands in tragic contrast to starving millions, we need the challenge to austerity and discipline of a group of Irish monks. They were too strict, we say; they went too far. How far shall we go?

Quote:

Writing to the pope about a doctrinal controversy in Lombardy, Columban said: “We Irish, living in the farthest parts of the earth, are followers of St. Peter and St. Paul and of the disciples who wrote down the sacred canon under the Holy Spirit. We accept nothing outside this evangelical and apostolic teaching.... I confess I am grieved by the bad repute of the chair of St. Peter in this country.... Though Rome is great and known afar, she is great and honored with us only because of this chair.... Look after the peace of the Church, stand between your sheep and the wolves.”

St. Columban, Abbot

Saint Columban, abbot
Optional Memorial
November 23rd

unknown artist

(545-615) An Irish monk, he went to France and founded many monasteries which he guided with strict discipline. Soon his followers were also building monasteries in Germany, Switzerland, and Italy. Forced into exile by the Frankish King, he went to Italy and founded there the monastery at Bobbio, which was a center of culture and learning as well as spirituality.

Source: Daily Roman Missal, Edited by Rev. James Socías, Midwest Theological Forum, Chicago, Illinois ©2003

Collect:
Lord,
you called St. Columban to live the monastic life
and to preach the gospel with zeal.
May his prayers and example
help us to seek you above all things
and to work with all our hearts for the spread of the faith.
Grant this through our Lord Jesus Christ, your Son,
who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit,
one God, for ever and ever. Amen.
First Reading: Isaiah 52:7-10
How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of him who brings good tidings, who publishes peace, who brings good tidings of good, who publishes salvation, who says to Zion, "Your God reigns."Hark, your watchmen lift up their voice, together they sing for joy; for eye to eye they see the return of the LORD to Zion. Break forth together into singing, you waste places of Jerusalem; for the LORD has comforted his people, he has redeemed Jerusalem. The LORD has bared his holy arm before the eyes of all the nations; and all the ends of the earth shall see the salvation of our God.
Gospel Reading: Luke 9:57-62
As they were going along the road, a man said to Him, "I will follow you wherever you go." And Jesus said to Him, "Foxes have holes, and birds of the air have nests; but the Son of man has nowhere to lay His head." To another He said, "Follow Me." But he said, "Lord, let me first go and bury my father." But Jesus said to him, "Leave the dead to bury their own dead; but as for you, go and proclaim the kingdom of God." Another said, "I will follow you, Lord; but let me first say farewell to those at my home." Jesus said to him, "No one who puts his hand to the plow and looks back is fit for the kingdom of God."

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