Miracles of Saint Columba

I recently finished reading Life of St. Columba (Richard Sharpe trans., Penguin Classics ed.) by St. Adomnan of Iona.  Iona, as I have previously described, is an unmistakably "thin place" where one can go to reflect upon, and hopefully hear, the Lord.  It is a tiny isle (1 mile wide by three miles long) ruggedly lying exposed to the high seas off the west coast of Scotland.  It is here that St. Columba brought Christianity to the Pictish people from Ireland.  St. Adomnan, his biographer, was a later successor to the Abbacy of Iona.

The Iona Abbey, from the Iona Community Website

St. Adomnan's biography of St. Columba (d. 597), by far the most complete offered by antiquity, was written a century after the holy missionary's death.  It is particularly noteworthy for its descriptions of the prophetic and miraculous powers that he possessed.

When I picked up the book, I did not know whether to believe the nearly 100 miracles described. St. Columba is said to have walked on water, raised the dead, and described future (as well as contemporary but distant) events with great accuracy. So many and profound were the miracle accounts that I came to think they had to be embellishments. But still, there were simply far too many of them for me to think they were wholly baseless.

Two accounts from the book seemed worth highlighting here.  The first caused the speculation that St. Columba himself encountered the Loch Ness Monster:

On another occasion also, when the blessed man was living for some days in the province of the Picts, he was obliged to cross the river Nesa (the Ness); and when he reached the bank of the river, he saw some of the inhabitants burying an unfortunate man, who, according to the account of those who were burying him, was a short time before seized, as he was swimming, and bitten most severely by a monster that lived in the water; his wretched body was, though too late, taken out with a hook, by those who came to his assistance in a boat. The blessed man, on hearing this, was so far from being dismayed, that he directed one of his companions to swim over and row across the coble that was moored at the farther bank. And Lugne Mocumin hearing the command of the excellent man, obeyed without the least delay, taking off all his clothes, except his tunic, and leaping into the water. But the monster, which, so far from being satiated, was only roused for more prey, was lying at the bottom of the stream, and when it felt the water disturbed above by the man swimming, suddenly rushed out, and, giving an awful roar, darted after him, with its mouth wide open, as the man swam in the middle of the stream. Then the blessed man observing this, raised his holy hand, while all the rest, brethren as well as strangers, were stupefied with terror, and, invoking the name of God, formed the saving sign of the cross in the air, and commanded the ferocious monster, saying, "Thou shalt go no further, nor touch the man; go back with all speed." Then at the voice of the saint, the monster was terrified, and fled more quickly than if it had been pulled back with ropes, though it had just got so near to Lugne, as he swam, that there was not more than the length of a spear-staff between the man and the beast. Then the brethren seeing that the monster had gone back, and that their comrade Lugne returned to them in the boat safe and sound, were struck with admiration, and gave glory to God in the blessed man. And even the barbarous heathens, who were present, were forced by the greatness of this miracle, which they themselves had seen, to magnify the God of the Christians.

(Medieval Sourcebook: Adamnan: Life of St. Columba; Penguin, at II 27, p. 175).

The second tells of his raising a boy from the dead:

At the time when St. Columba was tarrying for some days in the province of the Picts, a certain peasant who, with his whole family, had listened to and learned through an interpreter the word of life preached by the holy man, believed and was baptized the husband, together with his wife, children, and domestics.

A very few days after his conversion, one of the sons of this householder was attacked with a dangerous illness and brought to the very borders of life and death. When the Druids saw him in a dying state they began with great bitterness to upbraid his parents, and to extol their own gods as more powerful than the God of the Christians, and thus to despise God as though He were weaker than their gods. When all this was told to the blessed man, he burned with zeal for God, and proceeded with some of his companions to the house of the friendly peasant, where he found the afflicted parents celebrating the obsequies of their child, who was newly dead. The saint, on seeing their bitter grief, strove to console them with words of comfort, and exhorted them not to doubt in any way the omnipotence of God. He then inquired, saying, "In what chamber is the dead body of your son lying?" And being conducted by the bereaved father under the sad roof, he left the whole crowd of persons who accompanied him outside, and immediately entered by himself into the house of mourning, where, falling on his knees, he prayed to Christ our Lord, having his face bedewed with copious tears. Then rising from his kneeling posture, he turned his eyes towards the deceased and said, "In the name of the Lord Jesus Christ, arise, and stand upon thy feet." At the sound of this glorious word from the saint, the soul returned to the body, and the person that was dead opened his eyes and revived. The apostolic man then taking him by the hand raised him up, and placing him in a standing position, d him forth with him from the house, and restored him to his parents. Upon this the cries of the applauding multitude broke forth, sorrow was turned into joy, and the God of the Christians glorified.

We must thus believe that our saint had the gift of miracles like the prophets Elias and Eliseus, and like the apostles Peter, Paul, and John, he had the honour bestowed on him of raising the dead to life, and now in heaven, placed amid the prophets and apostles, this prophetic and apostolic man enjoys a glorious and eternal throne in the heavenly fatherland with Christ, who reigns with the Father in the unity of the Holy Ghost forever.

(Medieval Sourcebook: Adamnan: Life of St. Columba; Penguin, at II 32, p.179).

Maybe we don't see such miracles today because our modernist minds lack the broad faith that these ancient, new converts possessed. Also, perhaps the missionary nature of St. Columba's work was an element of God's providentially willing to make miracles happen through this man. It was interesting for me to finish this book around the same time that I read Fr. Amorth's book on exorcism, as it helped to remind me of spiritual realities that lie beyond the perception of my own senses. 

Why start from the premise that Adomnan was a liar? I give him the opposite presumption. St. Columba, ora pro nobis.

Exorcism: a Study on Faith and Matter

Fr. Gabriele Amorth's An Exorcist Tells His Story was not precisely what I expected, but entirely worth the read. I expected the book to be a series of sci-fi-like accounts of demon encounters and exorcisms. Instead, it was a masterful blend of describing the exorcist's practice, giving vignettes of demonic encounters, and articulating the theological realities at play during these encounters.  The need for exorcisms is great, Fr. Amorth explains, even if encounters with actual demons are rare.  

I was struck, in reading this book, by the dependent relationship between spirit and matter. This is a perspective that is absent in Reformed groups, but perhaps more active in Pentecostal sects. The Reformed view tends to see matter as either leading to idolatry, as our attraction to it grows and replaces our spiritual devotion to Christ, or irrelevant. Either way, the matter itself is not seen as possessing a spiritual quality; the concern is over our negative spiritual persuasion toward matter. 

But in conducting an exorcism, matter is highly relevant, and demonstrative of spirital truth. At one point Fr. Amorth attributed 10% of the efficacy of an exorcism to the sacramental objects used (e.g., holy oils and water, his stole, or the laying on of his hands).  The remainder of an efficacious exorcism he attributed to the victim's participation in the sacramental life of the Church, the victim's prayerfulness, the prayers of his family and community, and the faith of those involved in the exorcism in Christ's power over real demons.  In this way the spiritual quality of blessed matter is neither denied nor magnified to the derogation of the need for faith and prayer.

I see a close analogy between the small but essential role of matter in exorcisms to the small but efficacious role of other matter in Catholic practice.  When the Church extols the virtues of relics, blessed icons, or the like, the Protestant sees nothing better than superstition (and perhaps even idolatry).  "How can some silly piece of bone make a faithless house safe from harm?", we might ask.  If the analogy to Fr. Amorth's expertise with exorcisms holds, the answer is that the relic will likely not be efficacious absent some faith.  

Fr. Amorth rounds out his book with a frank tongue-lashing of those within the Catholic Church (especially bishops) who have neglected its own instruction on providing an exorcist in each diocese.  He attributes this failure to such causes as a lack of belief that demons are real in practice, and to fear of retribution from demons that are exorcised (which results from a lack of faith in God's protection).  But the biblical and patristic account of the demon world, which he forcefully articulates, puts the strange reality of demons before us. Denial of their continuing reality by one committed to Scripture and tradition seems inexcusable.  

Of particular interest to this ecumenist was Fr. Amorth's expressions of solidarity with Protestants who believe in demons and practice exorcism.  He expresses with admiration their faithfulness in this regard, while simultaneously castigating those within Catholicism who have here departed from 'the Christian faith.'  

That We Might Become God

I read this yesterday in the Catholic Catechism, and felt a little confused by it (emphasis added):

460 The Word became flesh to make us "partakers of the divine nature":[] "For this is why the Word became man, and the Son of God became the Son of man: so that man, by entering into communion with the Word and thus receiving divine sonship, might become a son of God."79 "For the Son of God became man so that we might become God."80 "The only-begotten Son of God, wanting to make us sharers in his divinity, assumed our nature, so that he, made man, might make men gods."81

Footnotes are as follows:
79 St. Irenaeus, Adv. haeres. 3, 19, 1: PG 7/1, 939.
80 St. Athanasius, De inc. 54, 3: PG 25, 192B.
81 St. Thomas Aquinas, Opusc. 57, 1-4.

I do not understand in what sense man might become God. This sentiment, which as far as I know is found only here in the Catechism, reminds me of the Orthodox notion of deification. I was unaware of its firm position within Catholic thought as well. My understanding is that the Orthodox position qualifies the meaning of "become God" to such an extent that I no longer see the purpose of using those words. If I mean to say that in my walk of faith, I can be blessed by the Holy Spirit to take on the very qualities of God's holiness, why not say just that? Why say, "you can become God, but of course I don't mean that in an ontological sense"? Words are delicate things, and weak minds like mine are easily confused and made afoul. Perhaps this is my own problem, and not the Church's though.

Spritual Aloneness

Here's an honest and personally moving post on spiritual aloneness (or loneliness) with which I can sympathize.

I wonder how many pew-sitters feel that they have deep union with the people with whom they are in communion? Why do I get funny looks when my "prayer request" at church is to give thanks for the large turn-out at the March for Life? I've opened myself to my pastor about my spiritual struggles. Once. We don't talk about it anymore. Is this a common feeling, or is it peculiar to people who think too much about "non-fundamentals"?

It's been hard enough to even have spiritual unity with my wife, so perhaps it's an irrationally high aspiration to share spiritual unity of thought with more than one or two other folks at church.

My Thin Places

Since we now have My Computer, My Documents, MySpace, My Yahoo, My Network Places, et cetera (ad infinitum, ad nauseam), I thought I should have a My Thin Places. Thin Places are places at which the spiritual world and this world are particularly close.

So here are two, one I have not visited in many years (but have been to many times), and one I just discovered (but plan to visit often).


1) Isle of Iona, Scotland. Don't be too put off by the experimental, ecumenical Iona Community (and they mean something different by "ecumenical" than I did when I named this blog "Ecumenicity"); this place is thin. It was on this isle that St. Columba landed to bring Christianity from Ireland to the Scots. Columba's Bay, where he landed, makes for a beautiful and meaningful pilgramage, but the thinnest place for me is the wee golf course on the western beach, by the ancient caves. Of course, don't miss the famous Iona Abbey.


2) Crypt Chapel of the Baltimore Basilica, Maryland. I just discovered this thin place last week, taking a productive lunch break from my studies. The entire Basilica was closed for some time while it underwent extensive renovation and refurbishment, including the creation of a crypt chapel (pictured). I overheard the tour guide explain that B.H. Latrobe (Jefferson's architect) originally intended for this crypt to be included, but it was not completed until the recent renovation (note: the tour guides, while interesting, make prayer in the crypt a little less thin). Not only is this Crypt a place to draw close to Jesus, but it happens to also be the only truly beautiful spot in Baltimore (that I have seen).

I suppose some of you that are of a Catholic persuasion could insist that the building didn't make it thin so much as a certain Presence? I'm not sure about that, but may the empirical studies continue! Please feel free to recommend your own favorite Thin Place.