Cuthbert's Story

"What are you watching, Hilda?" asked Eathelred.

Hilda barely glanced up from her inspection of a small patch of the planet earth. "A boy."

"A boy? What, is he pulling the tail of a cat? Throwing rocks at the cows? What mischief is he making to be of such interest to you?"

"No mischief at all." Hilda reluctantly turned away from the scene playing out far beneath her. "No, no mischief. The boy has...potential."

"Potential?" Eathelred cocked a quizzical eyebrow at Hilda. "What do we have? An aspiring young king? A bold would-be hero? A pious monk?"

"Perhaps. Or perhaps something more...." Hilda trailed off.

"More?!? More than a king?" Eathelred exclaimed. "Who is this wondrous creature?"

"He's just a boy. A boy named Cuthbert," and Hilda moved purposefully away.

On Earth, the boy named Cuthbert had no thoughts about "potential," heroic or otherwise. Cuthbert was playing like a wolf cub with its pack mates - running, leaping, and pouncing, fierce with mock fights. Ulf, who was not as fast or strong as the others, called out, "I bet you can't do this!" and started walking on his hands. A challenge like this could not be ignored. Suddenly the whole pack was upside down, brown legs flailing in the warm summer air.

All were breathless with laughter when little Peter began to protest. Softly at first, then louder, "Stop it. Stop it, Cuthbert! Such antics are beneath the dignity of a bishop." Peter's four year old indignation was easily ignored by the older boys, but when he began to sob, Cuthbert righted himself and went to check on his small cousin. "What's wrong, Peter?" asked Cuthbert, half concerned, half irritated by the interruption. "You shouldn't behave that way," Peter gasped out between sobs, "it's, it's not right for a bishop!" "What are you talking about? There's no bishop here!" exclaimed Cuthbert. But little Peter said no more, focusing his energy on pulling Cuthbert towards his home.



"Fascinating," whispered Eathelred. "How came little Peter to say such things, Hilda?"

Hilda jumped slightly. "Oh. You again is it," she said dryly. "I suppose little Peter had a moment of inspiration."

"With, perhaps, the aid on an interfering angel?"

"Who ever knows where inspiration comes from?" smiled Hilda innocently, and she glided away to a quieter cloud.

Hilda peered fretfully at the boy on the pallet. He was pale and covered in sweat, murmuring feverishly while his anxious mother bathed his face. Hilda knew the illness wasn't mortal - there ARE privileges in being an angel and Hilda knew it wasn't yet Cuthbert's time. Yet the illness warped his legs like the fever warped his mind and looked to last much longer. Hilda worried he might not walk. Preoccupied, she didn't notice Eathelred glide up.

"What is the boy wonder up to now? Is he yet healing the sick?" asked Eathelred, all innocence.

"No. HE is sick," replied Hilda curtly.

"Ah, perhaps we will be a godly cripple, always smiling while suffering in silence...." Eathelred trailed off in the face of Hilda's glare.

"I think not!" Hilda flounced away - she had the glimmer of a plan and no more time for Eathelred's annoyances.

"Now you rest here quietly," Cuthbert's mother commanded. Having dragged Cuthbert's pallet out of the house into the sunshine, she fervently hoped to get some work done. A restless boy under foot was NOT her idea of a pleasant companion for household chores. Turning briefly at the doorway, she glanced at his twisted leg. If it didn't heal.... No, there was no time now for such dark thoughts. Now was time for baking or there would be no eating later. And while kneading, she could ask for God's mercy....

Cuthbert was as glad to be out of the house as his mother was to have him out. The sun was warm on his legs and there were plenty of animals to watch on the farmstead. Even a horseman.... A horseman? Who could this be, all dressed in white and riding a beautiful white horse? Cuthbert stared openly. Strangers were unusual enough, but never had Cuthbert seen anyone like this before.

"Hello," called a voice, a voice which would have knocked Cuthbert flat, had he not already been lying down. It was the voice of a woman! What could a woman be doing riding alone in the hills?

"Could you bring a weary traveler some ale, my boy, and some water for my horse?" Her voice sounded like singing and Cuthbert was so busy staring it took him a moment to respond.

"My lady, I would be honored to serve you in any way I can. However, I can fetch you nothing, as my crippled leg keeps me from walking. My mother...." Cuthbert trailed off as the rider swung off her horse and bent to inspect his twisted leg. Cuthbert, embarrassed by her close inspection, declaimed, "If God so wished and had not bound me with the fetters of sickness on account of my sins, I would not be slow about ministering to guests in His honor."

The lady glanced up. "You are quick to lay this burden on your sinful soul. Perhaps this is not a punishment but a test of your faithfulness. Do you have faith that God can heal you?" her gaze pierced Cuthbert.

"Yes, my lady," Cuthbert stammered, "in God, all things are possible."

"Yes, well.... Even God needs our help every now and then. Cook up a paste of flour and milk. When it is hot, apply it to your leg. By the grace of God, you shall be healed." She mounted again in an instant and was almost out of earshot when she turned and called softly, "Fair well, Cuthbert, and God speed!"

"God speed, my lady," Cuthbert called back. He turned to call his mother from the house - when he looked back round, horse and rider had vanished.

The angels on cloud 214B peered down with a mix of sympathy and excitement. Knowing as they did that Aiden would come straight to their ranks, they rejoiced that another soul would be added to the heavenly host. But the final hours on Earth are never comfortable, exactly, even for one so well prepared for the hereafter as Aidan, Bishop of Lindisfarne. And then there were the mourners, left behind on Earth, not to mention the loss of an important leader in the church.

Hilda could hardly see Aidan, cloud 214B was so crowded with interested onlookers. Hilda's attention wandered across the north of England, laid out in the darkness below her feet. With a start, she saw an opportunity. There, tending some sheep in a dark field, was Cuthbert. Now, with just a little help, this could be...interesting!

Cuthbert, Ulf and Peter were on shepherd duty that night, tending the flock for their village. Cuthbert rather enjoyed his turn - staying up all night, watching the stars, singing or talking with his teenage friends. No, there were far worse chores than shepherding!

Peter was discussing the charms of his favorite, Agnes. Cuthbert half listened to humor his friend, but his eyes and heart were among the stars. Then Cuthbert's mouth fell open and his eyes grew as wide as Agnes'. "Look!" he gasped out, scarcely daring to breath.

"What?!? Where?" his friends mistook his cry for an alarm and were up in an instant, crooks and slingshots in hand.

"No, in the sky! Don't you see them?" Cuthbert exclaimed.

"Aw Cuthbert, don't DO that to us," the boys protested. "What, more shooting stars? More heavenly omens? You should spend more of your thoughts on Marie and less on the heavens!" they snickered and elbowed each other.

But Cuthbert heard none of it, for moving purposefully across the sky into the heavens were a couple of angels guiding a radiant soul to the bosom of the Lord. Cuthbert didn't move for minutes after they disappeared into the heavens. To be granted another heavenly vision - what an honor! What did it mean? "Why," Cuthbert wondered out loud, "why do I see them? And who was that being led into heaven?" Now it was his companions turn to stare as he told them all he had seen.

Back on the edge of cloud 214B, Hilda smiled, then turned to join the welcoming party for Aiden.

Cloud 214B was crowded again. Nothing like a death watch to bring out the curious on-lookers, thought Hilda wryly. But Hilda didn't mind the crowds. She had watched the life of Cuthbert - she didn't really feel she needed to see his death. She was sure his death would be the same as his life, remarkable for its simplicity and strength of faith.

Hilda smiled with satisfaction as she thought back over his life. Cuthbert had more than fulfilled his potential. After entering the monastery as a teenager, he had been a model of Christian life. No, she corrected herself, he had been a model of Christian lives. It was an unusual person who could thrive in such different roles. Cuthbert had enjoyed solitude, retreating to the tiny Farne Island for independent work and solitary prayer. Cuthbert also loved the close knit, orderly community of monastic life and was revered by his brothers. But in the monastery, Cuthbert never withdrew from the life of the countryside. He walked and talked and brought the word of God to villages all over northeast England.

Cuthbert had even served as a very capable, if unusually humble Bishop of Lindisfarne. Hilda smiled again as she remembered Cuthbert's protestations - he had to be picked up and carried off his beloved Farne Island, objecting all the while. Yet he had been a good leader of the church for two years, before turning over the Bishopric to a younger man. Yes, Cuthbert was a remarkable man.

Hilda could hardly wait for his arrival. Patience never was my strong point, she thought. But here he is now!

The crowd on cloud 214B had never been so thick or so agitated. Viking ships were nearing Lindisfarne and no good could come of that. The first raid had already cost many lives and most of the monastery's valuable objects. The Viking raiders had taken or destroyed gold crosses, tapestries, and books. But the Vikings had no use for the monastery's most precious possession, the grave of Saint Cuthbert.

"What are they doing?" Hilda peered down, perplexed.

"They seem to be moving me," Cuthbert replied from her side with a concerned half smile. "Though with the ships coming in so fast, I'd rather they dropped my heavy sarcophagus and concentrated on moving their living bones! The Vikings can hardly do me any harm."

"Oh, Cuthbert, you still don't understand, do you? That sarcophagus is incredibly important to them. Those dead bones of yours work miracles. Those miracles build a bridge between God and humans, between heaven and earth. " Hilda paused. "And, of course, the miracles are pretty good for the monastery's collection plate, as well!"

Cuthbert grumbled, "Well, I should think a living monk could build a better bridge between heaven and earth than my old bones! At least a living monk can talk to people and share the word of God. What ever else they are saying, surely no one claims my bones can preach?"

Hilda smiled. "Wait a year or two and they just might say it. After all, if your body refuses to decay, perhaps you aren't really dead. Perhaps you're just asleep, waiting for the time to wake up and resume your ministry on earth!"

"Yes. And the first thing I'd say is, 'Put down this coffin and move yourselves to safety!"

Hilda shook her head, smiling at Cuthbert's obstinately down to earth philosophy, even in heaven. Then they turned back to watch the approaching ships.

Just the Facts

Cuthbert was a saint who really got around. At least, after his death he did! About 200 years after he died, the Vikings began to raid the coast of England. Lindisfarne was their first target and made for rich and easy pickings. After the second Viking raid, the brothers took Cuthbert on a long slow journey south. They (brothers and bones) settled just outside Durham for 100 years, before moving to Durham in 995 AD where Cuthbert has rested ever since.

All the events in Cuthbert's life are mentioned in The Lives of St. Cuthbert written by one of the first English historian, the Venerable Bede in the 700's. Bede's tomb is also in the Durham Cathedral.

Legend has it that Cuthbert's body didn't decay. His sarcophagus was first opened 11 years after his death. The monastery intended to distribute pieces of Cuthbert across northern England to inspire the faithful. Instead, they were stunned to find Cuthbert's body just as when he had been buried. This was viewed as further proof of Cuthbert's great holiness. Rather than distribute Cuthbert to England, England came to Cuthbert as word spread about the miracle. More and more pilgrims came in response to stories of miraculous healings at Cuthbert's grave.

Cuthbert's sarcophagus was opened again 400 and 800 years after his death. Each time it was reported that his body and clothing had not decayed. In 1827, 1,100 years after Cuthbert's death, his coffin was opened for a forth time. A skeleton and crumbling cloth were found inside.