Chad of Lichfield’s Holy Humility

Most of what we know about Chad, monastic and Bishop of Lichfield and Mercia, is gleaned from the pages of the Venerable Bede’s Ecclesiastical History of the English People. He was born in 634 in the north of England, probably on the island of Lindisfarne, and suffered an early death during an outbreak of the plague in 672. In his 38 years he established monasteries, served several as abbot, and was ordained bishop—twice.

He was part of a politically connected and possibly noble family in Northumberland, and had three brothers who were also priests. His oldest brother Cedd was also a bishop and later made a saint. Together Cedd and Chad were active in monastic communities in Ireland before returning to modern day Yorkshire. As Celtic Christians and students of Saint Aidan, Chad, Cedd, and their two other brothers were active in establishing an Anglo-Saxon Christian church that looked quite different from their contemporaries in mainland Europe.

In this Anglo-Saxon Christian model, bishops were missionaries and ascetics, traveling widely to spread the Gospel. At a time when there were very few bishops in the area because of an outbreak of plague, Chad was ordained irregularly by other local British bishops to be the Bishop of the Northumbrians. He was later “re-ordained” by the Archbishop of Canterbury to be Bishop of the Mercians and Lindsey People. Chad was respected for his holiness and humility. He was insistent that he would walk everywhere to carry out his episcopal duties, refusing to ride a horse even for long distance travel, with the reasoning that walking was good enough for the Apostles and so it was fine for him. The Archbishop of Canterbury is said to have grown frustrated with this aspect of Chad’s episcopal humility, so much so that he physically lifted him up and deposited him on the back of a horse to speed up his travels.

In learning about Chad I was struck by a story one author told about his approach to bad weather. Henry Mayr-Hartig, writing in The Coming of Christianity to Anglo-Saxon England, recounted that while abbot of Lastingham monastery, whenever a gale sprang up Chad would break off reading and call on God to have pity on humanity. If the storm intensified, he would shut his book altogether and prostrate himself in prayer. During prolonged storms or thunderstorms he would go into the church itself to pray and sing psalms until calm returned.

His monks regarded this as an extreme reaction even to English weather and asked him to explain. Chad then taught them his belief that storms are sent by God to remind humans of the day of judgement and to humble their pride. Mayr-Harris described this sensing of the movements of God through nature as typical of Celtic Christianity. This affinity for observation of the natural world was not just an appreciation of Creation, but a determination to read in it the mind of God, particularly in relation to the coming eschaton.

I live in the foothills of the north Georgia mountains, and in the changing topography severe weather is common. This is especially true in the summer and fall when tornado warnings and watches are frequent, and so my family and I are used to taking shelter in our basement and waiting out the powerful winds. Often at night during tempestuous weather, my children are woken up by the sounds of storms, and from my own bed I can hear the roof creaking and shifting above me when the powerful winds and rains bear down. When the thunder rumbles and the wind roars, the smallness of my humanity is plain in comparison to the power of the weather. This forced perspective is in itself a sort of experience of the Divine, a reminder of the vastness of God to be appreciated in and through natural phenomena of our world.

Perhaps the next time the tornado sirens are sounding, I will take inspiration from Chad, Bishop and Monastic, and grab my prayer book, snuggle in close with my daughters, and chant the psalms, calling on God to deliver us safely through the power of the storm, all the time listening for God’s promises for the future of this beloved Creation.