On Brigid of Kildare, Ahsoka Tano, and Other Saints Historical and Fictional

I write this on the feast of St. Brigid, the beloved Irish saint who lived—maybe—in the late Fifth and early Sixth Century. She was—probably—the Abbess of a convent in Kildare, and possibly the founder of many others. She was the daughter of a chieftain and his feudal servant, a child shepherd, and from a very early age gave generously to those who had even less than she. She was born at twilight, and serves as a threshold figure between day and night, winter and spring, Druid and Christian Ireland, male and female. Protector of homes; blesser of garments, keeper of a sacred perpetual fire. She turned water into beer; she stretched out her cloak over several acres to claim the land for her convent.

Before the Fifth Century, she was a pagan goddess. And at some point in her life—either through magic, angel transport, or (as I prefer to think of it) through the non-linearity of time, served the Holy Family as midwife when Jesus was born in Bethlehem.

(There are a few theories about how or whether the pagan goddess was also a Christian religious. Stories about the goddess may have been adopted by Christians to enhance the biography of the abbess. Or maybe it’s that non-linear time thing).

We call this a hagiography—a word that can mean either simply “a biography of a saint,” or “a biography that exaggerates someone’s deeds and goodness.” Brigid has an impressive set of stories, miracles, and attributes, even by the high standards of saints.

Earlier his week I posted on Facebook a picture of Ahsoka Tano, a character from “Star Wars” who is not as well known as, say, Princess Leia or Yoda. The picture, by Instagram artist Scadarts, used a Byzantine mosaic icon as its foundation, replacing the saint with Ahsoka. The picture got so many “likes”—many from people whom I wouldn’t expect to be familiar with deep Star Wars canon—that I wondered if people thought I was posting an icon of a legitimate saint (as I do from time to time).

There was probably an actual Fifth Century person called Brigid who lived some of that biography. But it’s possible that she was no less fictional than Ahsoka Tano. There are certainly some saints who were entirely made up by The Church to tell a particular story (St. Barbara, for example). And most saints’ (at least before the last few centuries) hagiographies include stories that stretch credulity even for those of us who believe in virgin birth, water into wine, and resurrection of the dead.

“Saint” has come to mean a particularly holy person. But for the early Church, the word simply meant our fellow Christians, striving to follow Jesus’s way. The people with whom we were in communion and community. We learned from the saints around us.

As the faith grew, so did the desire to add more stories to the canon about those in whom we saw particularly strong examples of faith and goodness.

There is a lot of debate in my church (The Episcopal Church) about the Sanctoral Calendar, and who is or isn’t worthy of being added to it. “If we admit [this—usually recent—prospective holy person],” the argument goes, “we risk sending an unclear message about sainthood. That there’s no clear definition of a saint.”

Well yes, I would say, because there isn’t. What makes a person holy is different to you and to me, and each of us will be drawn to different saints, and different aspects or stories of any given saint. Sometimes we value different saints at different times in our lives. Ask anyone with a fondness for Brigid what they like about her, and you’ll get a different answer from each, and maybe a different answer on a different day. Some may not even know all her stories; I’m sure I don’t.

I think the gatekeepers often miss the point of what inclusion in the canon can mean to devotees of any given prospective saint. Not that we necessarily need The Church’s permission to commemorate anyone we think of as holy—or even to develop liturgies around them (local commemorations are in fact a starting point towards canonization). But it’s nice to have one’s church say, “We get it: we see how special this person was.”

(To preempt the argument: I will agree with the point that merely being “first” at something is thin grounds for sainthood. And I fully support the decanonization of those about whom we’ve uncovered a history of racism or abuse ignored by previous generations).

For me, the value of saints is tied into the human need for storytelling—not just as entertainment, but as inspiring moral lessons. In that sense saints aren’t that different from the characters in Star Wars, or even in, say, Satyajit Ray’s “Pather Panchali” or millions of other movies. They’re people—historical or fictional—who struggle with similar situations to our own, who strive to do the right thing and survive. We may not be able to turn water into beer, or use The Force to commune with space whales, but we can still be inspired to be heroes like Brigid or Ahsoka.

As the old hymn sings: “For the saints of God are just folk like me, and I mean to be one too.”