Saint Edmund in the litany - the 1482 Breviarium Othoniense and the cult of Edmund Martyr in medieval Denmark

Today, November 20, is the feast of Edmund Martyr, who was killed by Danish raiders in 869, and whose cult became one of the most important native cults in medieval England. His cult also spread to the Nordic sphere, most likely as a consequence of both deliberate dissemination and frequent contact between the Nordic polities and medieval England. The history of Edmund's cult in the Nordic world is still incompletely mapped and insufficiently understood in its totality, and there are several tantalising clues to suggest that Edmund was perhaps more important than we have hitherto ascertained. 

In October, I was reminded of one such source when I was doing research in the Royal Library in Copenhagen, and I was leafing through the 1482 Odense breviary, or Breviarium Othoniense. This was the first commissioned printed book in the Nordic world, and the second to have been printed - since a pamphlet was finished before the breviary - and it was later superseded by two new editions in 1497 and 1510. The breviary reflected recent changes in the ecclesiastical scene of Odense, as King Christian I had dissolved the Benedictine abbey of Saint Knud, which had served as the cathedral chapter of the Odense bishop. Since the liturgy was no longer performed by monks, it had to be abbreviated to suit the more restrained length of secular offices (nine lessons versus twelve for the most important feasts). As a consequence, the Breviarium Othoniense is a challenging source to the liturgical history of Odense diocese, since it represents a recent rupture in the historical practice. The evidence provided by the liturgical material in the breviary must therefore be weighed carefully before being used to suggest historical trajectories. 

One of the notable aspects in the 1482 breviary is Edmund's placement in the litany, a list of saints placed according to rank within the diocesan church, to be invoked for their intercession. The litany begins on the previous page and opens with prayers to the Virgin Mary, the angels, the apostles, and then the martyrs. The order of the martyrs is an interesting testament to the popularity of the different saints, and one of the big questions concerning this order is whether it reflects an older ranking or more recent changes. It is, for instance, remarkable that Saint Mauritius comes before Saint Olaf, but that is a different blogpost. 

The page shown below, folio 91v, begins with Saint Alban, who was the patron saint of one of the churches in Odense, and whose cult had been brought to the city in the eleventh century - by Saint Knud Rex himself, if we are to believe the hagiographical tradition. His relatively high position among the martyrs is therefore ot surprising. After him comes Saint Olaf of Norway, one of the most important saints in Denmark, but one whose fame appears to have been less intense in the diocese of Odense than in Lund, Roskilde, Ribe, Aarhus, or Børglum. Then comes Thomas, which is Saint Thomas of Canterbury, whose cult in Odense appears to have developed independently of the diocesese of Lund and Roskilde. Then we come to Edmund Martyr. Interestingly, he is before Oswald of Northumbria, whose relics had been brought to Odense alongside those of Saint Alban, according to the hagiographies of Saint Knud Rex.  

The main clue about Edmund's standing in the diocese of Odense is his placement before Oswald. The veneration of Oswald is, as mentioned, well attested in sources from the late eleventh century onwards, but no such evidence can be found for Edmund. In the breviary, his feast is celebrated with six lessons, making it a feast of medium importance, and in the 1497 edition the feast has been largely overshadowed by the feast of Saint Elizabeth (see this blogpost). That Edmund was placed between Thomas of Canterbury - whose cult spread quickly and whose fame rose to phenomenal heights, also in Denmark - and a saint whose relics were an important part of the local religious history of Odense, suggests that there also was a veneration of Edmund going back to the twelfth century, since this is the period in which his cult is most likely to heave undergone a new vogue in Denmark. No churches dedicated to Edmund are known from medieval Denmark, and I do not know of any relics of Edmund in the Odense diocese. The large trove of relics in Sanderum Church, for instance, which is situated close to Odense, does not include such relics (although some of the labels are illegible).  

The evidence of the litany is not extensive and must be treated with caution. The six-lesson office of Saint Edmund points in the same direction, however, namely that before the overhaul of the cathedral liturgy in the 1470s, the veneration of Edmund in Odense was more significant than other available evidence would suggest. It is perhaps time to envision an even greater impact on religious life in Odense from English ecclesiastics. 

Breviarium Othoniense 1482, f.91v

A lesson from the legend of Saint Christopher

I often think that if we, as a twenty-first-century society, ought to be more familiar with the literature of the past, in order to get a better sense of the psychological breadth that humankind contains. While we now have a much better grasp of some of the nuances of the psychological spectrum, our public discourse is often framed by axioms that are too general to capture the variety of human individuals - even though we are living through an age marked by unparalleled individualism. For instance, the idea often attributed to the stereotypical economist, that a person would not do something that was not in their own best interest, makes it difficult to understand how things have developed the way they have for the past ten years or so. Moreover, the ideals touted by the more optimistic types, such as how people will step up in a time of crisis or other variations on that theme, have been severely challenged by the blatant and overt willingness of so many actors to serve those who happen to be in power. In the case of those who take up the yoke offered by authoritarian powers, this is often explained as being driven by economic gain. After all, it is more financially profitable to serve the powerful, however morally ruinous it is.  

However, I find myself unconvinced that economic profit is always the best explanation for why people flock to the powerful. It might be true of the broad majority of such people, but I also believe that a significant number of those who become willing servants of authoritarian powers do so for other motives than just financial gain. This is where medieval literature comes in handy. In particular, I think the legend of Saint Christopher is particularly useful. 

In the Latin Middle Ages, Saint Christopher gained prominence in the thirteenth century, especially following the compilation of the Legenda Aurea by Jacobus de Voragine, which became widely disseminated - including in vernacular translations - from the last quarter of the century onwards. According to this version of the legend, Saint Christopher - originally named Reprobus before his conversion to Christianity - set out to serve the most powerful king. This ambition brings him into the service of a Canaanite king, but at court Christopher learns about the Devil. When witnessing how the mere mention of the Devil makes the king cross himself, Christopher sets out to serve the Devil instead, since he is so much more powerful. After entering into the service of the Devil, however, Cristopher learns that the Devil is afraid of Christ, and so he sets off on a new quest. Instructed by a hermit, Christopher settled by a river to carry travellers across, since such a task would fit the commands of Christ. One day, he carried Christ in the shape of a child across the river, and by this act - which became a popular motif in Latin medieval art - Christopher gained his new name (since Christoforos means Christ-bearer in Greek). 

While I am convinced that Saint Christopher never existed, historical existence is never a requirement for providing valuable lessons. The most important detail in this legend is that Christopher set out to serve, but to serve the most powerful. The reason for this desire is not expressed in the version found in Legenda Aurea, but the desire itself is identified clearly and matter-of-factly. And this is the lesson that I wish we would remember better in our own time, namely that some people are very eager to serve. In some cases, this eagerness is directed towards positive means of service, such as caring for those who need it, or engaging with your local community. But the desire to serve can also be perverted and have power as its lodestone, and there are indeed those who choose their masters simply because they admire and venerate power, no matter the configuration and consequences of that power. Saint Christopher - while he was still Reprobus - provides a clear example of this kind of service, and while we are allowed to doubt the reality of Christopher's story, its relevance for our own time, and its psychological depth, should be clearly acknowledged. 

Saint Christopher carrying the Christ-child (fifteenth century)

Sanderum Church, Denmark