‘May Her Tribe Increase’ – About This Blog

Icons trouble me.  Even though they’re beautiful and stuffed with messages of faith for those with eyes to see.  Even though they’re lovingly done by believer artists who study and labor for lifetimes to create them. 

Icons trouble me.  They trouble me because of their remoteness – those blank, serene faces, those unapproachable distances between the hands, the eyes, the calm composed mouths.  Womb or tomb, holy orders or martyrs’ deaths - no matter who they are or what their circumstance, the icons never change, never react.  All have the forever detached, slightly bemused, vaguely unfocused stare of the “too heavenly-minded to be of any earthly good”.   There is nothing human in their aspect, nothing that says to me, “These were people, they’ve walked this road before you, you can trust their lead”. 

Icons trouble me.  Particularly troubling are the icons of women saints.   First there are the icons of Mary Mother.  How did this hardworking country girl, this tough-as-nails teen bride and new mother, get… …turned into this??

The other female saints of the Church fare little better.  One woman of the faith has been especially shorted by iconic saintdom:  Brigid of Kildare.  Whether Brigid was a real person, or a Christianized version of the old Irish fire-goddess, or – most likely – a bit of both….is uncertain, and ultimately, unimportant.  What is important are the tales that survive, of a fiery girl who grew into a woman whose bright spirit could not be put out no matter what…a woman whose life gave light and warmth to all she touched…a woman whose deathless spirit would have looked, in God’s sight at least, far less like this:

                                                            …and far more like this.

Iconographers hide Brigid’s fire beneath habits.  But legend has it that Brigid was given a different headcovering by none other than Almighty God.  It is said that Saint Mel, who professed Brigid, saw a vision as she knelt before him.  On Brigid’s head, he saw a mitre of fire.  That same fire took his tongue, and there and then he pronounced her Bishop. 

Bishop! If that legend is true, then the cleric was indeed a prophet ahead of his time.  It would take 1500 years for Brigid’s spiritual daughters to be recognized as heirs of her holy gift and be pronounced ‘Bishop’ – or ‘minister’, ‘pastor’, ‘preacher’, ‘reverend’, ‘priest’, choose what title you will.  Even now we are not universally recognized as heirs to the holy fire.  But heirs we are, as heirs we have always been. 

We are daughters of Brigid, we lady preachers – blessed with the God-fire burning within us and insisting on taking our tongues.  Like our fiery ancestor, we have a way of upending things and upsetting the status quo simply by who we are.  We don’t see things the way they’ve always been seen, do things the way they’ve always been done, or play things the way they’ve always been played.  We make friends.  We make enemies.  We make a difference.  Whether this is a good thing in all cases remains to be seen….but I think, in God’s iconography, it is. 

This is the blog of one of Brigid’s daughters.  This is the diary of a Mad God Woman.  And this is her prayer for Brigid’s legacy, phrased in the words of sister and mentor in Christ, Bonnie Thurston:  

“MAY HER TRIBE INCREASE.”