Church of St. Clement, Burnham Overy Town, Norfolk, U.K., built c. 1280. Photo: The author.

St. Christopher

About ten years, ago, my wife Harriet and I spent part of a summer with my parents-in-law at their house in Burnham-Overy-Staithe, on the North Norfolk Coast of England. One sunny, July day we decided to walk into Burnham Market, about two miles away, to buy groceries. The footpath cuts though a field planted with potatoes, jogs right between hedgerows composed of climbing roses, hawthorn, brambles and nettles, and passes a small junkyard with rusted farm machinery and broken skips and pallets. After that, you turn left and hug the perimeter of a churchyard busy with chickens owned by residents of the row of flint and brick cottages adjacent. We stopped, as we often do, to enter the Norman church of St. Clement. There are about a dozen medieval churches in “the Burnhams,” but this is my favorite because of its unusual central tower and belfry, finely carved 17th c. grave slabs inside, and remnants of a 15th c. mural showing a bare-legged St. Christopher carrying Jesus on his right shoulder.

Anonymous, St. Christopher and Jesus, St. Clement, Burnham Overy Town, c. 1480. Photo: The author.

According to Jacobus de Voragine, author of The Golden Legend, (c. 1260), Christopher – originally named Reprobus – was a servant in the court of the king of Caanan. Eager to improve himself, he decided to find a greater king to whom he might pledge service. His search led him first to the devil. Certain he had reached his desired station, Reprobus served him, but one day, seeing Mephistopheles shrink before a cross, he realized there must be a still more powerful king. That’s when he met a hermit who told him about Jesus Christ. Swearing allegiance to Christ, the courtier vowed – as a token of humility – to carry on his shoulders anyone who wished to cross a particular river.

The promise was not made casually. Measuring five cubits (7’5”) — an inch taller than the current, tallest NBA player – Reprobus was well suited to his new profession. Everything went smoothly until one day, a little boy asked to be carried across the unusually fast flowing waterway. Reprobus found the going difficult and his burden surprisingly heavy. When they finally arrived on the opposite shore, the passenger identified himself as Jesus and said the ferryman had borne on his shoulders the weight of the world.

Shouldn’t Christ at least have declared his luggage before requesting transport? What about a gratuity? (Was Christ a bad tipper?) The Golden Legend makes no mentions of complaint and Reprobus thereafter became known as Christopher (Christóphoros), or Christ-Bearer. For his trouble, he was soon martyred (beheaded) for refusing the tyrannical king of Lycia’s demand that he worship pagan gods.

Because of his profession, St. Christopher has long been considered patron saint of travelers. There’s many a stranded air passenger who has prayed for saintly intercession after a delay due to mechanical issues, absent crew members, traffic control slow-downs or bad weather. I’ve personally never sought Christopher’s help, preferring the solace of airline lounges, gin and tonics and if necessary, hotel beds.

A chance meeting and a key question

I mention all this to explain the foolish question I asked my dear friend David James (the great scholar of avant-garde film), when Harriet and I met him by chance that bright, summer day about ten years ago in Burnham Market. I saw his wife Joanne before him; she’s tall and Black and stood out among the pasty white people (a few sun-burned a lobster-red) standing outside Humble Pie, the local delicatessen. “Joann!” I shouted, “what are you doing here? Is David with…” at which point David saw me, lunged forward, and gave me a powerful embrace, lifting me in the air. He’s about 6 inches taller than me, so I felt at that........

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