St. Hilda of Whitby and the Ministry of Unity
In an era of polarization, even within the Church, it’s often hard to find leaders who attempt—let alone succeed—in bringing Christians together for the sake of the gospel. St. Hilda of Whitby stands among the most significant luminous figures of the early English Church—wise, steady, and quietly formidable. Centuries before the Reformation, when English Christianity was still molten, Hilda served as the founding abbess of Whitby Abbey. Through her dedication to deep and nurturing discipleship and her humble, hospitable welcome to the broader church, she became a beacon of gospel transformation and an instrument of Christian unity.
Hilda’s Early Life
Most of what we know about Hilda, along with many other figures in early English Church history, comes from Bede’s Ecclesiastical History of the English People. Bede tells us that Hilda was born in 614 into Northumbria’s royal line, being the niece of King Edwin, the first King of Northumbria. In 627, Edwin was baptized, along with his entire court, including 13-year-old Hilda.
Sponsored
In 633, the king died in battle, and Hilda fled with his widow, Æthelburh, and her chaplain, Bishop Paulinus, to Kent. There, Æthelburh founded and became abbess of a convent in the Roman tradition at Lyminge, with Hilda likely joining her. At the age of 33, Hilda answered the request of Bishop Aidan of Lindisfarne for her to return to Northumbria. After her brief stay at an abbey by the River Wear, where she learned the traditions of Celtic monasticism, Aidan appointed Hilda as the second abbess of Hartlepool Abbey. Then, in 657, Hilda became the founding abbess of Whitby Abbey.
The rest of Hilda’s life unfolded along the Northumbrian coast, and the land, the people, and their stories significantly shaped her ministry. She quickly became known for her ability to form deeply-rooted disciples of Christ.
Hospitable Discipleship
When she became the founding abbess of Whitby, she shaped it into one of the most respected double monasteries (which housed both men and women) in England. Whitby became a seedbed for mission, learning, and spiritual discernment. Peace, charity, and hospitality became staple virtues. The community held all property and goods in common in the pattern of Acts 2:
And all who believed were together and had all things in common. And they were selling their possessions and belongings and distributing the proceeds to all, as any had need.
Acts 2:44-45
Both kings and bishops sought her counsel, while ordinary folk flourished under her spiritual guidance. Bede says that all who knew Hilda “called her mother,” a testament to the kind of authority rooted not in dominance but in nurture. Her leadership exhibited both strength and gentleness, showing how a community’s health rests on leaders who listen, discern, and elevate others.
One notable example of Hilda’s nurturing spirituality is her recognition and encouragement of the poetic gift of Caedmon, the illiterate cowherd to whom God suddenly gifted the ability to sing Scripture in the vernacular. Her openness to the Spirit’s work in unexpected places reminds us to seek holiness not only in the naves of our church buildings but also in the quiet corners where God raises unlikely saints.
Under Hilda, Whitby Abbey was not merely a religious institution; it was a community that interwove prayer and learning. Whitby cultivated wholly-formed disciples—people who could marry theological depth with lived charity.
The Synod of Whitby
Whitby Abbey’s reputation for both spiritual depth and charity led King Oswiu (or Oswy), son of St. Oswald, to convene the Synod of Whitby there in 664.
In the seventh century, two schools of Christian practice had emerged in Great Britain. Missionaries from Rome, such as Augustine of Canterbury and Paulinus, had brought one set of customs. Meanwhile, Irish monks from Iona and Lindisfarne, such as Columba and Aidan, had brought another. Both streams were orthodox, but they followed different traditions for computing Easter and other liturgical matters.
This mattered greatly in Northumbria, where King Oswiu followed the Celtic practice while his queen, Eanfled, followed the Roman one. Some years, the king was feasting for Easter while the queen was still fasting for Lent. It became a domestic symbol of a fractured church life. Oswiu knew the Church needed to come together. Jesus had prayed for no less.
“I do not ask for these only, but also for those who will believe in me through their word, that they may all be one, just as you, Father, are in me, and I in you, that they also may be in us, so that the world may believe that you have sent me.”
John 17:20-21
To resolve the confusion over the date of Easter (and, to a lesser extent, the style of tonsure monks should wear), King Oswiu called a synod. He chose Whitby—now one of the most respected abbeys in the kingdom—as the venue. The gathering included bishops, abbots, abbesses, clergy, and nobles.
Hilda’s Model of Humility
Though she personally favored the Celtic calculation of Easter, Hilda still opened her monastery as the site of the debate. She hosted but did not dominate the gathering. And when the decision finally fell that everyone would adopt the Roman practice, she humbly and faithfully abided. That tension—convictions held with humility, fidelity expressed through obedience, and charity maintained amid disagreement—embodies the best of the catholic spirit that would later characterize the best of Anglicanism.
Hilda did not win the Easter controversy, but she had something better: the ability to hold her convictions while setting aside the nonessentials—what we often call adiaphora—for greater unity with the whole Body of Christ.
In our current moment, Christians frequently struggle with many tensions, ranging from institutional quarrels to fights over musical styles and Prayer Book preferences. These often rise to the point of scathing polemical rancor. Hilda, with her manner of engaging disagreement—patient, prayerful, unembittered—offers a more healing example.
Learning from Whitby Today
The Synod of Whitby did not pit orthodoxy against error; it resolved a clash of ultimately secondary issues. The Roman and Celtic parties recognized each other’s orthodoxy and worked to bring the Church together across their differing customs. Whitby’s legacy lies not in the triumph of one tradition over another, but in the establishment of a united English Church—and in the model it provides for discernment:
- a willingness to gather, listen, and weigh Scripture and tradition;
- a recognition that unity sometimes requires yielding our cherished preferences;
- an understanding that holiness, not victory, is the true measure of faithfulness.
The synod stands as a landmark of early English Christianity. It exemplifies the humble character that Anglicans and all Christians should strive to emulate today—a character notably exemplified by Hilda. It highlighted the importance of maintaining the orthodox Christian faith while remaining receptive to catholic unity. May we strive to embody humility and charity today, just as Hilda did in her time, to unite Anglicans—and all Christians—across our divisions in the service of the gospel.
Image: ruins of the third Whitby Abbey, built in the 1220s A.D. Photo by mariotlr from Getty Images, courtesy of Canva. Digitally edited by Jacob Davis.
Wearing the Collar
In my diocese, there are no policies, rubrics, or clear guidelines on when and where a priest must wear the clerical collar. A troika of local custom (what your fellow priests do), common sense (church services but not church picnics), and personal preference informs that choice. For a new priest, there is a trial-and-error feel…
Holy Sovereigns Day: The Feast of the Church in Hawaii
At the end of November, we will make a big-to-do at All Saints Honolulu. A large, light-strung canopy will be set up in my front yard. Chairs, benches, and carpets from the sanctuary will be arranged, with an altar and lectern on the grass, dressed for Holy Communion. A reredos and boughs of leaves will…
