Pagan Holy Wells in Catholic Tradition

            It is no secret to anyone who has even a basic knowledge of Celtic history that Catholicism, when it reached Brittany, Cornwall, Scotland, Ireland and Wales, did not so much replace Pagan beliefs as superimpose itself over them.  Robert Scheer states, in an article published in the online magazine New Age Travel, that:

“Pagan worship was not actually destroyed by Christianity, but rather was overshadowed by it… Christian chapels were built over pagan holy wells and springs.” 

The same can be said for many holy sites in lands populated by people of Celtic descent.  Standing stones on the Island of Iona were carved with crosses.  The historic St. Mary’s Church was built within view of the even older ruins of a temple of Nodens-Nuada in Lydney, Gloucestershire, England.

            Perhaps one of the most interesting forms of Catholic adoption of Celtic Pagan aspects is that of holy wells.  There are hundreds of holy wells across the United Kingdom and Ireland– many of which are frequented by Catholics today and most of which were originally Pagan holy sites.

            That, however, is not what makes these wells interesting.  There are multitudes of holy wells around the world, many of which have been adopted by Catholics and dedicated to saints.  No, what is truly fascinating about these wells is the fact that Pagan ideas and practices concerning the wells have been adopted along with the locations.

            According to Holy Wells Sligo, a website maintained by St. John’s Parish in Sligo, Ireland, the Tobernalt Holy Well was originally a Pagan site.  Every year on the last Sunday in July parishioners celebrate Garland Sunday at the well.  The web page admits that this is a Christian version of two Pagan traditions– Lughnasa, which is celebrated by Pagans on August 1, and Domhnach Crom Dubh, which is celebrated by some Pagans shortly thereafter.  Even the idea of Garland Sunday has its roots in Pagan traditions.  According to Holy Wells Sligo, at one time unmarried women made garlands of vines, flowers and apples, which were then carried by unmarried men and women to the nearest burial place.  If an apple fell from the garlands on the way there, it was an ill omen for those carrying it because apples often represented love, fertility, and the goddess.  Once the parade reached the burial ground, they broke apart the garlands and scattered them on the graves while weeping and keening.  After they returned from the burial ground, there was dancing, feasting and merrymaking.  Although Garlands are no longer typically carried, Garland Sunday is still a day for visiting holy spots.  In fact, it is the official day of pilgrimage for Irish Catholics.

            Another Pagan tradition adopted at Tobernalt, as well as many other holy wells, is that of tying ribbons and small offerings to trees near holy wells.  Tying prayer ribbons to trees is a tradition that is still practiced by Pagans today.  (In fact, according to the magazine Blue World Gardener, the Pagan tradition of tying ribbons to trees is the basis for the modern tradition of decorating Christmas trees.)  The practice is still very much alive among Catholics who visit holy wells in Ireland and the U.K.  Ribbons, rosaries, and small offerings are tied to trees near holy wells, such as Tobernalt, in reverence of the saints who have all but replaced the Pagan deities once worshiped there.

Offerings tied to a tree near a holy well is Sligo, Ireland

Experiencing Catholocism

            Typically, any sort of commutation that is begun with a phrase like: “a Pagan and an Agnostic walked into a Catholic church,” might be expected to end with some sort of tasteless religious joke.  In this case, however, it is merely a statement of fact.  Recently a Syncretistic Pagan (myself) and an Agnostic (my sister) actually did enter the cathedral of St. John Vianney Catholic Church in Lithia Springs, Georgia.

            The first thing I felt, before even entering the building, was acute nervousness.  This was only to be expected, I suppose, as no human being enjoys walking into a large group of strangers with the foreknowledge that he or she is very different from anyone else present.  I was terrified that I would accidentally offend the congregation– something that would oppose my principles of open-minded tolerance and empathic respect– and I was equally worried that someone would realize that I was a not Catholic, not conservative, and not a conformist.  I insisted to myself that these ideas were stereotypes– I don’t doubt that there are plenty of liberal, free-spirited Catholics in the world– and reminded myself that if I wanted an example of a progressive Catholic that followed her heart rather than following the rules, I needed to look no further than Mother Theresa.   Nonetheless, the concern remained.  (For the sake of fairness, I should mention that I attended a Christian high school, and was badly ostracized there, so my fears were not entirely unfounded.)

I admit that I had prepared myself by questioning my younger sister’s boyfriend, who was raised in a Catholic household, and by dressing myself more conservatively than I typically would have.  I felt it was only polite to try to follow Catholic customs as closely as I could, but nonetheless I almost laughed when I saw myself.  Catching a glimpse of my unfamiliar ensemble in a car’s side mirror as I transversed the parking lot, I realized that the cliché had just gotten worse.  I was now an incognito Pagan walking into a Catholic church.

            Having been raised in a Baptist church, I found some aspects of the Catholic chapel to be familiar, and that comforted me a great deal.  The outer doors opened to reveal the same sort of formally-decorated vestibule that is common to Baptist churches.  Respectable looking old men stood just inside, handing out paper programs detailing the planned church service, just as would have been done in my childhood church.  The organ notes of a vaguely familiar hymn drifted out of the opened sanctuary doors.

            There were quite a few differences, however.  Upon entering the sanctuary, members of the congregation crossed themselves with holy water.  I silently blessed my sister’s boyfriend for explaining how I should cross myself.  There was a large crucifix hanging behind the pulpit, along with smaller statues of Mary and a saint– whom I assumed to be Saint John Vianney– in the front corners.  My sister and I took an empty pew in the back, where we felt unobtrusive, and found a couple of nearby hymnals just as a procession walked through the door.  There were a few alter boys, a priest, and two other men who appeared to be his direct subordinates.  (They may have been ordinans or simply lower-ranking priests.)  This procession was very familiar to my Pagan understanding, and incense, processions, and ritualistic entries and exits are fairly common.  The priest greeted the congregation formally, much as a Pagan priest or priestess might, though the words were, of course, different.  The congregation answered back with ritual words, just as a Pagan gathering would. 

I was surprised that some of the hymns were in Latin, which gave my sister hope that a part of the service might be in Latin as well.  I felt a little queasy.  I had purposefully ensured that this church would have their service in English for fear that I might misinterpret something when my sister asked.  (She, of course, had wanted to find a traditional chapel downtown so that she pester me for translations and see if I could actually manage it.)  I was glad I at least spoke the language well enough to understand most of the hymns, and was thrilled when the priest began the first prayer in my own native tongue.  Everyone kneeled as he invited us to pray– something I was not used to– and my sister and I realized why our pew had been empty.  Most pews had been fitted with little cushioned, folding metal stools, so that church goers could pray more comfortably.  Ours pew, however, had not been so lucky, and the industrial carpet did little to soften the hard, cold floor.

            The prayers may have been quite different from my old church, the time of fellowship was much the same, except that individuals said: “Peace be with you,” each time they shook one another’s hands.  (Once again I was quietly grateful to my sister’s boyfriend as I repeated the proper phrase over and over.)

                        There were several more prayers, hymns, and repetitions of ceremonial phrases.  At last the father stood at the pulpit and read from his Bible.  The congregation responded with an appropriate hymn, and the priest read some more.  There was one more song before he delivered a sermon very similar to one that I might expect to hear in the Baptist church I was raised in.  After that, communion was given– which thrilled my sister until I reminded her that our “inside informant” had said that we couldn’t take communion since we weren’t Catholic.  She did, however, get in line and cross her arms, as our sister’s boyfriend had instructed, and received a blessing.  Then the offering plates were passed in a very similar manner– though the men passing them wore robes rather than plain suits.  There were more songs, more prayers, and then the service was ended.  I remembered to cross myself with holy water on my way out.

            Odd, how so much of the experience wasn’t so strange and nerve-racking as I thought it might be.