Written by Paula Pryce for The Contemplative Society, re-posted with permission.
A most cruel and horrible dragon issued forth . . . of various colours, with a beard and hair that seemed of gold, and teeth that seemed of iron, eyes sharp and brilliant as kindled flame.
– The Legend of St. Margaret of Antioch
Dragons curling, twisting, encroaching.
Many have said that this Advent feels different. The soft hopefulness diminished, the growing light muted. Instead a cavern of tangled serpents seems to be at our feet. A roiling world with dragons all around.
In Christian lore, dragons have their place. Most of us know about the chivalrous battles of Archangel Michael and St. George, but women disciples also subdued dragons in their midst.
Look to Antioch in the fourth century: the Roman governor Olybrius takes notice of a beautiful young woman and wants to possess her. The girl has other plans, however; she is one of those annoying new Christian devotees who has dedicated herself to a trouble-maker God. Her refusal is subversive, with underpinnings that could topple empires. Nothing for it but to send her to prison and torture.
Like many virgin martyrs, Margaret of Antioch faced her adversaries with temerity. Legend tells us that she kept her composure and guarded her heart with every new trial: whips, boiling water, iron hooks. She stood through them all. Then came the dragon, who gobbled her up in a single bite.
Was she afraid? Oh yes. Instead of succumbing to panic, however, Margaret kept her sight clear and open. Skillful, strategic, and composed, her consent to the Divine was active and fierce.
Margaret wielded God’s gut-bursting power to blow that dragon to pieces. She stepped out of the creature’s entrails unscathed, like Little Red Riding Hood emerging from the Wolf, but without any of the little-girl passive naiveté, or the need to depend on burly huntsmen for rescue. To the governor’s chagrin, Margaret’s example inspired thousands to follow her to Christianity.
As the patron saint of childbirth, Margaret of Antioch was like a topsy-turvy Virgin Mary. Mary the Mother was surrounded by Light to become Light-birthing-Light. Margaret, by contrast, was encapsulated in the darkness of a serpent’s belly, shredding it from within through vigorous, piercing prayer.
Margaret of Antioch possessed a quality called metis – a potent engagement with Divine flow. Despite her fear, despite a lack of both physical and social power, she brought her entire being – body, intellect, emotion – to her partnership with God, and found herself wielding savvy awareness and surprising force.
Cynthia Bourgeault offers teachings on metis – “a capacity to take skillful, decisive, appropriate action” in any situation, whether dragons be present or not. Not to be confused with Métis people in Canada, metis [MEH-tis] is a word which comes to us from Greek mythology, originally describing the often selfish and destructive trickster-like characteristics of the gods. It is a whole-being knowledge that allowed members of the pantheon to respond precisely and adeptly in the blink of an eye. Metis in the Greek lexicon thus carries a certain shadiness. In contemplative Christianity, on the other hand, metis is a tool for the collective good. Metis for us is active alignment and consent that invites God to flow, prompting resolution rather than greater strife, often in ways we could not have anticipated.
Some thousand years after the time of St. Margaret, the medieval Tuscan women Umiliana and Verdiana also faced dragons. Margaret of Antioch’s cult was strong in their time and from her, they learned a model response to life’s dangers. While the early Christian saint employed a muscular metis to set her dragon flying, Umiliana and Verdiana imbued their work with more obvious compassion.
The young Umiliana, newly widowed, secluded herself in a stone tower in dedication to prayer. There she was plagued by a ferocious serpent coiling about her feet. Umiliana felt great terror, but refused to be distracted from her task. Not wanting to sit back overconfident in the effectiveness of her own devotion, she protected herself by wrapping her legs so the creature couldn’t get under her skirts when she slept. She took the initiative to address the vulnerability that all women experience in male-dominated societies.
After three days of torment, Umiliana had had enough. She prayed for Divine assistance and commanded the dragon to curl up beside her, not unlike a pet cat. Then she carried the creature to the tower window, proclaiming, “Blessed be the most potent Love that created you . . . Go on your way, and stay no longer.” Strong action with a compassionate heart. She worked in partnership with God to protect herself even while blessing the one who vexed her.
Like Margaret and Umiliana, Verdiana dedicated herself to contemplative life. She too found her Tuscan hermitage swamped with pesky beasts. Two serpents made their nests on either side of Verdiana’s stool and often rested their bristly snouts against her cheeks. Frightened? Of course. But Verdiana asked God for patience and determination, and would not let those dragons disrupt her prayer. Before long, she willingly shared her own plate, offering food to the uninvited guests as from a Eucharistic paten. Verdiana began to notice the dragons’ shift toward good will and affection, and a friendship grew between them. Neighbouring households felt no such empathy, however. They hunted the creatures down and severed their mace-like tails. Verdiana welcomed the suffering serpents back into her protection, restored their bodies to full health, and chastised the villagers for their hateful violence. Verdiana’s metis was one of courageous hospitality and healing.
We are stepping into an Advent with dragons. Mary the Mother perceived the advent of Light despite living in a time of great peril. Like her, we have little choice but to deal with the adversity that is before us. How we do this matters. Let’s take our cue from the holy women who have shown us how to marry acuity and love to stand strong and supple in every circumstance. We need not be superhuman like the saints who subdued creatures with gnashing teeth and tearing claws, however. We need only be truly human. Our task is to collect ourselves, give our consent, and act through God’s dynamic love.
This Advent don’t let the dragons eat you. Be fierce and befriend them, for the time of wonder is coming when we all must burst into the light. Dragons included.
Advent 2024 Resources
For a video of Cynthia Bourgeault’s recent teaching on metis, see Metis Teaching by Cynthia Bourgeault – Wisdom Waypoints
Elizabeth Alvilda Petroff’s work on medieval women saints was the inspiration for this reflection. See her book Body and Soul: Essays on Medieval Women and Mysticism (Oxford University Press, 1994), particularly chapter six, “Transforming the World: the Serpent-Dragon and the Virgin Saint”.
Illuminations are from the Trinity Apocalypse, c. 1250, Trinity College, Cambridge. R.16.2 – The James Catalogue of Western Manuscripts
Paula Pryce is a writer and cultural anthropologist who specializes in ritual studies and contemplative religions. She is the author of The Monk’s Cell: Ritual and Knowledge in American Contemplative Christianity. Paula offers regular reflections at The Contemplative Society and can be reached about this reflection at: admin@contempaltive.org.