St. Fiacre, Gardens, and Boundaries

My parents have a beautiful garden. It’s full of lush, slightly overgrown perennials, soft grass, and bright annuals. I remember Saturday mornings in my childhood devoted to weeding, planting, mowing, and general yardwork. Even after we all grew up and left home, my parents’ garden still grows beautifully. My siblings who live nearby pop over on weekends to help with yardwork. Those of us who have moved away look forward to updates each season: photos of the grape arbor in bloom, the first songbirds of spring, my grandfather’s rose bushes, or fresh tomatoes on the vine.

They’ve always built the sort of gardens that feel beautiful and welcoming. There are little, brick pathways and patios to walk on, grass for children to run wild in, and flowers everywhere – with little borders to help remind guests not to damage the fragile flowers. Gardening thrives with these clear, gentle boundaries. Without them, it all tends to run together into one, weedy mess of mud and brambles. St. Fiacre, the patron of gardens and gardening, was good at boundaries. He was always clear, though not always gentle, but his loving firmness in maintaining the boundaries of his own little garden allowed him to be more present to the pilgrims who needed him.

Meeting the Saint

About a mile from my parents’ house there was a cute, Victorian-inspired garden shop with a huge collection of stone garden statues. Along with fairies, gnomes, angels, and gargoyles, there were St. Francises of varying sizes, Marys, Josephs (small, plastic ones to bury and large, stone ones for the garden), and a monk with a shovel named Fiacre – patron of gardeners and cab drivers.

When I first saw statues of St. Fiacre, I assumed he was one of the early Franciscan saints. But Fiacre predates Francis by about 600 years. He was an Irish monk who was determined to find a place far away from the cares of the world in which to spend time in intimacy with Christ. The early medieval Church was full of people determined to go with Christ into the “desert.” For Irish hermits, this often involved sailing away from their beloved island.

Fiacre, known as Fiachra in his native land, was a devout monk in Ireland, whose desire for solitude clashed with his abilities to heal. He was so famous that eventually he had to leave Ireland in hopes of finding a place to be alone with God. So he set sail for a new world. This was actually relatively common for Irish monks. St. Brendan the Navigator was famed for his wild trips out to sea, and he claimed to have met many other Irish monks who had sailed off to find a more isolated “desert” – reportedly living on islands as far away as North America.

St. Fiacre landed in France. He met the bishop of Meaux, St. Faro, and was given a solitary little hermitage in St. Faro’s own forest. Stories about the saint say that his holiness quickly attracted visitors, so Fiacre tried to retreat deeper into the forest. But eventually, Fiacre gave up. If God wanted him to serve people, he’d welcome them properly. Fiacre built a hospice for pilgrims, a chapel for his devotions, and a little cell surrounded by a garden for himself.

Fiacre’s fame as an herbalist and holy man attracted the sick. Despite his longing for solitude, he cheerfully welcomed all guests to his hospice and cared for them himself. In fact, his abilities to heal persistent illnesses became so well known, that he’s now known as the patron of those who suffer from venereal diseases, infertility, and hard to diagnose illnesses.

Like so many of the Irish hermits, Fiacre imitated the Desert Fathers in many of his devotions. He fasted with enthusiasm, was reported to have friendships with many of his neighbor animals, and forbade women from intruding into his cell, garden, or chapel.

Not all women were willing to respect Fiacre’s stern devotion to a male-only cloister. But saints were made of sterner stuff back then. Rumors of the saint driving off impertinent female intruders lingered throughout his life. Fiacre’s devotion to the sanctity of his chapel is impressive – and lasting. Women who respected Fiacre’s wishes, however, were tended to as lovingly and attentively as the men. The chapel and hermitage of St. Fiacre are still off limits to women, out of respect for Fiacre.

The Art of Saying No

For some, Fiacre’s refusal to allow women into his chapel has become the most important aspect of his hagiography. We’re a defensive bunch in this modern age, it’s hard for us to imagine someone drawing a line we might consider arbitrary or unkind. But for a monk of the 7th century, who wanted a desert between himself and the rest of society, it’s actually pretty generous of him to welcome pilgrims at all. The histories of such monks are full of stories in which these men are forced to deal with women disregarding their boundaries, invading their cells, and demanding attention. St. Fiacre drove them away with energy when they overstepped their welcome, but counseled and healed them lovingly when they honored his requests.

It’s a good image for us today, if we’re willing to see it. In our relationships, we’re often asked to violate one of our values for the sake of being nice or polite. Whether it’s attending a wedding, lying to avoid offending a friend, or using language that negates or diminishes our own values – holding to our own boundaries often leaves us with St. Fiacre in the judgment of our contemporaries.

It can help if we take inspiration from Fiacre, and gardening itself, in this task. Building little boundary walls, paths, and patios in our own hearts will give us space to welcome our neighbors without losing our values in the process. It’s a difficult road to walk, and it’s likely we’ll take a few missteps along the way – the saints did too! And we have those saints alongside us – Fiacre and his firm boundaries, Syncletica who greeted monks like Fiacre with wry humor and honest respect, Jerome who was an equal opportunity curmudgeon, and Mary of Egypt who found in her own desert a place of perfect peace. People don’t have to understand our boundaries, but we can insist on respect. When we do, we’re able to build relationships that can last despite our differences.