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Good morning,

...and Happy St. Andrew's day, especially if no one has offered you that greeting so far.

About Andrew, who is Scotland's patron saint, relatively little is known. He was crucified in Greece on an X-shaped cross, requested by him to differentiate him from Jesus, and his bones were allegedly brought to Scotland by St. Regulus and buried somewhere on the north-east coast of Fife. But that's probably not because he had a known affection for Cock-a-Leekie soup and malt whisky which will be consumed at innumerable dinners in his honour this evening.

From the Gospels, we learn that Andrew brought people to Jesus – his brother, a wee boy, and a number of Greeks – and that's it. There's a Samaritan woman in the Gospels who brings a whole village to Jesus, but as far as I know she has never been offered the job of patron saint.
Why is it we have patron saints? Is it that somewhere in the alchemy of mediaeval religion, people believed that they needed advocates in heaven to intercede for nations on earth? In which case what are St. Andrew, St. George and St. David saying to God about Brexit???

I suppose that, like all saints, it is not so much that they have influence over terrestrial affairs than that they are models of virtue... in which case Andrew is a good person to emulate. He doesn't develop a personal fan club but introduces people to one who is infinitely greater than him.

Years ago in Edinburgh, there was a Roman Catholic priest called Jock Dalrymple, who, in no small way, developed my interest in spirituality. He wrote a book on holiness in which he cited as a saint not Andrew the apostle, but an inebriate woman called Aggie. She, to her own cost, looked after an unsavoury character called Paddy, a man who was forever in and out of prison.

When Jock suggested to her that it would help her if she stopped being his carer, Aggie told him why she did it. No lodging house in the city would take him because he was an incurable bed-wetter. Later Jock discovered that it was not only Paddy she looked after; she also did the laundry of an old man nearby who had recently lost his wife.

In her, despite her dishevelled appearance, Jock saw the selfless compassion of God who has never monopolised virtue in those who think themselves virtuous.

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