A query was sent in regarding the identity of the patron saint of bell-ringers. This is not an area in which I can claim any knowledge whatsoever. While I've found two patron saints for makers of bells, I've discovered nothing for ringers themselves.

A fellow medievalist who works on death-texts has given me a lead. So while I track that down, here are the saints for bell-makers. Thanks for being patient.

Both in chronology and familiarity, the first of the two patron saints of bell-makers is Agatha (February 5). She was martyred in the 3rd century under either Decius or Diocletian, depending on which version of the legend you read. On purely aesthetic grounds I prefer Diocletian as he has the better name; Decius sounds like a unit of measurement. ("If we lengthen the portico by another decius, we'll have room for the Claudius300 Jacuzzi.") The second patron saint of bell-makers is supposedly a sixth-century Irishman named Forkernus, or Fortchern (February 17) regarding whose cult I am completely ignorant. If anybody out there does Irish studies and knows about Forkernus, please let me know.

For her part, Agatha's connection to bells arises from some posthumous thaumaturgy which she performed on behalf of her hometown. According to legend, about a year after Agatha's martyrdom Mount Etna began to erupt and bells were rung to warn the city of Catania, Sicily. While bells may have raised the alarm, it was really a veil taken from Agatha's tomb that not only held off but also quenched the fire. Apparently this joint venture between the bells and veil resulted in Agatha's connection to bell-makers. By my reckoning she should be the patron saint of veil-makers, knitters of mufflers, and firemen, but she got bells. Go figure.

This connection between Agatha and bells segues nicely into another question that someone sent in: How does a saint actually become the patron of something? Sometimes the connections are obvious. The same Agatha mentioned above is also the patron saint of women who are sick or have been raped. Given what Agatha endures in her legend this patronage make sense. At one point her sexually frustrated persecutor throws her into a brothel to be trained up in harlotry for his personal enjoyment. When that fails miserably, he orders one of her breasts ripped off. Definitely one of your more graphic hagiographic moments. Agatha's response to both her persecutor and St. Peter's visit to heal her offers a remarkable statement of her identity as a woman in God.

 The Old English version of Agatha's response to her persecutor and St. Peter.

If you're interested in reading more on the passion of St. Agatha, the most accessible version can be found in Jacobus de Voragine's The golden legend. The most recent edition is: Jacobus de Voragine, The golden legend : readings on the saints translated by William Granger Ryan. (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1993.) 2 vols. It can also be found online.

So, how do saints become patrons of fill-in-the-blank?

Sometimes it is simply a matter of association: people identify with something that was particularly important to the saint or the saint's reputation, and a holy match is made, as with St. Agatha. In other cases, the development of a saint's cult is a matter of chronology, even policy. For example, the development of a saint's patronage by a monastery could sometimes be a very strategic move for more leverage in a land dispute. Similarly a church might bolster its prestige on the pilgrimage trail by promulgating its association with a particular, popular saint. A few saints actually possessed the vision to do their own marketing.

Take the case of the ninth-century Swithun, bishop of Winchester. Rather than make his holy reputation during his lifetime, Swithun became famous through his shameless, posthumous self-promotion. There is really nothing Swithun didn't do for attention: ghostly visitations in which he demanded the translation of his bones (i.e. moving them from place A to place B with pomp and circumstance), promises of wealth hidden in his grave, oodles of healing miracles at said grave, reprimands for lazy monks to get the Daily Office right, and summary "smitings" of those intrepid enough to mock his sanctity. It is probably not a coincidence that the advent and promotion of Swithun's cult coincided with the advancement of the tenth-century Benedictine Reform which had its political and spiritual center in Winchester where Swithun had been bishop.

In some cases, the connection between saint and the object of patronage is not so clear. Why, for instance, is Forkernus the patron of bell-founders and not the patron of makers of cutlery? Likewise, the Anglo-Saxon Æthelthryth should be the patron saint of children with lisps, and the venerable Polycarp the patron of eternal naggers rather than the saint protecting against dysentery and earache (really and truly). All I can say is that I am not consulted nearly as often as I ought to be on these matters.