The Unlikely Lion of Canterbury

After the Norman Conquest in 1066, the church in England faced an existential crisis. William the Conqueror died, and Rufus, his impious, young son, laid claim to the English crown. Then the Archbishop of Canterbury died, leaving the church unsupervised and unprotected. Like a fox in the henhouse, the new king ransacked and abused the church for years. But then, quite suddenly, Rufus was overtaken by illness. Presuming it to be the judgment of God, he sought to confess his sins to an old abbot named Anselm.

This is how it came to pass that on a blustery morning in 1093, a reluctant monk was hauled—half by persuasion, half by compulsion—into the role of Archbishop of Canterbury. During the prior three decades, at his abbey in Normandy, Anselm had penned some of the richest theology since Augustine of Hippo. Anselm preferred the priory to the palace, the Scripture-soaked rhythms of Benedictine life to the political drama of the royal court. But Christ the Good Shepherd, out of concern for his flock, called Anselm to something even more consequential: protecting the church from the tyranny of state control.

For today’s Christians, Anselm’s life at times feels strangely familiar. His struggles as archbishop between spiritual fidelity and political reality echo those we often face as ambassadors of God’s kingdom within a secular state. Anselm’s method of prayerful, heart-and-mind engagement of Scripture still offers contemporary Christians a model for how to contend for truth without losing one’s soul.

From Burgundy to Bec: Heart and Mind in Search of God

Anselm’s story begins around 1033 in Aosta of Burgundy (today’s northwestern Italy), in the shadow of the Alps. Born into nobility, his childhood was marked by a restless spirit and a growing intellectual appetite. To the dismay of his father, Anselm, the teenager felt a strong pull towards the church. As a young man, he took a literal gap year, crossing the Alps on a journey of exploration and self-discovery. Eventually, he settled in Normandy, at the recently established Benedictine abbey in Bec. This decision proved to be pivotal, setting the stage for his theological formation and eventual ministry leading and defending the church in England.

By 1060, when Anselm chose to pursue holy orders, the abbey at Bec already had become a vibrant intellectual center under the tutelage of the celebrated scholar Lanfranc. The community’s life together was shaped by Benedictine rhythms of prayer, work, and study of Holy Scripture. Anselm flourished in this environment, where his keen intellect and deep piety were genuinely appreciated. He became Lanfranc’s most devoted student, applying rigorous logic in the work of theology. When Lanfranc departed in 1063, Anselm succeeded him. Then, for thirty years, he led the abbey with wisdom and gentleness, earning the respect of the whole community.

It was in this context that Anselm penned works that have shaped Christian thought for centuries.  His Monologion and Proslogion are works of philosophical theology rooted in prayer, exploring the existence and nature of God. The latter includes his famous “ontological argument,” which wasn’t a cold exercise in logic, as some frame it today. Rather, it was devotional. As Anselm contemplated the greatness and majesty of God, he beheld the maker of heaven and earth in glory as “someone than whom none greater can be conceived.”

For Anselm, theology wasn’t an academic exercise, disconnected from the heart, but an act of faith seeking understanding. Scripture and reason were neither enemies nor equals: reason served the Word, not the other way around. Share on X For Anselm, theology wasn’t an academic exercise, disconnected from the heart, but an act of faith seeking understanding. Scripture and reason were neither enemies nor equals: reason served the Word, not the other way around. The Bible, for Anselm, was not a text to be mastered privately but to be inhabited communally through prayer, song, and conversation. This humble approach to Scripture, cultivated in the simplicity of Christian community, would remain with Anselm even when the cacophony of the royal court threatened to drown it out.

From Abbey to Archbishop: Called to Challenge the Crown

Anselm might have lived and died in the peace of Bec had it not been for the Norman Conquest of England in 1066. Soon thereafter, Anselm’s mentor Lanfranc accepted the call to serve as Archbishop of Canterbury among Normandy’s newest subjects beyond the English Channel. Nearly two decades passed under the reign of William the Conqueror. Then, upon his death, William was succeeded by his irreverent, unpopular, thirty year-old son, Rufus. When Archbishop Lanfranc died soon thereafter, King Rufus was in no hurry to replace him, preferring to pocket Canterbury’s revenues as long as he could.

Four long years passed, during which time the church languished in England. Rufus restored the practice of simony, selling vacant church positions to the highest bidder. He also treated church lands as his personal property, leasing them out or plundering their resources. Without a spiritual leader to challenge the king, the church’s moral witness and spiritual authority were significantly diminished. Thus, Rufus unwittingly sowed seeds that would foster deep resentment among nobility and clergy, furthering his own political instability.

In 1092, thirty-four year old Rufus fell gravely ill. Presumably, God was punishing him for his crimes. Desperate to make a deathbed confession, Rufus sought out Archbishop Lanfranc’s protege. Anselm was already in England, visiting properties owned by his abbey at Bec, and so he consented to see the ailing king. Then, under Anselm’s pastoral care, the king not only confessed his sins, but agreed to make restitution by freeing prisoners, canceling debts, and restoring the church’s freedom. In exchange, Rufus asked only that Anselm assume Lanfranc’s mantle as Archbishop of Canterbury.

Anselm resisted—pleading age, weakness, and unsuitability. He was, in truth, wary of being appointed to a church role by any king, especially impious King Rufus. Other English church leaders implored Anselm to reconsider, urging him to lay aside his own personal comforts for the sake of Christ’s bride. But Anselm foresaw a monumental struggle, akin to being unequally yoked, like an old sheep (himself) having to plow in harness with an unbroken bull (Rufus). “And what will come of it?” he asked.“Without doubt the untameable fury of the young bull will drag the old sheep through thorns and briars. And if the bull doesn’t shake himself free from the yoke altogether, he will so tear the sheep as to be of no use to itself or anyone else.”

Yet just as Christ was called to lay down his life for his bride, so also are his faithful ministers. Consequently, on March 6, 1093, the assembled English bishops forced the archbishop’s staff into Anselm’s hands, shouted, “Long live the bishop,” and carried him off to the church to be consecrated archbishop. The reluctant monk was now chief under-shepherd of the English church—and her first line of defense against the hungry crown.

Conflict and Exile: Contending for the Church

Anselm’s tenure as Archbishop was marked by a protracted and often bitter struggle against royal interference. The tension was as old as Christianity itself: who governs the church—Christ or Caesar? The flashpoint during the 11th century was investiture, i.e. the authority to appoint bishops. Church leaders like Gregory VII and Urban II insisted on the church’s authority, free from outside control. However, secular rulers (especially the Norman kings of England) viewed the church as subservient to the crown and sought to appoint bishops themselves.

The conflict between Canterbury and the crown escalated quickly. On behalf of the church, Anselm refused to pay taxes to the king. Rufus, in turn, insisted that he alone had the authority to invest Anselm with the pallium, the archbishop’s symbolic mantle of authority.  But Anselm refused to accept it from a king rather than the pope. Rufus stonewalled. Eventually, this tension led to Anselm’s exile in 1097.

Anselm traveled first to Rome to confer with the pope. He then participated in an ecumenical council, arguing eloquently in defense of the filioque (‘and from the Son’) addition to the Nicene Creed, and further strengthening his reputation as a theological heavyweight. Around the same time, he also wrote his greatest treatise, Cur Deus Homo (Why God Became Man), arguing that only the God-Man, Jesus Christ, could adequately atone for humanity’s sin. Finally, Anselm embarked on a wider tour, arguing that Canterbury should stand with Rome, rather than in subjection to the king.

In 1100, King Rufus was shot during a hunting expedition by one of his own men. The king’s untimely death brought a sudden change of fortunes. His brother, Henry I, assumed the throne and recalled Anselm to Canterbury in peace. But soon enough, the old quarrel reignited. Like his brother, Henry insisted on his sovereign right to invest bishops in England. Anselm held his ground, regarding Henry’s efforts as a direct assault on the spiritual authority of the church. This led to a second, even longer exile in 1103.

It would take years of negotiation before a compromise emerged. Finally, in 1107, the Concordat of London allowed the king to receive homage from bishops in acknowledgement of their temporal responsibilities as landholders and royal vassals. In exchange, the king surrendered any spiritual authority to confer on his subjects the office of bishop. This agreement, though a compromise, marked a significant step towards securing the church’s independence in England.

Anselm’s Legacy

Anselm ranks high among Christendom’s greatest theologians, yet he was also a product of his time. His legacy is bound up with issues that still divide today’s global church. In fighting to protect the church from the monarchy, he bolstered papal authority in ways that Protestants would repudiate during the Reformation. His vigorous defense of Western theological logic in the filioque deepened the rift with the Eastern Orthodox, who rejected the addition. He also forbade the marriage of English clergy, thus entrenching an extra-biblical practice that divides Catholics and Protestants. His brilliance served to unite the Latin West of his time, but it also established some of the fault lines of the contemporary church.The reluctant monk became, by God’s providence, a lion of Canterbury, roaring not in personal ambition, but in defense of Christ’s bride and the truth of the gospel. Share on X

Nevertheless, we owe Anselm a tremendous debt of gratitude. His meditation on the cross helped prepare the way for the renewal of the church through the rediscovery of God’s grace through Jesus’ sacrificial death on our behalf. His method of faith seeking understanding is a model for healing academic theology churned out by men without chests. And his indefatigable stand against royal tyranny empowers today’s Christians who hold fast to biblical convictions in the face of political pressure.

No one goes to seminary in hopes of a career in political brinkmanship. And rarely does a pastor knowingly accept a call to a contentious position in the church. Like everyone else, most clergy long for green pastures like what Anselm enjoyed within the abbey at Bec. But Jesus warned his followers of opposition and persecution, and he modeled a way forward in the way of the cross. Church history is filled with faithful leaders who did not set out looking for trouble, but who found courage in the Lord when trouble came looking for them. Anselm stood before kings and refused to sell out. His courage was the fruit of submission to a higher authority, honed for decades in the green pastures of Bec, where rhythms of prayer, work, and immersion in God’s Word prepared him for the struggle of his life.

Anselm died in 1109, having spent much of his tenure in exile, yet leaving behind a freer English church and a theological legacy that still shapes the church today. The reluctant monk became, by God’s providence, a lion of Canterbury, roaring not in personal ambition, but in defense of Christ’s bride and the truth of the gospel.

Image Credit: Gary Campbell-Hall | Flickr