Seeing as St Hilda Saw
St Hild College’s namesake, St Hilda of Whitby, was a woman of wisdom, compassion, and vision. She fostered a community where faith, learning, and creativity thrived. Though she lived centuries ago (c. 614–680), her life continues to inspire me—and many others—today.
One story that captures St Hilda’s enduring influence is that of Caedmon, a simple herdsman at Whitby Abbey.
Shy and uneducated, Caedmon often slipped away from gatherings when songs were sung, ashamed that he had no gift for music. One night, after leaving a feast, he fell asleep in the stable and dreamed that a heavenly figure asked him to sing of creation. When he awoke, he found himself miraculously able to compose sacred poetry.
When his verses were brought before St Hilda, she saw beyond his humble station and recognised his gift as a sign of divine inspiration. To test this, she asked him to compose more verses—and when he did so with grace and insight, she affirmed that God had truly chosen him to reveal spiritual truths through song and poetry. From that moment, Caedmon became a monk and dedicated his life to turning holy stories into poetry, remembered today as one of England’s first named poets.
Hilda’s ability to see divine potential where others saw only simplicity revealed her deep spiritual insight and ability to ‘see’—a lasting testament to her faith in God’s gifts and her belief that others, no matter who they were, could be an instrument of divine grace.
On a personal note, I’ve thought of St Hilda when reflecting on my own story. As an insecure teenager, I found myself in a theatre class. I was painfully shy and introverted, and, several years earlier, a childhood choir teacher had once told me I couldn’t sing—that I’d better take up an instrument if I ever hoped to be musical. My brief and disastrous attempt at clarinet didn’t help.
My worst fear in that one-year theatre class was being told to sing a solo on stage in front of a small audience. During rehearsal, the teacher offered some coaching, but I broke down in tears, blurting out that I had been told I couldn’t sing. He paused, looked at me kindly, and said words that changed me forever:
“My dear, you sing like an angel.”
Now, I’ll never be a professional singer (and I am certain I don’t always sound ‘like an angel’) —but that one comment shifted something deep inside and healed that bruised place. Years later, I joined a worship group and, in that space, met the “cute electric guitar player” who would one day become my husband.
At St Hild College, one of our core values is being prayerful. I don’t think this refers only to prayers of request or thanksgiving, but also to a posture of attentiveness—a willingness to notice the quiet nudges of the Spirit and to see the gifts and grace in others, especially those who are not like ourselves.
When I worked in full-time ministry, a seasoned leader once offered me simple but profound advice:
“Walk slowly through the crowd.”
Before and after speaking, take time to see people—really see them. That wisdom has stayed with me, even now in a more administrative role. Whether I’m at the college on a Monday morning, shopping in town, gathered with fellow mums, or serving at church, I want to see as St Hilda saw: to recognise the divine spark in others and call it out with grace.
Ending – The Gift of Seeing
St Hilda’s story—and Caedmon’s—remind me that the smallest words of affirmation, the briefest moments of insight, can awaken something sacred in another person. To see others through the eyes of love, possibility, and Grace is itself a form of prayer.
May we, like St Hilda, walk slowly through the crowds of our own lives, noticing what God has placed within others—and having the courage to call forth what the Spirit sees.
Written by Jeannie McGinnis, St Hild Communications and Marketing Coordinator