Bizarre Things These Saints Were Buried With (Or Next To)

St. Cuthbert was an English bishop who lived until 687 and, according to Bede's "Life of St. Cuthbert," was said to perform miracles even before he died — which is when many future saints started showing off their supernatural powers. While Cuthbert is quite famous, especially in the U.K., if you're not familiar with him, don't worry. When you walk into a church or art museum, he's pretty easy to pick out — he's the saint carrying another guy's head, the head of St. Oswald, to be precise. 

Unfortunately, that's not just a piece of symbolism or metaphor represented through art. When Cuthbert died, he was buried at his monastery, Lindisfarne, however, over the next 400 years, his body was disinterred and moved around repeatedly, per The Catholic Encyclopedia. In 1104, the people doing the moving got a surprise: Cuthbert's body was now keeping company with the head of St. Oswald, the long-dead king of Northumbria.

While Oswald and Cuthbert lived in the same area, their lives only overlapped by a decade or less, with Cuthbert estimated to have been a young child when Oswald died. But like his fellow saint, Oswald's body wasn't laid to rest permanently, getting moved around over the years. At some point, the remains of the two finally ended up in Durham Cathedral at the same time, and Oswald's head was put into Cuthbert's grave. (Other bits of the late king were spread around, including his arm, which was displayed further south at Peterborough Abbey.) Sadly, the remains of both saints have since been lost.

St. Casimir was a Polish prince before he died in 1484, aged around 25, from a problem with his lungs, per The Catholic Encyclopedia. He was canonized in 1522, but by the turn of the 21st century, Pope John Paul II was still holding up this young man as an example for young people, saying that Casimir "embraced a life of celibacy, submitted himself humbly to God's will in all things, devoted himself with tender love to the Blessed Virgin Mary" and "His life of purity and prayer beckons you to practice your faith with courage and zeal, to reject the deceptive attractions of modern permissive society, and to live your convictions with fearless confidence and joy" (via the Catholic News Agency).

Now, a young prince dying tragically might get some modern teens excited, but the celibacy aspect might give them a bit of pause. Fortunately, Casimir had something else they can relate to: a love of music, specifically, one awesome tune. Casimir was so into the hit hymn "Daily, Daily Sing to Mary" that for centuries it was believed he actually wrote it, as The Canterbury Dictionary of Hymnology explains. But the fact that it's now attributed to someone else – Bernard of Cluny – just makes it even better that Casimir was so obsessed with the song. Apparently, he was constantly singing it, like the biggest BoC stan there ever was. Casimir's love of the tune was such that when he died, he was buried with a copy.

According to The Catholic Encyclopedia, St. Babylas was a bishop in the Eastern Roman Empire who had the bad luck to live during the first-ever empire-wide persecution of Christians. This became known as the Decian persecution, after the emperor who decreed it. The story of his martyrdom varies a bit in early accounts, but the main legend is that after the emperor killed a child or committed some other heinous crime, Babylas refused to let him enter his church. The emperor was embarrassed and shamed by this rejection, so he had Babylas arrested.

Here again, accounts vary. Some say Babylas was executed, while others record he died in prison after being tortured, but not explicitly killed. What all seem to agree on, however, was that while under arrest, Babylas had been bound in chains — and he insisted those chains be buried with him when he died as a sign of his martyrdom, according to "Apologies," a collection of 4th-century writings by Saint John Chrysostom. Later, in honor of his sacrifice and steadfast faith, a church was built over his grave.

However, there was a famous oracle who did business next to the church, and when, years later, a different emperor came to the oracle and asked to know the future, he was told this was impossible. As St. John Chrysostom recorded (via Greek Orthodox Archdiocese of America), the oracle explained, "The dead prevent me from speaking." Taking this to mean the remains of the saintly Babylas were a problem, the emperor had them moved, which was when the chains were discovered with the body.

There is very little information about St. Ursula that isn't legend; in fact, it's unclear if she actually existed. The estimated year of her death varies greatly, from 383 to 451. But that's probably a good thing, since it would be one of the greatest tragedies in history if Ursula died and was buried the way most of the legends claim.

Ursula was a princess from what is now Great Britain, and a devoted Christian. But as a princess, she had to marry and didn't have a choice who the man was. When a pagan prince asked to make her his wife, she begged her father to delay it a few years so she could go on a pilgrimage. He agreed, and she took off for the Continent with some attendants, all virginal women.

How many attendants? Well, even though the whole legend comes from 10 lines carved in the wall of a French church, which do not give a number, over the years stories were added to it, and in the end, Ursula had 11,000 virgins on the pilgrimage with her. Unfortunately for what would have been a significant chunk of the young women of Britain at the time, when they were in Europe, they were all martyred for their faith and buried together with Ursula, according to "The Cult of St. Ursula and the 11,000 Virgins," edited by Jane Cartwright. There are various theories about where this huge number comes from, with experts theorizing it was a translation error or simply a change made in sermons to make the story more dramatic.

Unlike most people who are eventually made saints, according to The Catholic Encyclopedia, Cosma and Damian were not holy men in the traditional sense; they were doctors, but because they were such successful healers who always refused payment for their services, their goodness ended up bringing many of their patients to the Christian faith, per "A Dictionary of Christian Biography, Literature, Sects and Doctrines." However, they were so dedicated to taking nothing of monetary value for their work that it led to what could have been an eternal separation for the pair.

One old woman, who had never found a successful treatment for her ailment before, insisted that Damian accept a few eggs in return for curing her, saying, "Take this small gift in the Name of the Holy Life-Creating Trinity – Father, Son, and Holy Spirit." Since she'd invoked the Trinity, Damian didn't see how he could refuse. When his brother found out, it didn't matter the reason: "When St. Cosmo knew it, he commanded that his body should not be laid after his death with his brother's," according to "The Golden Legend."

Things went sideways for the brothers, and they found themselves being martyred. Before they could be buried separately as Cosma demanded, a camel walked by and announced, "Cosmas and Damian cured not only you, men, but us too, wordless animals. Therefore I come, grateful to them, to tell you that the Lord orders you to bury them together" (translated in the Hektoen International Journal). So two brothers who should not have been buried together were, all thanks to a talking camel.

St. Teresa of Avila was famous even in her lifetime, according to The Catholic Encyclopedia. When she died in 1582, she was buried at the convent she had been visiting at the time, and someone wanted to make sure she stayed there. According to the account of Mother Anne of St. Bartholomew, who witnessed the death and burial of Teresa, "Her body was put into a coffin, but such a heap of stones, bricks, and chalk were put on top of it that the coffin gave way under the weight and all this rubble fell in. It was by the order of the lady who endowed the house ... that the rubble was put there. Nobody could prevent her ... she was making all the more certain that no one would take Teresa' body away" (via "The Incorruptibles: A Study of Incorruption in the Bodies of Various Saints and Beati").

The extra dirt might have kept her put, but it couldn't block the pungent but apparently lovely smell that emitted from the grave. Finally, the body was exhumed, and it turned out all that extra dirt helped prove how saintly Teresa was. Jerome Gracián recorded (via the same source) what he saw: "They found the coffin lid smashed, half rotten and full of mildew ... The whole body was covered with the earth which had penetrated into the coffin and so was all damp too, but as fresh and whole as if it had only been buried the day before."