These four men worked to bring the Gospel to the Slavic people during the ninth century. They preached, founded churches and monsteries, and developed an alphabet for the Slavic language (hence 'Cyrillic script') in order that the Gospels and the liturgy could be translated and read in the native tongue.
Later in his life, St Naum founded a monastery (which now bears his name) on the shore of Lake Ohrid, a few miles from the town. He died there in the year 910. I visited the monastery over the summer, and did what most tourists and pilgrims do: knelt on the floor next to his grave and put my ear to it. And sure enough, I heard what others had spoken of: the heartbeat of St Naum.
Our guide suggested it was merely the sound of one's own heartbeat, somehow reflected back. I don't believe that. Looking at it rationally, I think it may have been the sound of an underground pump taking water from the lake. But actually, I'm content to think of it as his heartbeat after all; a claim which has symbolic if not literal truth.
Because a heartbeat is a sign of life. And the heartbeat of St Naum, and the heartbeats of his companions, still beat wherever their churches and monasteries flourish. They still beats as Cyrillic script is used - not only in the liturgy, but in the wider life of the world. They still beat through the values, traditions and attitudes they implanted. They still beat through the lives and prayers and deeds of the faithful who are today's bearers of the faith stirred up and handed down by these four men.
And the same is true in our own land. The heartbeats of the great heroes of Christian faith still resonate in our society - Augustine and Anselm, Hilda and Julian, Wycliffe and Wesley, and so many more. They can be heard in our churches and Christian institutions, in our worship and our acts of service. So, too, do the heartbeats of the faithful who, generation by generation, have quietly and sincerely lived out and passed on the faith of Jesus down to our own day. So, too, must our own hearts beat with the good news of the Gospel by which we live.
The saintly Edward King, Bishop of Lincoln, died just over a century ago. His heartbeat still sounds in his great Cathedral and Diocese. He wrote these words, with which I close:
'We know the machinery now for saint-making, and we have got the stuff, only we must work and make them. I want to see English Saints made in the old way by suffering and diligence in little things, and the exercise of unselfish, untiring love.'
This is an abbreviated resume of Fr Christopher's Sermon for All Saints' Sunday, published (appropriately enough) on the Feast of the Saints and Martyrs of England.