When Christianity began to take root in Anglo-Saxon England during the early medieval period, it did not arrive in a cultural vacuum. The native belief systems of the Anglo-Saxons—rich with symbolism, oral tradition, and deeply embedded mythological archetypes—shaped how the new faith was received and eventually assimilated. One of the most striking examples of this cultural syncretism is the transformation of the pagan World Tree into the Christian Rood, or cross of Christ.
In Northern European, including Germanic, Norse, and Anglo-Saxon paganism, the concept of the World Tree. Known in Norse mythology as Yggdrasil, it represented the cosmic axis—the central pillar connecting the heavens, the earthly realm, and the underworld. It was a symbol of life, death, and rebirth. Gods, spirits, and a particular squirrel, Ratatoskr, traveled along its branches and roots; it was the spine of the universe, connecting the multiple realms with Middle Earth.
While the Anglo-Saxons may not have referred to their version of the World Tree as “Yggdrasil,” they shared a Germanic cosmology in which a sacred tree played a central symbolic role. It was often associated with kingship, fate (Wyrd), and the holy, vertical connection between the spirit and mortal worlds.
As Christianity spread through the British Isles—first via Roman missionaries and later through the efforts of figures like Augustine of Canterbury—the missionaries faced a challenge: how to present a radically new faith in terms understandable to a population steeped in mythic thinking.
Rather than eradicating pagan symbols outright, early Christian poets and missionaries often recontextualized them. The cross, a symbol of suffering and redemption in Christianity, found unexpected resonance with the older image of the sacred tree. It too was a vertical axis; it too stood between heaven and earth. This parallel formed a convenient theological bridge.
The most compelling literary artifact of this transformation is the Old English poem “The Dream of the Rood,” which is preserved in part on the Ruthwell Cross—a towering stone monument located in present-day Scotland. In the poem, the narrator dreams of the Cross speaking to him, recounting its role not just as a tool of execution, but as a heroic, tree-like warrior, standing firm with Christ in the ultimate spiritual battle.
“I saw a tree, a wondrous tree,
lifting into the air, wound round with light…
That was no felon’s gallows, but holy spirits beheld it there,
men upon earth and all this glorious creation.”
This is no passive cross. It bears clear echoes of the World Tree: it is alive, it suffers, it bears weight, it acts. In the heroic ethos of the Anglo-Saxons, both Christ and the Rood take on the qualities of the pagan hero—resolute, stoic, and victorious through suffering. The cross becomes an axis mundi once more, now reinterpreted through Christian theology.
The Rood becomes not just a symbol of death, but of victory over death—mirroring the World Tree’s role as the site of transformation and rebirth. In both traditions, the tree stands at the center of a cosmic drama. But now, instead of Odin sacrificing himself on Yggdrasil to gain wisdom, it is Christ who sacrifices himself upon the Rood to redeem humankind.
The sacral imagery also shifts subtly: the World Tree bore the fruits of divine knowledge; now, the Cross becomes the “tree of life,” whose fruit is eternal salvation. Church fathers, such as Bede, helped solidify this transition by interpreting Scripture allegorically, identifying the cross with the tree in Eden and the tree of life in Revelation.
By integrating the World Tree imagery into the Cross, Anglo-Saxon Christians preserved a key symbolic element of their pagan heritage while simultaneously transforming it. This process of cultural memory, wherein old symbols are carried forward in new guises, allowed for a smoother transition from one worldview to another.
Rather than a rupture, the Christianization of Anglo-Saxon England involved a layering of meanings: the sacred tree remained, now bearing new fruit. In the Rood, the Anglo-Saxons found both a continuation and a redemption of their mystic past.
In one tale, St. Wulfstan, the eleventh-century Bishop of Worcester, was invited to dedicate a church in Longney. Upon arrival, he discovered that there was not enough space for the crowd and a nut tree blocking the light from the church. Wulfstan ordered its removal, believing nature should not hinder his divine purpose. However, the host stubbornly refused, valuing his leisure under the tree more than the church’s needs. Provoked, Wulfstan cursed the tree, which withered away. The host, frustrated by the loss, eventually had the tree cut down.
This story of St. Wulfstan is often interpreted as demonstrating his unwavering piety. From a different angle, it is an excellent illustration of the arrival of the white Christ to the shores of Britain and the curse it laid upon the religious beliefs of the Isles.