There is nothing on this earth more to be prized than true friendship.

Friendship is the source of the greatest pleasures, and without friends even the most agreeable pursuits become tedious.

[St Thomas Aquinas]

Happy Australia Day!

Burns Night is really First Vespers of Australia Day. Discuss. https://t.co/l94lblJckS

— Oliver McCarthy (@OTGMcCarthy1979) January 25, 2024

Paul Pitcher Night

As well as being St Timothy's Day, today is of course Paul Pitcher Night.

At one time, all across Cornwall, people came together to smash pots and pitchers to celebrate Saint Paul’s conversion to Christianity. This was particularly popular in Bodmin where the young people of the town used to carry their broken pots in a procession. 

[Paul Pitcher Night | Cornwall For Ever!]

My feeling is that this was simply the miner's version of Plough Monday - commemorating (perhaps, seemingly, belatedly!) the beginning of the new year by smashing last year's beer pots.

St. Agnes' Eve—Ah, bitter chill it was!

The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold;
The hare limp'd trembling through the frozen grass,
And silent was the flock in woolly fold:
Numb were the Beadsman's fingers, while he told
His rosary, and while his frosted breath,
Like pious incense from a censer old,
Seem'd taking flight for heaven, without a death,

Past the sweet Virgin's picture, while his prayer he saith. 

[John Keats, 'The Eve of St Agnes'] 

Sir Ninian Comper, St Sebastian, Downside Abbey (1918)

St Wulfstan

F. Sebastian Bowden, Miniature Lives of the Saints for Every Day in the Year

St Kentigern

St Kentigern* finding the wizard Merlin, healing him of his madness, and converting him to Christianity (Stobo Kirk, Scotland)

 
*In the Harry Potter books he is mentioned by his nickname St Mungo, the patron saint of those suffering from magical maladies and injuries. 

Christian Albrecht von Benzon, 'Murder of Canute the Holy' (1843)

The Saint, the Centaur, and the Satyr

Francesco Guarino, St. Anthony the Abbot and the Centaur (1642)

According to St Jerome,

The blessed Paul had already lived on earth the life of heaven for a hundred and thirteen years, and Antony at the age of ninety was dwelling in another place of solitude (as he himself was wont to declare), when the thought occurred to the latter, that no monk more perfect than himself had settled in the desert. However, in the stillness of the night it was revealed to him that there was farther in the desert a much better man than he, and that he ought to go and visit him. So then at break of day the venerable old man, supporting and guiding his weak limbs with a staff, started to go: but what direction to choose he knew not. Scorching noontide came, with a broiling sun overhead, but still he did not allow himself to be turned from the journey he had begun. Said he, I believe in my God: some time or other He will show me the fellow-servant whom He promised me. He said no more. All at once he beholds a creature of mingled shape, half horse half man, called by the poets Hippocentaur. At the sight of this he arms himself by making on his forehead the sign of salvation, and then exclaims, Holloa! Where in these parts is a servant of God living? The monster after gnashing out some kind of outlandish utterance, in words broken rather than spoken through his bristling lips, at length finds a friendly mode of communication, and extending his right hand points out the way desired. Then with swift flight he crosses the spreading plain and vanishes from the sight of his wondering companion. But whether the devil took this shape to terrify him, or whether it be that the desert which is known to abound in monstrous animals engenders that kind of creature also, we cannot decide. 

Antony was amazed, and thinking over what he had seen went on his way. Before long in a small rocky valley shut in on all sides he sees a mannikin with hooked snout, horned forehead, and extremities like goats’ feet. When he saw this, Antony like a good soldier seized the shield of faith and the helmet of hope: the creature none the less began to offer to him the fruit of the palm-trees to support him on his journey and as it were pledges of peace. Antony perceiving this stopped and asked who he was. The answer he received from him was this: I am a mortal being and one of those inhabitants of the desert whom the Gentiles deluded by various forms of error worship under the names of Fauns, Satyrs, and Incubi. I am sent to represent my tribe. We pray you in our behalf to entreat the favour of your Lord and ours, who, we have learned, came once to save the world, and ‘whose sound has gone forth into all the earth.’ As he uttered such words as these, the aged traveller’s cheeks streamed with tears, the marks of his deep feeling, which he shed in the fullness of his joy. He rejoiced over the Glory of Christ and the destruction of Satan, and marvelling all the while that he could understand the Satyr’s language, and striking the ground with his staff, he said, Woe to you, Alexandria, who instead of God worships monsters! Woe to you, harlot city, into which have flowed together the demons of the whole world! What will you say now? Beasts speak of Christ, and you instead of God worship monsters. He had not finished speaking when, as if on wings, the wild creature fled away. Let no one scruple to believe this incident; its truth is supported by what took place when Constantine was on the throne, a matter of which the whole world was witness. For a man of that kind was brought alive to Alexandria and shown as a wonderful sight to the people. Afterwards his lifeless body, to prevent its decay through the summer heat, was preserved in salt and brought to Antioch that the Emperor might see it. 

[St Jerome, The Life of Paul the First Hermit, 7-8; H/T: The Amish Catholic] 

St Anthony's Fire

 
Happy St Anthony's Day:

On the eve of Saint Anthony’s Day, the small village of San Bartolome de Pinares in Spain was ablaze with tradition and faith. The annual ‘Luminarias’ festival took place on January 16, 2024, where dozens of riders rode their horses through the narrow cobblestone streets and into the heart of flaming bonfires. This centuries-old ritual, dating back 500 years, is a spectacle of purification and protection, designed to safeguard the animals for the year to come with the smoke of the bonfires. 

A Tradition Steeped in History and Faith
The ‘Luminarias’ festival is a significant cultural and religious event in Spain, particularly in the small village of San Bartolome de Pinares. The tradition is held in honor of Saint Anthony Abbot, revered in Spain as the patron saint of animals and the Father of monasticism. The bonfire ritual, where riders guide their horses through the flames, is believed to bless the animals, purifying them and protecting them for the upcoming year. This is a testament to the deep-rooted faith and devotion of the locals to Saint Anthony, reflecting his importance in Spanish culture as a protector of animals.

The Luminarias Festival: A Testament to Cultural Resilience
In the face of modernity, the residents of San Bartolome de Pinares have held steadfastly to their traditions. The ‘Luminarias’ festival, with its bonfire ritual, is a vivid representation of this cultural resilience. The festival serves not only as a religious observance but also as a symbol of community and continuity, bringing residents together in a shared heritage and collective faith. 

Spain’s Luminarias: A Beacon of Tradition in the Modern World
As the world evolves, the ‘Luminarias’ festival stands as a beacon of tradition in the modern world. It encapsulates a unique blend of religion, culture, and community that continues to thrive in the heart of Spain. This annual event, with its ritual of purification and protection, underscores the enduring relevance of traditions and the vital role they play in shaping identities and fostering community spirit. 

[Spain's 'Luminarias' Festival 2024: Faith Meets Tradition]

'Deficiénte vino, * iussit Iesus impléri hýdrias aqua, quæ in vinum convérsa est, allelúia.'

Christ performing his first miracle, in a stained glass window at Winchester Cathedral by Hugh Easton, unveiled in 1939 to commemorate the Coronation of King George VI and Queen Elizabeth 

 

'Tribus miraculis...'

Nicolas Poussin, The Baptism of Christ

 

Plough Tuesday

The Straw Bear of Whittlesea, Cambridgeshire (Museum of English Rural Life)

Plough Monday 2024

The agent said we had a choice: We might go or stay,
But either way our horses would be sold.
For what takes us a week could now be done in ’alf a day 
By newer ways. (At least that’s what we’re told!)

For the harness and horse colour gather dust upon the wall.

There’s no work now for the ploughboy or the team.

For there’s rust upon the ploughshare, empty echoes in the stall,

Now the ploughing’s done by contract, and with steam.

The ploughman once within the stable yard was king,
And Lord ’ee was a tyrant if ’ee found a horse abused,
’As lost ’is place, been pensioned off, as if to ease the sting,  

Still reckons that ’ee finds ’imself ill-used.

For the harness and horse colour gather dust upon the wall.

There’s no work now for the ploughboy or the team.

For there’s rust upon the ploughshare, empty echoes in the stall, 

Now the ploughing’s done by contract, and with steam.

 

The girl who with the ploughboy spends ’er evenings walking out
Now says she finds ’im out of touch and slow,
And because she wants a man ’oo knows what ’ee’s about 

Takes a greasy-handed driver for her beau

For the harness and horse colour gather dust upon the wall.

There’s no work now for the ploughboy or the team.

For there’s rust upon the ploughshare, empty echoes in the stall,

Now the ploughing’s done by contract, and with steam.

 
No more the cheery whistle! No more the whiplash crack!
No more the single furrow straight and true!
But an iron-throated whistle, then another answers back,
As a wire rope pulls seven furrows through.
 

Now the harness and horse colour gather dust upon the wall.

There’s no work now for the ploughboy or the team.

For there’s rust upon the ploughshare, empty echoes in the stall,

Now the ploughing’s done by contract, and with steam.

 
There’s smoke above the headland where the horses used to turn,
The air is filled with oil and with steam,
And over all the reek of coal the traction engines burn,
Now that strangers do the ploughing with machines.
 

For the harness and horse colour gather dust upon the wall.

There’s no work now for the ploughboy or the team.

For there’s rust upon the ploughshare, empty echoes in the stall,

Now the ploughing’s done by contract, and with steam.

Now the ploughing’s done by contract, and with steam.

Pristina nomine...

And of course on this very day one would wish a happy 170th birthday to the immortal Sherlock Holmes:

“What a lovely thing a rose is!” 

He walked past the couch to the open window and held up the drooping stalk of a moss-rose, looking down at the dainty blend of crimson and green. It was a new phase of his character to me, for I had never before seen him show any keen interest in natural objects. 

“There is nothing in which deduction is so necessary as religion,” said he, leaning with his back against the shutters. “It can be built up as an exact science by the reasoner. Our highest assurance of the goodness of Providence seems to me to rest in the flowers. All other things, our powers, our desires, our food, are all really necessary for our existence in the first instance. But this rose is an extra. Its smell and its colour are an embellishment of life, not a condition of it. It is only goodness which gives extras, and so I say again that we have much to hope from the flowers.”

'Journey of the Magi'

The Three Tuns, Marylebone

'A cold coming we had of it,

Just the worst time of the year
For a journey, and such a long journey:
The ways deep and the weather sharp,
The very dead of winter.'
And the camels galled, sore-footed, refractory,
Lying down in the melting snow.
There were times we regretted
The summer palaces on slopes, the terraces,
And the silken girls bringing sherbet.
Then the camel men cursing and grumbling
And running away, and wanting their liquor and women,
And the night-fires going out, and the lack of shelters,
And the cities hostile and the towns unfriendly
And the villages dirty and charging high prices:
A hard time we had of it.
At the end we preferred to travel all night,
Sleeping in snatches,
With the voices singing in our ears, saying
That this was all folly.

Then at dawn we came down to a temperate valley,
Wet, below the snow line, smelling of vegetation;
With a running stream and a water-mill beating the darkness,
And three trees on the low sky,
And an old white horse galloped away in the meadow.
Then we came to a tavern with vine-leaves over the lintel,
Six hands at an open door dicing for pieces of silver,
And feet kicking the empty wine-skins,
But there was no information, and so we continued
And arrived at evening, not a moment too soon
Finding the place; it was (you may say) satisfactory.

All this was a long time ago, I remember,
And I would do it again, but set down
This set down
This: were we led all that way for
Birth or Death? There was a Birth, certainly,
We had evidence and no doubt. I had seen birth and death,
But had thought they were different; this Birth was
Hard and bitter agony for us, like Death, our death.
We returned to our places, these Kingdoms,
But no longer at ease here, in the old dispensation,
With an alien people clutching their gods.
I should be glad of another death.

From the heart of Merrie England*! Happy Twelfth Night!

*Actually they make one think of a group of Dunlendings who've stopped off at the Ivy Bush for a couple of pints and found themselves in the middle of the Hobbiton-Bywater Afteryule football match.

For Christ's circumcision this day we keep,

Who for our sins did often weep;

His hands and feet were wounded deep,

And his blessed side, with a spear.

His head they crowned then with thorn,

And at him they did laugh and scorn,

Who for to save our souls was born;

God send us a happy New Year!

And now with New-Year's gifts each friend

Unto each other they do send;

God grant we may our lives amend,

And that truth may now appear.

Now like the snake cast off your skin

Of evil thoughts and wicked sin,

And to amend this new year begin:

God send us a merry new year!