Angeli et amici: In festo Sancti Dávidis a Cambriae

Now mind you, I have absolutely positively nothing against Memorial Sloan-Kettering Cancer Center and its "Cycle for Survival" (whatever frivolous fundraising function that might be) but on the first of March the Empire State Building should not be lit orange/orange/orange but rather green/red/white in honor of the Welsh nation on the occasion of its patronal feast, St. David of Wales.

 

From the venerable and veracious Catholic Encyclopedia: "Bishop and Confessor, patron of Wales. He is usually represented standing on a little hill, with a dove on his shoulder. From time immemorial the Welsh have worn a leek on St. David's day, in memory of a battle against the Saxons, at which it is said they wore leeks in their hats, by St. David's advice, to distinguish them from their enemies. He is commemorated on 1 March. The earliest mention of St. David is found in a tenth-century manuscript Of the "Annales Cambriae", which assigns his death to A.D. 601. Many other writers, from Geoffrey of Monmouth down to Father Richard Stanton, hold that he died about 544, but their opinion is based solely on data given in various late "lives" of St. David, and there seems no good reason for setting aside the definite statement of the "Annales Cambriae", which is now generally accepted. Little else that can claim to be historical is known about St. David. The tradition that he was born at Henvynyw (Vetus-Menevia) in Cardiganshire is not improbable. He was prominent at the Synod of Brevi (Llandewi Brefi in Cardiganshire), which has been identified with the important Roman military station, Loventium. Shortly afterwards, in 569, he presided over another synod held at a place called Lucus Victoriae. He was Bishop (probably not Archbishop) of Menevia, the Roman port Menapia in Pembrokeshire, later known as St. David's, then the chief point of departure for Ireland. St. David was canonized by Pope Callistus II in the year 1120. This is all that is known to history about the patron of Wales. His legend, however, is much more elaborate, and entirely unreliable."

 

So simply skipping over the pious premise that he was an uncle to King Arthur and other inventive inaccuracies meant to support the claims of the Welsh episcopate's independence from the see of St. Augustine at Canterbury let us turn quickly to a couple of cute and quaint customs (mainly culinary) wherein devotedly and domestically this feast may be solemnized.  Firstly we have the delightfully dainty daffodil, Amaryllidoideae Narcissus, the Welsh national flower, which is worn on this day. Not only is particularly prettier (confer its scientific name above) it will not be maliciously malodorous in complete contradistinction to other the national emblem, which appeared on the coronation gown of Queen Elizabeth II, the Amaryllidaceae Allioideae, the lavishly lovely leek. Whichever variety of vegetation is victorious in completing one's holy haberdashery an entertaining extension of this delicious devotion would be to grow the particular plant at least in pot on the windowsill. Those with a modest modicum of artistic ability may daringly draw and decorate said conventional containers cleverly with vicarious visuals such as the Flag of Wales and the Flag of Saint David. Then there are totally tasty treats, the recipes which are available on wales.com, such as Cawl, a traditional Welsh soup; Bara Brith, a rich fruit loaf made with tea (sometimes known as 'speckled bread'); Glamorgan Sausages; Welsh Rarebit;and the scone-like Welsh Cakes.

 

Of course one can simply refresh the palate with a potent pint of Welsh Ale that might be making the rounds for the national day. After dropping off a big box of leeks at 350 Fifth Avenue.

Mr. Screwtape

Angeli et amici: In Feria Sexta Quattuor temporum

Those divinely domiciled in the delightful Diocese of bustling Bismarck should by now be amicably acquainted with the Ember Days. For those not so fortunately favored, His Excellency, Most Reverend David Kagan gives a succinctly sanguine summary which may be accessed here: http://bismarckdiocese.com/dakota-catholic-action/bishopsbriefs/EmberDays/ (There is a minor mistake about the number of Rogation Days but that is the subject of another e-pistle come Paschaltide). In addition to being devoted days of fasting, Quarter Tense are also designated days of abstinence. So while I don't know how many Japanese restaurants there are in the capital of North Dakota let us go to the diminutive Diocese of bucolic Brooklyn if for no other reason that there are several dozen eateries to choose from while continuing this ecclesiolgical exposition. Lovingly led by the resilient and redoubtable Francis Xavier, the brave Black Robes of the Company of Jesus arrived with the enterprising Explorers of the Sixteenth Century to a very feudal Japan. The one definitively defining trait that has surely simultaneously singlehandly both gotten out of and into a whole holy heap of trouble Jesuits of every generation is that of inculturation. Gastronomic gratitude is great because this example worked out well. On the days of Las Temporas the good Fathers ate no meat, only seafood, therefore the Japanese Christians developed the tasty treat known as tempura.

 

And so that's the answer to the question: "What are we having for lunch today?"
Mr. Screwtape

Angeli et amici: Conscientia mea iterum atque iterum coram Deo explorata ad cognitionem certam perveni vires meas ingravescente aetate non iam aptas esse ad munus Petrinum aeque administrandum.

Recently a certain little altar boy was offered a job, a promotion of sorts especially in terms of wardrobe, but one promptly, emphatically and unreservedly turned it down. "If I accept then every time I open my mouth I wouldn't be positively automatically infallible!"

 

Verily it has been quite a spell since this twerpy typist resorted to the e-pistolary format beloved and revered by the esteemed readership and for this one must apoplectically apologize. Not that one has run out of fresh ideas (and one indubitably has a few of those!) but unfortunately various villainous vicissitudes have been allowed to unfortunately underwhelm a somewhat silly scribe. Since an exhausting endearing expostulation is accessibly available upon request from the amply addled archives of Arkham Asylum  I won't bore you with distracting details. In other words, to piously paraphrase another cartoon character, "This looks like a job for Screwtape!"

 

Salus animarum suprema lex est. Now if there is one thing that this ridiculous redactor despicably detests that is supreme sanctimoniousness. In the immanently inscrutable designs of Divine Providence one has had a tantalizingly tiny educational experience in the incomprehensible illness so one is not so warily wise in simply stating, along with an illustrious luminary such as Saint John Bosco, "I want no long-faced saints". This then, perhaps, is the divinely defining moral maxim of this entertaining e-postolate (and this by empirical extension this annoyingly alliterative acolyte) that we should not be above spraying soda out our nostrils while learning a practical lesson from the catechism, late night or otherwise.

 

So let's get bouncing back on the theological track to holy Heaven. And if you notice another dastardly dereliction of duty by this manic Manhattanite please feel free to slap him silly. Ouch! What? Not enough auxiliary adjectives?

Mr. Screwtape

Angeli et amici: Tértio Nonas Januárii-Sanctæ Genovéfæ Vírginis

The third of January is a green letter day in Sister Screwtape’s Select Seminary for the Sanctification of Souls as it is the name day of an original esteemed recipient of these eccentric e-pistles. 

The Legend of the Patron Saint of the city of Paris indicates that as a young maiden she was consecrated to the Lord Christ by the holy Germanus, bishop of Auxerre and that through the ardent supplications of the pious Virgin the barbaric forces of the so-called Scourge of God and his Huns were repelled. Similarly the subject of this roast, sorry I really meant to say “toast”, was dedicated to the will of Divine Providence by means of The Holy Hunny Discernment Novena by the bearded boy bishop of Ten Eleven therefore she is in joyful felicity addressed with the appellation of Matron (and may she happily persist in said state for many more decades since among the many admirable qualities of her Prince, who hopefully by this time is able to distinguish between a numismatic representation of the Father of Occidental Monasticism and the Father of our Country, is numbered that fact that he is a great cook!) and in this Autumn just passed she and her dashing groom joyfully brought a blessed bundle to the regenerative waters of a hallowed font that is much storied (included in that number is an annoyingly alliterative acolyte). 

Also in imitation of her holy patroness, the emerald eyed seraph is in the forefront of the rogational resistance to the impious inheritors of the malicious mantle of Attila, which, in the month of the god with two faces viz. Janus, means the supremely sorrowful fortieth anniversary of an infamous intervention of the supreme black-robed platonic guardians of this land that all true children of Holy Mother Church in virtue of the sacrament of Confirmation wherein the Third Person of the Blessed Trinity has constituted them the Church Militant have an imperative duty to defy.

So as we begin this new year that was not prognosticated by poor pagan Mayans, remembering that our true homeland is the celestial Jerusalem and that we are passing through a valley of tears, don’t forget to enjoy that second slice of name day chocolate cake!

Mr. Screwtape

Angeli et amici: In Commemoratio S. Barbarae Virginis et Martyris

In the late 1960s many little girls playfully imagined that they were the purple suited, fiery wig wearing acrobatic adventurer Batgirl! Of course the tiny titans were also interestingly intrigued by her civilian identity as Police Commissioner Gordon's daughter who held the imposingly important job of Head Librarian of the Gotham City Library and whose name was Barbara.

Okay, I know that's not the most serious segue but what do you expect from this Joker? 

Switching Sixties screen symbolizations let us quoth from Around the Year with the Trapp Family by Maria Augusta Trapp regarding the Barbarazweig or Barbara Branch:  "On the fourth of December, unmarried members of the household are supposed to go out into the orchard and cut twigs from the cherry trees and put them into water. There is an old belief that whoever's cherry twig blossoms on Christmas Day can expect to get married in the following year. As most of us are always on tour at this time of the year, someone at home will be commissioned to "cut the cherry twigs." These will be put in a vase in a dark corner, each one with a name tag, and on Christmas Day they will be eagerly examined; and even if they are good for nothing else, they provide a nice table decoration for the Christmas dinner."

One of the medieval super-team known as the Fourteen Holy Helpers, St. Barbara is the patroness of artillerymen, military engineers, miners and others who work with explosives, fireworks manufacturers, firemen, stone masons and also of mathematicians; she is also invoked against sudden death, against fires, and against storms (especially lightning storms).  Her feast is celebrated by the British (Royal Artillery, RAF Armourers), Australian (Royal Regiment of Australian Artillery, RAAF Armourers), Canadian (Explosive Ordnance Disposal Technicians (EOD), Canadian Air Force Armourers, Royal Canadian Artillery, Canadian Military Field Engineers, Royal Canadian Navy Weapons Engineering Technicians), New Zealand (RNZAF Armourers, RNZA, RNZN Gunners Branch) armed forces. Additionally, it's celebrated by Irish Defence Forces Artillery Regiments, Norwegian Armed Forces Artillery Battalion, United States Army and Marine Corps Field and Air Defense Artillery, many Marine Corps Explosive Ordnance Disposal Technicians, and other Artillery formations. In art she is usually depicted as standing by a tower with three windows, carrying a palm branch and a chalice, sometimes with cannons by her side.   Biff! Bam! Kapow! Mr. Screwtape

Angeli et amici: In Dominica I Adventus

Once upon a time this ridiculous redactor meandered over to a particularly pious and potent parish that is silently situated on a simple side street in the nice neighborhood that is the surviving successor to Kleindeutschland. As it was the Lord's Day one simply situated oneself in a back pew like a good practicing cradle Catholic and assiduously assisted at the august Sacrifice of the Mass. After the final hymn one stealthily slithered into the sacristy to chat with the reverend rector of said parish (who at one time was a minister in an ecclesial community that was founded by a renegade Augustinian monk). One cutely complimented..."Sensational Sermon! Catholic Content" (and then lowering one's voice an octave) "Lutheran Length....."

The most famous Lutheran convert in the Catholic Church today is a pious piece of pyrotechnics succinctly summarized forthwith by the admirably astute Austrian Jesuit Father Francis X. Weiser: "The Advent wreath originated a few hundred years ago among the Lutheran population in Eastern Germany. It seems to have been suggested by one of the many light symbols which were used in folklore at the end of November and beginning of December. At that season of the year our pre-Christian forefathers began to celebrate the month of Yule (December) with the burning of lights and fires. The Christians in medieval times kept many of these light and fire symbols alive but Christianized them. In the sixteenth century somebody conceived the fortunate inspiration of using such lights as a religious symbol of Advent in the houses of the Faithful. The practice quickly spread and was soon accepted among Catholics and Protestants alike. The Advent wreath is exactly what the word implies, a wreath of evergreens, made in various sizes. It is either suspended from the ceiling or placed on a table, usually in front of the family shrine. Fastened to the wreath are four candles (3 purple, 1 pink) standing upright, at equal distances. These candles represent the four weeks of Advent and the four thousand years from Adam to Christ. Daily at certain times, (usually in the evening), the family gathers for a short exercise of prayer. Every Sunday of Advent one more candle is lit until all four candles shed their cheerful light to announce the approaching birthday of the Lord. Before the prayer starts, all other lights are extinguished in the room, and only the gentle glow of the live candles illuminates the darkness."

Of course to complete the toasty Teuton typology one heartily recommends the entertaining elixir Eierlikör (German Egg Nog) 

Ingredients: 10 egg yolks; 1/4 liter water; 300 grams sugar; 1/4 liter cognac/brandy; a vanilla bean; 50 ccm of 90% spirits (alcohol).

Directions: Let the sugar and water dissolve, then cool. Beat the egg yolks into the sugar solution until creamy. Add the vanilla bean. Gradually beat in the cognac and spirits. Pour into nice bottles (using a strainer). Serve within a week as Eierlikör does not keep long.

Then you'll be able to flawlessly flatter family with: "Wir wünschen ein gesegnetes Adventszeit und Weihnachten"!

Okay, maybe not so flawlessly.

  
Mr. Screwtape

Angeli et amici: In festo S. Andreae Apostoli

When one was a diminutive dimpled, sweetly shy, round-cheek, bright smiling, milk-chocolate-melt-your-heart-puppy-dog-eyes, little lad there was a name that already had been indelibly etched into the creative consciousness that is contained in a cute child's cranium: Andrew Carnegie. From the well stocked shelves of the local branch of the New York Public Library to the sweet strains of classical music in Carnegie Hall to the sponsorship of local PBS programming on Channel 13 the indefatigable immigrant from Scotland immanently influenced an infant imagination. Crotchety Celts and beautiful babies in the same thought can only mean that its Latha Naomh Anndra, Saint Andrew's Day.  

But we must leave realm of the Highlanders and travel to the Continent in order to cull the deeply devout devotions (or is it supremely silly superstitions?) towards the Apostle known as Prōtoklētos (First-Called) whose name in Greek means "manly". (Are we seeing a pattern here yet?) In parts of Germany, Austria, the Czech Republic, Slovakia, Poland, Russia and Romania, the belief exists that the night before St. Andrew's Day is specially suitable time that reveals a young woman's future husband. Many related customs exist: for example, the pouring of hot lead into water (in Poland, one usually pours hot wax from a candle through a key hole into cold water), divining the future husband's profession from the shape of the resulting piece. In some areas in Austria, young women would drink wine and then recite a supplication, called Andreasgebet (Saint Andrew's prayer).  Yet another custom was to throw a clog over one's shoulder: if it lands pointing to the door, the woman will get married in the same year. In some parts of the Czech Republic and Slovakia, young women would write down the names of potential husbands  on little pieces of paper and stick these into little pieces of dough, called Halusky. When cooked, the first one to float to the surface of the water would reveal the name of their future husband. In Poland, some women put pieces of paper (on which they have written potential husbands) under the pillow and first thing in the morning they take one out, which allegedly reveals their future husband. In Romania, it is customary for young women to put forty-one grains of wheat beneath their pillow before they go to sleep, and if they dream that someone is coming to steal their grains that means that they are going to get married next year. Also in some other parts of the country the young women light a candle from Easter and bring it, at midnight, to a fountain and they ask St. Andrew to let them glimpse their future husband.

Now all these inane imprecations are ersatz enough to make one a wee bit thirsty. While ye Lassies are figurin' out which kooky custom will give ye yer best shot a homing in on a holy hunny, me and th' Laddies will meander over ta Loch Lomond and celebrate Saunt Andra with a dram o' scotch.

Ouch! You're supposed to throw the shoe towards the door, not me! 

Mr. Screwtape