>Thoughts for the Memorial of St. Henry of Finland

>Today is St. Henry of Finland’s Day, which is celebrated particularly by the faithful in Sweden and Finland. According to medieval legend Henry was born in England, later became bishop of Uppsala in Sweden, and subsequently became the first bishop of Finland in the 12th century; he was later martyred in Finland. The problem is, Henry was locally recognized as a saint long before the formal process of canonization as we understand it was put in place. As a result, it is very difficult to prove much if anything about Henry’s life, other than the fact that the first documentation of him dates from about a century after he was killed, and there is no official declaration of his sanctity from Rome, other than a tacit acknowledgment by Pope Boniface IX in a letter written more than 200 years after his martyrdom. Yet the story of his life has proven intensely important to the development of Finland as a nation, even apart from its adoption of Christianity.

So does it matter when, as a culture, we forget these legends, and St. Henry means nothing more than, for example, an excuse for celebrating a name day party? This question has been in my mind for some time, but came back into the front of my thinking last evening as I was researching the history of a rather obscure church in Barcelona for CatholicBarcelona.com, and continued subsequently when I listened to the most recent episode of Catholic In A Small Town [N.B. Thank you to Mac and Katherine Barron for both their kind remarks about this blog and in directing their listeners to visit it.] When do we fall into the mere estoteric curiosity in our understanding the meaning of the things around us?

Later this week I will be posting a new entry in my ongoing project to catalogue the interesting religious sites in Barcelona, which in this case will be about the church dedicated to Sant Cugat in that city. Sant Cugat – or Saint Cucuphas as he is known outside of Catalonia – was martyred under the Emperor Diocletian during the last Roman persecution of the Christians in about 304 A.D. According to ancient legend, he was heavily tortured by his captors, including being roasted in an oven. Admittedly some of the tales of the early saints have what our scientific-skeptical minds in the present age seem to regard as improbable, but oftentimes these stories have bases in facts that come to light through contemporary research. Saint Henry and Sant Cugat, in this respect, have certain aspects in common, despite living many centuries apart.

Whatever the case, the church dedicated to Sant Cugat in Barcelona has gone by several appellations, among them that of “Sant Cugat del Forn” or “Saint Cucuphas of the Oven”. In researching the history of the building, newer sources I consulted stated that this was likely a reference to the old city bakery which stood nearby in the 12th and 13th centuries. In the interest of fact-checking however, I dove deeper and discovered earlier sources, which indicated that the “of the Oven” reference was not to medieval commercial ventures, but rather the long-preserved belief that the oven in which the Romans burned Sant Cugat stood on or near the spot where the church was built, just outside the old Roman walls of the city. As the first document naming a church dedicated to Sant Cugat on the site dates from close to 1000 A.D., it would appear to my (admittedly amateur) mind that the earlier sources were correct, as the church predated the bakeries.

In further discussion with a friend – and a Protestant one at that – he pointed out the fact that it was probably appropriate to have the city bakeries built nearby the church, rather than have the church named for the bakeries. This makes perfect sense given the well-known medieval practice of placing trade guilds under the protection of a saint whose life had some connection to the trade which was being practiced. Nearby Sant Cugat for example, the ancient Romanesque chapel of En Marcús was dedicated to Our Lady the Guide, because it was located on the main Roman road out of the city, and beginning in the 12th century it became the chapel for the Guild of Mounted Couriers – the medieval equivalent of the Pony Express.

Why did present-day writers miss this connection between Sant Cugat’s church and the site of his torture, which was clearly understood in earlier sources dating from less than 100 years ago? Part of this has to do with secularization, of course, since once cannot expect Catholics who do not know Church history to understand these things. Yet on a wider level, it is also because those who are supposedly educated individuals and put in charge of researching and preserving our history, or in a broader context those who take it upon themselves to do so, are from a West that has become culturally lazy. Even on the average person level, far from the supposedly lofty heights of academic research, cultural laziness remains a problem.

In last evening’s Catholic In A Small Town episode for example, Mac and Katherine questioned the recent practice of young men in their school district wearing rosary beads around the neck. Those of us who grew up in the 1980’s are familiar with this practice among women, for Madonna made this sort of sacrilege fashionable back in the day. Apparently the wearing of a rosary as a necklace is considered in some instances to be symbolic of a gang affiliation, and it is why an 8th grader in Texas was recently suspended for wearing one to school. In this case, the teen complained that her recently-deceased grandmother was a devout Catholic and that she was wearing them to remember her; of course as a devout Catholic her late grandmother would have told her that a rosary is not a necklace and is not meant to be worn as such.

As pointed out in the podcast discussion, in this instance the practice is almost certainly not one of deliberately mocking the Church or the Blessed Virgin, for it is a reasonably safe assumption to state that the wearers are merely following a fashion, and they clearly do not know what they are doing. In fact, as suggested in the discussion, it might even be an opportunity for proselytization – or at the very least a discussion about the Church. Perhaps, the legend that the rosary was given to St. Dominic by the Virgin Mary could also be introduced. In other words, one should realize that a door has been opened, and thereafter take the other person by the hand and walk them through it. Part of that process, it seems to me, can involve the use of pious legends.

One of the wonderful things about being a Catholic is this ongoing celebration throughout the year of the communion of saints: that community that has gone before us and made it to Heaven. Every day the liturgical calendar gives us the opportunity to reflect on and learn about saints whose lives are well-known to us through their own writings and that of their contemporaries, such as St. Teresa of Avila or St. Thomas More, but also to learn about more obscure individuals such as Saint Henry of Finland or Sant Cugat, who never went through the formal process of canonization, but whom the Church entrusts to God and to the devotion of the local populace. These are great opportunities not only for the faithful to educate themselves, but also to reach out to those who do not know the Faith, as a way to discuss and learn about the Church in the context of the physical world – its place names, objects, holidays, and so on – that are already around us, but whose significance in many cases continues to be forgotten.

The Martyrdom of St. Henry of Finland by C.A. Eckman (1854)

>St. Bridget of Sweden: No Shrinking Violet

>Let it never be said that The Courtier fails to provide something, whenever possible, for his dear readers’ delectation. In the middle of the night he awoke feeling rather ill, with a sore throat, headache, and achy joints, and had difficulty in getting back to sleep. Yet upon rising at his customary hour after some fitful sleep, and considering the possibility of taking a sick day, he also thought that on such a miserable Friday, the gentle reader would appreciate having something at least marginally interesting to scroll through over their morning or afternoon beverage – depending on how quiet one’s office/home happens to be.

And so it is that this writer directs your attention to the fact that today is the Feast of St. Bridget of Sweden. Though The Courtier rarely if ever needs an excuse to go into panegyrics over anything Scandinavian, despite not being of viking stock himself, today is a particularly fitting occasion on which to do so, for two reasons. First, because St. Bidget is the patron saint of Sweden, and two, thinking about Scandinavia may prove to be something of a mental air conditioner unit – all of those lovely, cool and dark forests and fjords and so on.

Catholics and others who are devotees of praying the rosary may be interested to read and reflect upon St. Bridget’s “Fifteen Prayers”, revealed to her while in Rome and approved for the use of the faithful by Blessed Pius IX. However of particular interest to a broader audience may be the work known variously as the “Liber celestis”, “Liber celestis imperatoris ad reges”, or “Tractatus de summis pontificibus”, but more commonly referred to by their Spanish title, the “Revelaciones” of St. Bridget. Belying the oft-repeated myth (typically on the Left) that medieval Europe was a place of ignorance and provincialism, the Swedish St. Bridget entrusted the editing of the revelations made to her while deep in prayer at the Basilica of St. Paul’s-Outside-the-Walls in Rome to her confessor Alfonso Pecha, a retired bishop from Spain; indeed, St. Bridget herself made the pilgrimage to Santiago de Compostela in NW Spain. She also spent a great deal of time, like St. Catherine of Sienna, trying to convince the Popes to leave Avignon and return to Rome – whether they wanted to hear it or not.

Because her private revelations are personal visions which St. Bridget experienced, and are not to be considered Church Dogma, the interested reader should take them with a grain of spiritual salt. However, there are many passages within them that should be profound points of reflection, in particular when one thinks of the state of Christianity today, and how tainted by moral relativism it has become. Even in St. Bridget’s day this was a problem, and her words from nearly seven centuries ago certainly ring as a call to action in our own time.

Take for example, this portion, in which the Blessed Virgin explains to St. Bridget why it is that Jesus continues to be crucified today by people within the Church itself:

But perhaps you ask: ‘How do they crucify him?’ Well, first they put him on the cross they have prepared for him. This is when they take no notice of the precepts of their Creator and Lord. Then they dishonor him when he warns them through his servants to serve him, and they despise this and do as they please.

They crucify his right hand by mistaking justice for injustice, saying: ‘Sin is not so grave and odious to God as it is said nor does God punish anyone forever, but his threats are only to scare us. Why would he redeem us if he wanted us to perish?’ They do not consider that the least little sin a person delights in is enough to send him or her to eternal punishment.

Since God does not let the least little sin go unpunished nor the least good go unrewarded, they will always have a punishment inasmuch as they have a constant intention of sinning, and my Son, who sees their heart, counts that as an act. For they would carry out their intention, if my Son permitted it.

They crucify his left hand by turning virtue into vice. They want to continue sinning until the end, saying: ‘If we say at the end, just once, “God, have mercy on me!” God’s mercy is so great that he will pardon us.’

This is not virtue, wanting to sin without making amends, wanting to get the prize without having to struggle for it, not unless there is some contrition in the heart, not unless a person really wants to mend his ways, if only he could do so were it not for illness or same other impediment.

They crucify his feet by taking pleasure in sinning without once thinking of my Son’s bitter punishment or without once thanking him from the bottom of their hearts and saying: ‘God, how bitterly you suffered! Praise be to you for your death!’ Such words never come from their lips.

The contemporary reader, if he has been paying attention to what has been going on in society in general over the past several decades, will no doubt be astounded in reading this passage to recognize the splintering and cracking of the universal Church, in part because of a substantial movement since the 1960’s to declare sin not to be sinful.

In naming St. Bridget as one of the six patron saints of Europe, Pope John Paul II wrote that:

She spoke unabashedly to princes and pontiffs, declaring God’s plan with regard to the events of history. She was not afraid to deliver stern admonitions about the moral reform of the Christian people and the clergy themselves (cf. Revelations, IV, 49; cf. also IV, 5)…Yet there is no doubt that the Church, which recognized Bridget’s holiness without ever pronouncing on her individual revelations, has accepted the overall authenticity of her interior experience. She stands as an important witness to the place reserved in the Church for a charism lived in complete docility to the Spirit of God and in full accord with the demands of ecclesial communion. In a special way too, because the Scandinavian countries from which Bridget came were separated from full communion with the See of Rome during the tragic events of the 16th century, the figure of this Swedish saint remains a precious ecumenical “bridge”, strengthened by the ecumenical commitment of her order.

Because Sweden has been Lutheran-Calvinist for such a long time, it is very easy to forget that it had a Catholic past which is still very much visible in its architecture and customs. Yet because of immigration from other parts of Europe and the rest of the world, the number of Catholics in Sweden is growing. With the passage of time, it may be that native Swedes themselves may want to reconsider their views on the Catholic Church and to come home to it; such a dream is by no means outside the realms of possibility. After all, did any of us think we would live to see the day when so many Anglicans would be coming home?

In an age when few Catholics anymore feel sufficiently convicted to call a spade a spade, perhaps the example of this strong and unafraid woman whose memory we honor today will inspire not only her countrymen but also many of us to witness to truth, rather than to remain silent.

>The Private World of Ingmar Bergman

>Thanks to my brother Alex for sending along this amazing story from W Magazine. In the November issue, Diane Solway details the life of legendary Swedish filmmaker Ingmar Bergman at his country retreat on the remote island of Fårö in the Baltic Sea, where beginning in 1966 he spent long periods of time working and thinking. Solway deals with the somewhat complicated family life of a man who had many wives and lovers, as well as children from many of them, reminding this reader quite a bit of the rather convoluted private life of another 20th Century genius, Pablo Picasso. However the article also shares some of the unusual details of life in this isolated and spartan home.

It’s hilarious to read, for example, that the great Ingmar Bergman, iconic director of modern cinema, loved American popcorn films and popular television, and might spent the afternoon in his private screening room enjoying “Jurassic Park”, or the work of Jim Henson. “Bergman was a fan of the Muppets,” Solway writes, “particularly the out-of-control drummer, Animal.” One wonders what he thought of the Swedish Chef. It is also interesting to note in the article how Bergman, who always struggled with his agnosticism, came in some way to rely upon the local Lutheran church as he grew older.

Long before his death on the island in 2007, Bergman had sold the rights to his films, so upon his passing he willed that his home and all of its contents (save each of his children being allowed to keep one memento) be sold to the highest bidder. The photos which accompany Ms. Solway’s piece in W are the only ones ever to be published of how the residence appeared during Bergman’s tenure there. In this he was not unlike his contemporary Greta Garbo, who upon her death in 1990 also scattered her possessions to the winds. Prior to auction, her heirs allowed Patrick Stutz and Architectural Digest to visit the reclusive Swedish actress’ Manhattan apartment where she had lived since 1953.

We can often learn a great deal about the private thoughts of a public figure by examining how they spent their days. The great Philip II of Spain, for example, did not have a grand suite of rooms at the Escorial Palace, but rather a small and austere bedroom located just off the sanctuary of the monastic church of the imperial complex, where he could hear mass easily when ill. In Bergman’s case, it is somehow not surprising to find not only a spartan, but slightly sad place where he spent much of his time, particularly in his declining years.