Today is the traditional feast of St. Swithun (c. 800 - 862 AD). If it rains today, tradition says we will have 40 more days of rain and if it's clear, we'll have 40 more days of sunshine. Oh, I get it; Swithun is a primitive Phil the Groundhog! :) Those crazy Brits! (I mean those crazy Angles and Saxons.)
Swithun was a student and then a teacher of philosophy and Scripture as well as grammar; he was so learned, pious and wise, the king (Egbert) made him tutor of his son (Ethelwulf). Being a tutor is a thankless task, but it's clean, honorable work. He was promoted from there to bishop of Winchester. He had the qualities of any good pastor, and then some. He was humble, charitable and dedicated to his many parishes -- several of which he founded, many that he repaired, all of which he visited -- and if it were a special feast, then on foot, and barefoot at that. More even than that, humble miracles were attributed to him, such as the restoration of eggs broken in a basket of an old woman who tripped going over a bridge. What a nice homely little miracle, don't you think? Housewives like myself who have had to deal with broken eggs and spilled milk and crayoned walls and so forth can really appreciate the power of that wonder-working!
Swithun was so humble, he directed that he just be buried in the churchyard where folks would walk on his grave -- no superstitions there! -- and because he didn't mind that his bones be rained on. They did as he directed, but so many miracles took place at his grave that he was dug up and brought into and buried within the church. So he didn't get his way after all, but I'm sure his heart was warmed by the love his people extended him.
No comments:
Post a Comment