SAINT DOMNE EAFE, OTHERWISE KNOWN AS SAINT ERMENBURGA - NOVEMBER 19, 2022

 

Minster Abbey in Thanet, Kent, U.K.

It is a delightful surprise to see how much I am learning in my 60s, in comparison to other decades of my life. Part of it has to do with the availability of so many websites, especially YouTube, which is an excellent source of information for the "do it yourselfer" that wants to get all handsy with their household and/or creative ventures. There is no question that the internet has been an incredible boon for my artistic soul, AND a fabulous research tool for my writing, which used to require that I hop down to the nearest library. Likewise with my genealogy. It was much harder to do, as much legwork and location scouting had to be done with one's feet in the old days. 

Something close to my heart is the research I am able to do about the Saints, especially the grandmothers from whom I descended, but also the many royal and sainted cousins that, thanks to the history books for the various royal houses of Europe, I am able to trace through time. Today's saint, Feast Day November 19, is one of these. In the modern era, she is called Ermenburga, but based on the wide-ranging reading I have done about her, it appears that Ermenburga was actually the saints SISTER, and that the Saint under discussion bore the name "Domne Eafe." This name has been spelled variously down through the ages because spelling was more of a suggestion in the early days, rather than a hard-and-fast rule.

"Domne" was probably more of a title than a name, in fact.  Eafe, or some version of that, was likely her moniker. She is my 4th cousin, removed by many generations - I think something like 36, since she was born sometime in the 7th century.

She was the daughter of a king and queen, was married for a limited time to some kind of "sub king" named Merewalh, and gave birth to 4 daughters, all saints, and one boy child who died young. After her husband died, she devoted herself entirely to religion, as many women did in that era. 

Merewalh, her husband, has an interesting history. He may have had Welsh origins (Which forms a large part of my background.) The Welsh are an ancient and wildly interesting and intellectual Celtic people that fascinate me. I have considered learning the language at some point, but there is only so much a person can learn!

HERE is Merewalh's page in the Wikipedia website.

From her cousin, King Ecgbert of Kent, (to apologize for killing her young nephews to protect his throne) Saint "Ermenburga" obtained the land in Thanet, Kent for the building of a church and Abbey. The method used had an element of magic to it. She had a pet deer and was granted the amount of land that the deer would run across, and she ended up with quite a lot. (King Ecgbert was my 35th great grandfather, by the way.)

The inside of St. Mary's Church

Minster-in-Thanet

Kent, U.K.

Domne Eafe vowed never to marry again, and thus retired to the monastery she founded. One of her daughters was also Abbess there for some time.

I was DELIGHTED to learn that there is an order of nuns living in the Abbey at "Minster-in-Thanet." The place has changed hands a time or two but it is now under the care of an order of Benedictines.

In 1538 it was seized by The Crown. It was a private residence for about 400 years. In 1937 it was put on the market and an order of German nuns purchased it, and by some miracle they succeeded, in Hitler-era Germany, to relocate there, where they dedicated the place to Saint Mildred.

 This institution has a wonderful history of nuns producing various works of art. Can you imagine? This place has had holy women living in it since the 7th Century! 1300 years of prayers, work, and art.

An interesting newsy blogpost about the history of the nuns at Minster-in-Thanet can be found HERE.

One of the first things that occurred to me, of course, is how terribly cold that place must be. I wondered at the sturdy constitutions of the nuns that live there. I would make a lousy ascetic. I can barely stand to turn the thermostat below 68 in my apartment, otherwise my bones scream at me!

Speaking of screaming bones - I went to my parish today for the first time in several years, San Felipe de Neri, the oldest church in Albuquerque, and located very close to me. Once again, I bemoaned the lack of consideration for disable people that most public buildings demonstrate.

When I arrived I parked behind the building and displayed the placard that the lovely office worker had given me the day before. As previously instructed, I walked through the back gate and tried to get to the church through the gate that is just beside the front entrance, and I found that it was LOCKED. In vain, I rattled it a bit. No luck. So CLOSE to my goal, yet so far! Why does no one think about the disabled? 

The locked gate meant I would have to go back to the courtyard and enter the church through an interior door near the altar. But where was it?

There were about 10 doors leading off of the large brick courtyard, with nary a sign in sight. I tried a couple of the doors and they were locked. No one was around. I suppose this was because it was Saturday afternoon.

The interior of San Felipe de Neri

Fortunately for me, a nice older couple came tottering in and they pointed out one of the plain white doors and when I went in, I saw that it lead immediately into the church, just off the altar.

I was too late for confession - something I would normally do on a more regular basis, but I have been in too much pain to attend the last several years, and I was wary of Covid, since I have asthma.

By the time mass started 20 minutes later, the church was packed with people, and it seemed that every sick child in Albuquerque, who had a productive croupy cough, was sitting behind me. Only 4 people were wearing masks, including me. 

One of the sick children was coughing onto my cheek and my neck. I kept trying to move away from him, and he kept inching toward me, the phlegm in his chest noisily moving up into his throat. Several happy babies were gurgling and burbling and shrieking directly behind me, through the whole thing. I caught 2 or 3 sentences of the priest's homily. Between the noise of the congregation, the coughing and sneezing, the terrible sound system, and the Father's thick accent, I could not get much out of it - but that's the advantage of the Catholic mass. It is basically the same, no matter what day you go or which church you attend. Even if we can't really hear it, we KNOW what is going on. The priest is conducting the sacrifice and we are there with him.

As time went on, my arthritis pain increased more and more so that, by the time the good Father was finished with his homily, I thought I was going to die from pain. I had forgotten to bring a cushion, but I doubt it would have helped much. My bones throughout my body have disintegrated to a point that a measly cushion is pointless.

Soon, I realized that I was going to have to leave, otherwise I was not going to be able to make it to the car. After a lifetime of taking care of myself, and mostly living alone, I felt the real need for someone to help me - and the bleak reminder of my solitary state.

At an opportune moment, I got up and made it to the front of the church. I could not exit the way I had come, otherwise I would disturb the congregation. Because of that damn locked gate, I had to walk 3 blocks AROUND the entire church just to get to my car. 

Our society is FULL of locked gates that prevent disabled people from having access to most of what everyone else takes for granted.

Realizing that this was probably the last time I would try going to mass by myself, I kept reminding myself that soon the incredible pain of walking would be over and I would probably never have to do this again. One foot in front of the other, limping along with my cane. 

There were a lot of people on the streets, walking around, coming in and out of the shops, on their way to restaurants, enjoying a brisk autumn evening in Old Town. The sun was low in the sky. The chill intensified. I struggled to my car across the uneven sidewalk and then back through the dirt parking lot.  With great relief I managed to get inside my car and collapse, saying "thanks be to God!" many times.

On the way home, I gave thought to my spiritual life. I was disappointed not to have been physically able to stay longer and enjoy the Eucharist. It is a very special thing, but I was also keenly aware that Jesus had followed me into the church, sat with me in the pew, and accompanied me on my walk back to my car. He was with me on the drive, and later at home, and I felt His companionship, as I usually do. Sometimes, in fact, it is much easier to experience His Presence when the noise and activity of others around me is not asserting the distraction of random outside influences.

Jesus does not usually step in and fix all pains for any person. He saves his miracles for specific reasons known only to Him. I trust His decision on when to do this. I am not one of those people that whines, "why me, Lord?"  Rather, I have always felt, "why NOT me?" and felt lucky that my life circumstances are not worse than they are.

The important thing, for me, is that He accompanies me on my journey through life. He is in the pains and the pleasures, holding me in His love. He saw how I struggled, trying to attend mass for the first time in a long while. He was right there - encouraging me and loving me.

Jesus knows that if I could go to mass every day, I would certainly love to do that, but I have always felt, on the other hand, that the power of the Eucharist is so all-encompassing that if I have taken the Lord within me in such a way just once in my life, I have Him within me completely in an equal manner as if I had taken advantage of this Blessed Sacrament every day. The key is what is in one's heart.

I sometimes plan my days as if I am still that independent young woman who went all sorts of places by herself and took care of her own business just fine. Some aspects of this have changed - probably forever - and I think this may be what The Lord was demonstrating to me today. By the time I reached home, I had decided how I would pivot on this newly accepted reality. Until something changes, I will make the best of things and try to get someone to bring the Eucharist to me, when there is someone available to do that.

We do not know our limits until we test them, and that is one of the new things I learned in a concrete way today.

God bless us all

Silver Rose

Web sites:

My parish: https://sanfelipedeneri.org/

The Orthodox "take" on "Ermenburga: https://orthochristian.com/80901.html

Benedictine Nuns of Minster Abbey - https://minsterabbeynuns.org/1937-monastic-life-returns-to-minster-abbey/

Wikipedia article:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Domne_Eafe

Early British Kingdoms:   https://www.earlybritishkingdoms.com/adversaries/bios/aebbeminster.html

King Saint Stephen I of Hungary - August 16

Saint Stephan of Hungary

977-1038

Saint Stephan was the husband of my first cousin, 29 times removed - Gizela von Bayern. They were the parents of Saint Emeric. I get a kick out of the variety of people to whom I have some familial connection. We call him a "shirt tail relation" when the person is related to us by marriage.

He was raised a Christian, as the son of a Magyar Chieftain named Geza, and Stephan was estimated to be between 20 and 22 when he succeeded him and became the last Grand Prince of the Hungarians in 997. Just the year before, he had married my cousin, Gisela of Bavaria, the daughter of Duke Henry II of Bavaria. Shortly after succeeding his father, he became the first King of Hungary in the year 1000, anointed by Pope Sylvester II.

Stephan was a tremendous supporter of the Christian faith during his reign, warring against various tribes and chieftains, building churches, advocating for the rights of the Holy See, and fighting against the pagan reaction to Christianity. It was concerning to me that he is reported .to have forcibly converted the Black Hungarians and was rewarded for it by Pope Sylvester II.

I often try to emulate virtues of the saints that are celebrated for the day, but I believe I will leave off the forced conversions! Saints make heroic efforts toward the ideal, and often there are miracles associated with them, but no human being is perfect, and the saints are not immune from this common imperfection.

If even the saints have failings, we can acknowledge our own without getting hysterical about it. None of us is so great that we are expected to be flawless. We all just do the best we can and hope for the best.

The way I figure it, if I can find a way to draw close to the saints, make them real to me and find some link to them, the inspiration may be greater. And I need all the help I can get. Sometimes, finding a point of commonality with a saint like King Saint Stephen of Hungary can be a challenge. I typically gravitate toward the mystics, the hermits and the anchoresses.  Contemplating Stephen's life story, I think I would like to emulate his strong faith, which he MUST have had in order to actually go to war over it, build churches and monastic institutions, and all the other efforts he made to normalize a new Christian culture in his country.

The Holy Right Hand of Saint Stephen of Hungary

Found to be incorrupt upon examination in his crypt

and thereafter "removed" and stored in this reliquary

Today I am coming to grips with some of my physical conditions that are gradually growing worse and making function difficult. I dropped my new computer last night and cracked the casing, so at only 3 months old, the poor baby has to go in to be fixed, which is terribly complicated because I have to back it up and encrypt it and arrange some kind of special security "key" to get back into it when it is returned to me. The man at Hewlett Packard who took my repair order has to call me back on Monday when the packaging is due to be delivered, and then he will walk me through it because I have hit the techno wall, something I thought would never happen.

I am breaking a lot of things lately. The long-term carpal tunnel syndrome has reduced the feeling in my fingers and makes me drop a lot of things. I can't count the number of phones I have cracked.

I used to get really mad at myself every time I dropped something or broke another phone, but I have decided to accept the reality of my situation. I am not being careless. I am not doing it deliberately. I am just old and broken - very broken, in some regards. I USED to be quite graceful, but no more. I have to accustom myself to the new reality and just deal with it. I am full of flaws, and there's little I can do about it. I used to be much more in charge of the direction of my life, but with the disabilities and aging, this is no longer the case.

Meanwhile, I hope you are enjoying these diary entries that juxtapose the saints with my daily doings. I hope to bring you into my life in these musings. I know I have nothing particularly grand to expound, but we are all together in this ordinary, daily grind of life, and it is in the ordinary production of our duties that we exhibit our faith. Saint Stephen did this in his kingly way, dealing with matters of state. and we do the same thing, but on a much less grand scale.

I hope this day finds you happy and serene.

God bless you all.

Silver Rose

Copyright (c) 2021

All rights reserved.

THE CURRENT SITUATION

Fanciful cottage in the woods

For many years, I envisioned the institution of a contemplative ashram, where retired persons could gather together in a loose spiritual companionship to support one another, creating an environment conducive to prayer and welcoming of like-minded visitors. I had lived in a similar community in California and really loved the life. I wanted to share it with others.

After I became disabled, it became clear that I would not be able to realize this dream. I am financially limited, I am in constant pain, my mobility is impaired, and I am slowly going blind from macular degeneration. Bowing to the will of God, I resolved to live as a consecrated person by myself, at home, and I have done so, to the best of my ability, for the last 14 years.

Apartment living has grown increasingly more incompatible, as it is neither quiet enough nor private enough to live a life dedicated to prayer.   One of my neighbors is behaving in a bizarre fashion. She presses her face into my kitchen window while uttering incantations. One day, she was staring into my apartment while folding her hands in a prayer posture and SINGING something. Sometimes when she sees me, she crosses herself. If I actually open my windows, she can hear the noise from her apartment and comes running out to her patio and jacks up her radio. When I attach my hose to the faucet between our apartments, she sometimes comes flying out of her door and screeches like a witch doctor, several times, crosses herself, then hurries back into her house. Yesterday, I discovered that my patio had been vandalized, with potted plants thrown to the ground. It was her, no doubt, but what can one do? I just hope she doesn't start swinging her giant AXE around. (I saw her bring home a big axe with a long handle one day. The axe head was shiny, and glinted in the sun. Why does one need an AXE in an apartment, I wonder?)

When I walk the back side of the apartment, this pathetic woman bangs on a pile of noise makers until I disappear from her line of sight. Neighbors have reported to me that she has been spreading wild rumors and reporting conversations that we have never had. When she moved in, we had a lovely time together, but the resident gossip-monger told her a pack of lies about me, claimed I had gone to the office to "complain" about this neighbor, and the neighbor just went off the deep end. I begged her to go to the office and let the manager tell her the truth, but she refused. It's a strange situation.

Satan is alive and well, my friends. The more faithful you become to the commandments of the Lord, the more you will be harassed. Liars, thieves, gossipers, alcoholics and crazy people will target you. It has always been thus.

I have realized that what I need is a house, rather than an apartment, otherwise, I am just jumping from the frying pan into the fire. Who is to say that another apartment will be any better than this one? It could easily be worse, since all the affordable housing is in bad neighborhoods.

I know one woman who achieved her dreams of owning a house of retreat by marrying a man with money.  I won't be going that route.

Monastic institutions and the odd mystics scattered here and there used to live on the donations of a grateful people, but our world is overpopulated with scam artists, hackers and thieves, so much so that Americans are suspicious.

Every day in my email there are several letters from Nigeria telling me I have won a lottery and there is money waiting for me, if only I will pay the postage or SOMETHING. Every day through snail mail there are pleas for donations from at least 2 deserving Catholic institutions. Every Sunday, Catholics have to face the outstretched donation basket. Every time you drive in your car, there is at least one raggedy person holding a cardboard sign, asking for money. To whom does one give?

There is a donation button on this blog, but it is rarely used. I did get a nice donation once from someone who then began to direct my life in a flurry of emails. That's the risk you run when you accept donations. Many people feel they are entitled to tell you how to live your life, as if their donation has purchased you. It is much easier and less demeaning to find some commercial endeavor than to accept charity, with all its strings and indignities.

I am going to shift focus to finishing a book and selling it. I have been saying I will do this, on and off, for some time now. It is time to stop procrastinating and just do it. I plan to write a bit less in this blog.

At the same time, I will take up my art projects once more. I have sold sketches and paintings in the past, and will concentrate on religious subjects, for the most part. In addition to this, I have begun making crocheted lace baptismal blankets and hats, as well as chapel veils and shawl for adults. Warm ponchos, scarves and hats made from a very nice wool/acrylic yarn will be produced for the cold months. Having previous experience with jewelry making, I have begun collecting the necessary materials to make unique, high quality rosaries. When I have accumulated enough stock to open an Etsy shop or something similar, I will give it a whirl and see if I can make a little money to supplement my immediate needs.  I will keep you apprised of my progress, now and then, through either this blog or my art blog, Silver Cottage Creations on Blogspot.

I continue to remain available for genealogy projects. See my Silver Cottage Genealogy blog on Blogspot for details about that.

I love the freedom of this blog, and the newsy, intimate feel. Blogs have an immediacy that appeals to the moment of inspiration. It has been hard to tear myself away from it because I enjoy it so much, and I feel some connection with people of like mind, but it takes a surprising number of hours to produce even the shortest blog post, when I factor in all the changes to design elements, the sourcing of factual material, and so on.

Years ago, I wrote for television and made some money doing it. I won't return to that medium, as I loathe the business end of things, but I've been saying for years that I am going to finish at least ONE of the many books I have started, and it appears that now must be the time to do it, before I go blind. I hope I am able to produce something that is commercially viable but also of some redeeming spiritual value, as I've turned out to be a rather serious person, and it makes a difference to me as to whether or not I contribute something worth having in the world.

While I write the book, I will learn, more and more, to pray on my feet, in the noise, in the hostilities, in the midst of constant interruptions. I will try to be more like Brother Lawrence, among his pots and pans in the kitchen, and less like Thomas Merton. I don't have Merton's spiritual and institutional support.

Throughout this process, I intend to continue to listen for the word of the Lord, for His guidance and His presence. I know that He permits or decrees everything that happens. If I am blocked from achieving a vision, it is because it is not HIS vision for me. I will take solace in the knowledge that His will is being accomplished in me. Not my will, but thine, O Lord.

In the meantime, I ask for your prayers. You know you have mine.

God bless us all.

Silver Rose

P.S. Don't hesitate to contact me on Facebook, where I maintain somewhat of a presence. I often post inspiring quotes and beautiful religious art.