Check out this pagan folk band, lead by the undeniably crazy and awesome Steve Sic.

Don’t know what more to say. Though I kinda feel I wanna say something. Meh, nevermind.

My new article for my “49 Degrees” blog at “Witches & Pagans” Magazine.  Learn a little about the Pagan music scene in Canada!

Stonehenge receives one million visitors a year and is a World Heritage Site Photo: Christopher Jones for the Telegraph

By Jasper Copping, and David Barrett (http://www.telegraph.co.uk)

Merlin at Stonehenge
The Stonehnege News Blog

To me, the word “holiday” should be that which describes me riding Space Mountain at Walt Disney World, followed by eating an ice cream Mickey, followed by a late afternoon swim in a cute themed pool, followed by the fish at Wolfgang Puck’s.

But no, holidays have come to mean cleaning the house to the point that surgery could be performed on my bathroom floor and cooking a large meal while relatives vie with each other to see who can filibuster the conversation, in voices that surpass a comfortable decibel level. My love and I have hosted plenty of those kinds of holidays, but no more. Last year, we turned what had been a cavernous formal dining room that we used three days a year into seed’s offices. I’m keeping quiet about the fact that when the full extension is employed, my kitchen table could comfortably seat the entire cast of extras in The Ten Commandments.

Admittedly Christmas has been a sore spot with me since my third year classical philosophy class, where I learned how the early church fathers smacked together celebrations for Winter Solstice and Saturnalia with sketchy information about the birth of Christ to get the pagans to sign on. Talk about bait and switch.

But I really like Easter. It’s my favourite of the “holy day” holidays. Christmas is the last chance to get festive before the cold and snow arrives but Easter is the harbinger of spring. And it’s easy. Throw some gold foiled Lindt bunnies beside dinner plates and you have your shopping (and wrapping) done. No tree. No lights pulling the paint off the window sills. No mind-numbing songs. Nothing but tulips and bunnies and very often, sunshine.

I love my memories of childhood Easters, crawling around the “good” living room looking for bunnies and eggs under the couch, freezing in knee socks because you HAD to wear your new spring outfit to Easter Sunday service. I think I still have marks under my chin from the elastic that held my sailor hat in place and was fondly snapped by Sunday school friends.

But mostly I love that this holiest of holidays is named for a Germanic pagan goddess, Ostarâ or Eástr, depending on your view of the original Saxon. She was the goddess of fertility and rebirth, whose cult had probably long died off long before the beginnings of the Christian Easter. Still the name remains. And if it happens to sound familiar, it’s also the roots of the female hormone I have a vague memory of producing.

Easter comes at a time when the world is getting its mojo back. The sun is starting to feel warm, sometimes you catch a faint whiff of grass or mud, the birds are singing louder and that sense of change and potential is almost tangible. Easter announces all of that.

So I’ll be getting ready for my favourite holiday by piping no-bake vanilla cheesecake into chocolate dipped strawberries – and making a bunny cake out of two regular round layer cakes—the only artistic cake decorating project I can pull off.  I’ll be clearing space in my drawers and closet for warm weather clothes and studying the seed catalogues for the garden. I may even hum a few bars of “Here Comes Peter Cottontail,” that enduring Easter carol.

Mostly, I’ll just be awaiting the much needed  renewal it brings.

(c) thewhoot.com

Easterlings today venerate Nikon of Sicily (d. ca. 250). Nikon grew up unbaptized but secretly instructed in the Christian faith by his mother. He was still a pagan, though, when his army company were surrounded by enemies. Suddenly remembering his mother’s teachings, he crossed himself and promised God he’d get baptized if only he got out of this predicament alive. Suddenly he was filled with strength from on high, and (without even the jawbone of an ass) slew enough of the enemy that his company was saved. Naturally he returned home to tell his mother about this triumph (the mails were notoriously untrustworthy), and she suggested he find a priest and fulfill his vow. Sadly there were none in the vicinity, so he sailed to nearby Chios (some 650 miles SE), where he climbed a mountain and spent a week in fasting and prayer, begging God to help him find where the priests were — or at least one of them.

After eight days an angel from Rand McNally appeared and led him to Mount Ganos (some 190 miles NE), where Bishop Theodosius and 199 monks were hiding from the government. They greeted Nikon with joy, baptized him, and monkified him. After three years an angel came to the bishop, saying Nikon should be made bishop, and take all the monks to Sicily. Theodosius explained his vision, made Nikon a bishop, and promptly died. Nikon and the monks (great name for a rock group or what?) sailed away, stopping to say Hi to Nikon’s mom in Naples. She greeted him with tears of joy at his being both a monk and a bishop, and promptly died.

Once in Sicily, they had some years of peace before the governor decided that the island’s Christian-to-Pagan ratio needed lowering. He berefted 199 of them of their heads, keeping Nikon aside for torturing. That worked as well as it ever does in this kind of story. They tried to burn him, but the flames wouldn’t touch him. They tried to drag him behind horses, but the horses wouldn’t move. They threw him from a high cliff, but he was unharmed. And so on. Eventually they beheaded him, and left his several parts to feed carrion. Just then a shepherd possessed by an evil spirit happened by. Coming upon Nikon’s body, he fell to the ground, and the evil spirit came out of him, shrieking about being in the presence of a saint, I’m tormented, where can I flee — the usual. The shepherd went into town and told his tale, and when the bishop of Messina heard of it, he and his clergy went out and buried the martyrs.

Westerlings today venerate Gwinear (d. 460). Son of (pagan) King Clito of Ireland, Gwinear met Patrick when he visited their court, and later converted while hunting on horseback (however that might work). He let the horse (which has no name) run free, and took up living as a hermit. When Clito died he went back to the palace, rounded up 770 people (including his sister Piala), and sailed to Wales and Brittany (consecutively? in separate vessels?) to do missionary work. One day, whilst near Pluvigner in Brittany, he ran out of water. No doubt cognizant of the time-honored method of producing water out of nowhere, he struck the ground, and not one, not two, but three springs gushed forth — one for him, one for his horse, and one for his dog.

Gwinear was martyred by King Teudar of Cornwall, who had a penchant for throwing Christians into a reptile pit. Gwinear was, fortunately for him, merely beheaded, and spared being gator (or whatever was in that pit) chow. A basilica was built on the site of his grave, and there is a town in Cornwall named after him (which is more than you can say for Teudar). In Pluvigner he is known as Saint Guigner, and a well there bears his name. Oh, and for you Tolkien fans: one of his companions was named Meriadoc.

Today’s March equinox is far too loaded with magic to be snookered by a bit of inclement weather

‘We look around us, on this mad March day, for the divine, lunatic hares, the first full virtuoso song of the thrush, the first unsteady metronome calls of chiff-chaff.’ Photograph: Andy Rouse / Rex Features

Our eastern saints today are Chrysanthus and Daria (d. 283/284), a nobleman’s son and daughter-in-law. Having read the Gospels (and Acts — he read quickly), Chrysanthus sought out the priest Carpophorus, and was catechized and baptized. This angered his father, who tried to get his son to deconvert, going so far as locking him in a room with “shameless girls.” (I’ve seen ads for a video with that title but I’ve never watched it.) Chrysanthus however “gained the victory over himself” and remained a virgin. Seeing this didn’t work, his father forced him into a marriage with Daria, a virgin priestess of Diana. Two people religiously dedicated to maintaining their virginity. Yeah, that’ll work. Sure enough the kids talked it over and agreed to live as brother and sister, and Daria even decided to become a Christian. Chrysanthus: 2. Dad: 0.

In due time they were nabbed by the authorities and tortured. Their torturer, Claudius, was so impressed by their fortitude that he became a Christian himself, and he and his entire family were done in in various ways. Eventually C & D were thrown into a deep pit, which was then filled with stones. Later a church was built on the site (the drainage was good), and when pagans discovered Christians praying in a cave nearby (the church was closed for renovations, perhaps), they covered the entrance, with the results you would expect. Chrysanthus and Daria are also commemorated in the west, on 25 October.

Speaking of west, today we honor Joseph, the Husband of Mary (d. before 30). We know from Luke’s gospel that he went to Bethlehem because he was “of the house and lineage of David” (and not for the food as has been sometimes reported). He was both just and compassionate — when he learned Mary was pregnant, he decided to quietly divorce her, rather than make a spectacle that would lead to her death. He was a carpenter — when our Lord visited Nazareth, the people said of him, “Is this not the carpenter’s son?” (or “carpenterovich”).

He had great faith — he believed the angel about Jesus’ divine parentage, and when the same angel told him to head out for Egypt, he grabbed Mary and Jesus and hit the camel path. Tradition tells us that James, the brother of Jesus, went on this trip, and he is often depicted leading the donkey carrying Mary and Jesus. “Say what?” I hear you cry. “I thought Jesus was her firstborn son.” You are so right. The church teaches that the siblings of our Lord in the Gospels are Joseph’s children from his first marriage. (Time travel can’t be entirely ruled out, but in this case I’m going to go out on a limb and say nay. Plus the church also teaches Mary’s perpetual virginity.)

According to ancient sources (and the “Cherry Tree Carol,” although that may not be an independent witness), Joseph was old when he married the blessed Virgin. The story goes like this: The priest Zachariah was told to choose a husband for Mary from among the widowers of the city, so he gathered all their staffs (staves?) and took them into the temple. When Joseph’s staff budded with flowers (or a dove flew out of it; pick your source), he was chosen. Some say this was to fool the Devil, who knew the Messiah would be born of a virgin. At the time of this writing, however, the Devil did not answer our request for an interview.

After the incident in which Jesus argued with the Rabbis while his parents frantically searched the overhead bins, Joseph drops out of the narrative entirely, and is thus believed to have died not long after. He is the patron saint of the Church Universal, as well as carpenters, fathers, and social justice.

Working with new spirits means taking on new precautions. Lately my friends and I have been studying Slavic spirits due to recent dream revelations and we decided to make protective amulets to wear during our initial workings. Tulie supplied the iron skeleton keys and I brought the red cord. Both are ideal for luck and protection. She happened to have some red coral and a holey stone lying around also, so I snatched them up for my necklace.

After blessing and charging our necklaces we did some spirit work, but to my surprise I felt almost nothing (which is unusual for me). My necklace was the only one with the additional coral and stone (both which are regarded as highly protective), so we are thinking that it blocked out everything. But who knows- it is still in the initial phases of discovery. However, it does make an excellent home charm so far  and I am quite pleased with it’s energy during road trips!

When Saint Patrick drove the snakes (Pagans) out of Ireland… This is where we went!

Today both Churches hail Patrick (Pádraig) of Ireland (ca. 387 – ca. 460). Born in Britain to a deacon, and grandson of a priest, at 16 Patrick was kidnapped into slavery in Ireland. There he prayed daily as he toiled as a shepherd until, some six years later, he had a vision telling him, “Your ship is ready.” Immediately he raced to the harbor, conveniently located some 200 miles away. Fortunately the ship was still waiting for him, and before he knew it he was home.

In a subsequent vision he heard the people of Ireland calling him back, saying, “Come back.” So he returned to Ireland, and although (Saint) Palladius had beaten him there, Patrick was the better evangelist, earning the title “Enlightener of Ireland.” He founded many churches and monasteries, converted many pagan chieftains, and either did or did not take money from rich women, depending on whether you believe Patrick (didn’t) or his hagiographers (did). He was assaulted, and denigrated for being a foreigner (his accent gave him away), but he persevered.

In one story, Patrick, already a bishop, set up camp near Tara, home of the Irish kings. It was Holy Saturday, and he lit an outdoor fire, probably knowing this was not allowed within sight of Tara on (as it happened to be) Beltane. The king was outraged and called his archdruids, who told him if this fire wasn’t quenched that very night, it would spread over all of Ireland. (That’s metaphor, that is.) They rode to where the saint was preparing for the holy Pascha, and when one of the druids spoke insolently to him, Patrick glared at him, then prayed, and the man flew up into the air and fell on his head, dying (one hopes) instantly. “Get him, boys!” cried the king.

I’m guessing that this was about midnight (let the reader understand) because Patrick then said, “Let God arise! Let his enemies be scattered! Let those who hate him flee from before his face!” It went completely dark, and the king’s soldiers, in disarray, fell to fighting each other. It is said that seven times seven men perished, mostly because that sounds more poetic than just saying 49 men died. The king then pretended to venerate Patrick, but as he was departing he called to him, hoping to dry-gulch him. Patrick knew what he was thinking, though, and as he walked over to the king he blessed his companions, who turned into deer and bounded off. The king returned to Tara in defeat. Sucker.

The next day one of the druids came to challenge Patrick, but first he poured something into Patrick’s goblet. Patrick said a word over it, and turned the cup over, whereupon only the poison fell out. He said another word, and the wine turned back to liquid. Seeing this, the druid challenged him to a clerics’ duel, and started it by making it snow. “Pretty good,” said Patrick, “now make it melt.” “I—I can’t do that,” said the druid. “Ha!” said Patrick. “You can do evil but not good!” He made the snow melt away, and the crowd cheered. Their duel went on for many more paragraphs but I’m running out of space.

Aside from his autobiography in which he defends himself against his detractors, Patrick also wrote a letter to one Coroticus, excoriating him (as only Patrick could) for enslaving and killing Christians. Legend says that when Coroticus didn’t repent, he was turned into a fox and never seen again. Except, one supposes, by other foxes. Wrapping up with some tidbits: He did use a three-leafed shamrock to teach about the Trinity. He apparently didn’t drive the snakes out (there never were any snakes in Eire), unless by “snake” you mean “Druid” (some of them had snake tattoos, according to one source). Finally we have no reason to believe he ever drank green beer. Which makes me love him all the more.

Copyright © 2013 Alex Riggle. All Rights Reserved.

Over the coming weeks, several of my Bible Teaching shows, (from PLUMBLINE with Bernie Lutchman) will appear here. In the meantime, HAPPY ST PATRICK’S DAY!!!

Read here now about this great and truly inspired man of God – Patrick of Ireland:

“I am Patrick, a sinner, most unlearned, the least of all the faithful, and utterly despised by many.” “I was like a stone lying in the deep mire; and He that is Mighty came and in His mercy lifted me up.” (PATRICK OF IRELAND)

A few years ago, I wrote a gospel Tract for the St. Patrick’s Day Parade and had 7000 printed for distribution (most of which were handed out to thousands of parade goers here in Springfield, Illinois). For most of the last decade, up to a month ago,  our men’s ministry owned a 1955 Classic American La France Fire engine pumper and we used that as a hook to attract hundreds of thousands to the Cross of Christ.

My reason for writing my own tracts, (which I do from time to time) was to show an entire generation of people here that Patrick of Ireland is NOT about getting drunk on green beer each year; doing outrageous things to get green beads or eating corned beef. In fact, none of that stuff is Irish and/or Christian.

Born in the year 390 AD in England, Patrick was kidnapped by Irish Pirates and sold into slavery on the Emerald Isle around the age of 16. He was the son of a deacon but according to his own writings, he really cared nothing for God! All of this changed once he experienced slavery in Ireland. By the way, this selling into slavery thing sounds a lot like Joseph’s brother selling Joseph into slavery, from the Book of Genesis!

“I must not, however, hide God’s gift which He bestowed upon me in the land of my captivity (… the gift so great, so salutary – to know God and to love Him…); because then I earnestly sought Him, and there I found Him, and He saved me from all evil because – so I believe – of His Spirit that dwells in me….”(Patrick of Ireland)

CLICK HERE TO READ THE REST OF THIS WONDERFUL HISTORY OF ST PATRICK

I won’t be wearing green today.

Don’t get me wrong – like many Americans, I’ve got plenty of Irish blood in my veins, and I’m quite happy to celebrate that heritage.

But this St. Patrick thing… Sadly, very few people have stopped to think about exactly what they’re celebrating, or whom. Patrick is credited with leading the Christianization of Ireland and it’s said he “drove the snakes out” of the place. That, of course, is metaphorical. The serpent was an ancient druidic symbol of wisdom, and the thing that was literally driven out of (or murdered and buried in the ground of) Ireland was the vibrant, centuries-old culture of the Celts. There aren’t any snakes native to Ireland, but that’s about evolution, not Patricius.

When a Christian missionary went into a new place it was with one goal – extinguish what he found and replace it with Christianity. We see an illuminating example of how the process might begin in Acts 17:23-34, where Paul stumbles upon an opportunity and seizes it like the last bottle of whiskey in Galway.

23For as I passed by, and beheld your devotions, I found an altar with this inscription, TO THE UNKNOWN GOD. Whom therefore ye ignorantly worship, him declare I unto you.

24God that made the world and all things therein, seeing that he is Lord of heaven and earth, dwelleth not in temples made with hands;

25Neither is worshipped with men’s hands, as though he needed any thing, seeing he giveth to all life, and breath, and all things;

26And hath made of one blood all nations of men for to dwell on all the face of the earth, and hath determined the times before appointed, and the bounds of their habitation;

27That they should seek the Lord, if haply they might feel after him, and find him, though he be not far from every one of us:

28For in him we live, and move, and have our being; as certain also of your own poets have said, For we are also his offspring.

29Forasmuch then as we are the offspring of God, we ought not to think that the Godhead is like unto gold, or silver, or stone, graven by art and man’s device.

30And the times of this ignorance God winked at; but now commandeth all men every where to repent:

31Because he hath appointed a day, in the which he will judge the world in righteousness by that man whom he hath ordained; whereof he hath given assurance unto all men, in that he hath raised him from the dead.

32And when they heard of the resurrection of the dead, some mocked: and others said, We will hear thee again of this matter.

33So Paul departed from among them.

34Howbeit certain men clave unto him, and believed: among the which was Dionysius the Areopagite, and a woman named Damaris, and others with them.

Obviously there’s no reason at all to think that the Athenians were accidentally paying tribute to the Christian god, but understanding and accepting the essence and traditions of a culture was hardly the point.

But at least Patrick and other Christian missionaries of the time went the warm and fuzzy, let’s-all-sing-”Kumbaya” route, right? Ummm, is that what history has taught us about early Christians?

Patrick began to destroy the influence of the Druids by destroying the sacred sites of the people and building churches and monasteries where the Druids used to live and teach. Gradually, the might of the Druidic class was broken by a bitter campaign of attrition. Instead of hearing the teachings and advice of the Druids, the people began to hear the teachings of Rome. Because the Druids were the only ones who were taught to remember the history, with the Druids dead and their influence broken, the history was forgotten.

Patrick won. By killing off the teachers and the wise ones, his own religion could be taught. For this mass conversion of a culture to Christianity, and for the killing of thousands of innocent people, Patrick was made a Saint by his church. (Source)

In a very real way, the celebration of St. Patrick is a celebration of cultural genocide, and the fact that the millions of revelers parading in the streets this morning and packing every bar in America tonight don’t realize it – that they’re doing so perhaps as naïvely as the Druids might initially have welcomed Patrick – is of little comfort. Why? You tell me – would a fuller understanding of what happened put even the slightest dent in our nation’s annual green beer sales figures?

I’m not telling you to stay home or to forego a drink in remembrance of old Ireland. By all means, lift a pint tonight. But don’t do so in celebration of an inquisitor. Instead, do so in memory of the light that he helped extinguish.

To the Rose upon the Rood of Time
by William Butler Yeats

Red Rose, proud Rose, sad Rose of all my days!
Come near me, while I sing the ancient ways:
Cuchulain battling with the bitter tide;
The Druid, grey, wood-nurtured, quiet-eyed,
Who cast round Fergus dreams, and ruin untold;
And thine own sadness, whereof stars, grown old
In dancing silver-sandalled on the sea,
Sing in their high and lonely melody.
Come near, that no more blinded by man’s fate,
I find under the boughs of love and hate,
In all poor foolish things that live a day,
Eternal beauty wandering on her way.

Come near, come near, come near—Ah, leave me still
A little space for the rose-breath to fill!
Lest I no more hear common things that crave;
The weak worm hiding down in its small cave,
The field-mouse running by me in the grass,
And heavy mortal hopes that toil and pass;
But seek alone to hear the strange things said
By God to the bright hearts of those long dead,
And learn to chaunt a tongue men do not know.
Come near; I would, before my time to go,
Sing of old Eire and the ancient ways:
Red Rose, proud Rose, sad Rose of all my days.

P, L, & N ♥
~sg

Our saint from the east today is Ambrose (né Besarion) the Confessor (ამბროსი აღმსარებელი ) of Georgia (1861 – 1927). Besarion went to the Kazan Theological Academy upon the death of his wife, writing a master’s thesis about the struggle between Christianity and Islam in Georgia entitled, “The Struggle between Christianity and Islam in Georgia.” After graduating he became Hieromonk Ambrose, and joined in the fight for the autocephaly of the Georgian Orthodox Church (which had been somewhat unilaterally revoked by the Russians in 1811). In 1908 he was suspended and exiled to Russia for (allegedly) conspiring to kill the Exarch. He was later exonerated and unsuspended, but kept in Russia. When the February (1917) Revolution came, Ambrose escaped back to Georgia and took part in the Synod voting to make the Georgian Church autocephalous. He was made Metropolitan of Chqondidi (which would make a great name for a songbird).

In 1921 the Bolsheviks invaded, and Georgia’s young independence was ended. Thousands of churches and monasteries were destroyed or converted to vulgar use, and clergy were persecuted. When the old Catholicos-Patriarch died (of cholera), Ambrose was chosen to replace him. Less than a year later he sent a memorandum to the Conference of Genoa (an international convention convened to fix the financial crisis in Europe) (it didn’t work) (but you knew that), delineating the depredation of Georgia and calling for help. The Bolsheviks, furious at being embarrassed on the international stage, arrested Ambrose and conducted a show trial (he was accused of hiding church treasures so the government couldn’t melt them down – no transparently trumped-up charges for that court). At the trial he very quotably said, “My soul belongs to God, my heart to my fatherland; you, my executioners, do with my body what you will.” The international stage nattered with consternation, and the Soviets backed off a little on the destruction of the Georgian culture, at least until the international stage was looking the other way again (as is ever its wont). Instead of execution, Ambrose received imprisonment, which destroyed his health. He died a year after being released in 1926, and was glorified by the Holy Synod of the Church of Georgia in 1995.

Our saint from the west today is Abraham Kidunaia (ca. 296 – ca. 366). Born into high-society Edessa, young Abe was forced into an arranged marriage, so on the day of the nuptials he walled himself up in a nearby building, leaving only a gap through which his family could feed him, and through which he could tell them he really wanted to be a monk. (None of our sources mention waste disposal issues, so don’t ask.) The family called off the wedding, and he settled quietly into walled-up life.

After ten years of this the bishop ordered him to come out, ordained him a priest (over his protestations), and sent him to Beth-Kiduna, an “intransigently pagan” village, as missionary. There, according to two of our sources (I think one was plagiarizing), he “built a church, smashed idols, suffered abuse and violence, and set a good example” (of what, they don’t say). It is from this village he gets his title “Kidunaia” – I kidunot. Within three years the whole village was converted, and he went off to be a hermit again, returning only to convert his niece. Said niece was a former anchoress who, seduced by a wayward monk, ran off to the city to lead a dissolute life. Abraham dressed as a soldier, and when she took him home to dinner, he talked her into returning to her former life. She went on to become Saint Mary of Edessa, which is better than anybody in the family dared expect. Abe’s (eventual) funeral was attended by a “large throng” (as opposed to a small throng), and his life was written by Ephraim the Syrian.

Copyright © 2013 Alex Riggle. All Rights Reserved.

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The article below can be found at About.com

St. Patrick and the Snakes of Ireland:

St. Patrick is known as a symbol of Ireland, particularly around every March. One of the reasons he’s so famous is because he supposedly drove the snakes out of Ireland, and was even credited with a miracle for this. What many people don’t realize is that the serpent was actually a metaphor for the early non-Christian faiths of Ireland. It’s important to note that he did not physically drive the “Snakes”  from Ireland, but instead St. Patrick brought Christianity to the Emerald Isle. He did such a good job of it that he began the conversion of the entire country to the new religious beliefs, thus paving the way for the elimination of the old systems. While it’s true that snakes are hard to find in Ireland, this may well be due to the fact that it’s an island, and so snakes aren’t exactly migrating there in packs.

The real St. Patrick was believed by historians to have been born around 370 c.e., probably in Wales or Scotland. Most likely, his birth name was Maewyn, and he was probably the son of a Roman Briton named Calpurnius. As a teen, Maewyn was captured during a raid and sold to an Irish landowner as a slave. During his time in Ireland, where he worked as a shepherd, Maewyn began to have religious visions and dreams — including one in which showed him how to escape captivity. Once back in Britain, Maewyn moved on to France, where he studied in a monastery. Eventually, he returned to Ireland to “care and labour for the salvation of others”, according to The Confession of St. Patrick, and changed his name to Patrick, which means “father of the people.”

Today, St. Patrick’s Day is celebrated in many places on March 17, typically with a parade (an oddly American invention) and lots of other festivities. However, some modern “Snakes” refuse to observe a day which honors the elimination of old beliefs in favor of new. It’s not uncommon to see non-Christians wearing some sort of snake symbol on St. Patrick’s Day, instead of those green “Kiss Me I’m Irish” badges.

http://www.patheos.com

In all the hoopla of modern bacchanalian revelry we sometimes forget the reason we are celebrating.

Saint Patrick is a man well worth knowing — and certainly we should be celebrating this former Roman youth of comfortable means then slave then priest then bishop.

What Patrick may have looked like as a youth

The following from :

http://www.catholic.org/saints/saint.php?saint_id=89

St. Patrick of Ireland is one of the world’s most popular saints.

Apostle of Ireland, born at Kilpatrick, near Dumbarton, in Scotland, in the year 387; died at Saul, Downpatrick, Ireland, 17 March, 461.

Along with St. Nicholas and St. Valentine, the secular world shares our love of these saints. This is also a day when everyone’s Irish.

There are many legends and stories of St. Patrick, but this is his story.

Patrick was born around 385 in Scotland, probably Kilpatrick. His parents were Calpurnius and Conchessa, who were Romans living in Britian in charge of the colonies.

As a boy of fourteen or so, he was captured during a raiding party and taken to Ireland as a slave to herd and tend sheep. Ireland at this time was a land of Druids and pagans. He learned the language and practices of the people who held him.

During his captivity, he turned to God in prayer. He wrote

“The love of God and his fear grew in me more and more, as did the faith, and my soul was rosed, so that, in a single day, I have said as many as a hundred prayers and in the night, nearly the same.” “I prayed in the woods and on the mountain, even before dawn. I felt no hurt from the snow or ice or rain.”

Patrick’s captivity lasted until he was twenty, when he escaped after having a dream from God in which he was told to leave Ireland by going to the coast. There he found some sailors who took him back to Britian, where he reunited with his family.

He had another dream in which the people of Ireland were calling out to him “We beg you, holy youth, to come and walk among us once more.”

He began his studies for the priesthood. He was ordained by St. Germanus, the Bishop of Auxerre, whom he had studied under for years.

Later, Patrick was ordained a bishop, and was sent to take the Gospel to Ireland. He arrived in Ireland March 25, 433, at Slane. One legend says that he met a chieftain of one of the tribes, who tried to kill Patrick. Patrick converted Dichu (the chieftain) after he was unable to move his arm until he became friendly to Patrick.

Patrick began preaching the Gospel throughout Ireland, converting many. He and his disciples preached and converted thousands and began building churches all over the country. Kings, their families, and entire kingdoms converted to Christianity when hearing Patrick’s message.

Actually: Patrick’s message is the message of Jesus Christ!  Patrick’s message is the same message we find in Scripture!

Patrick by now had many disciples, among them Beningnus, Auxilius, Iserninus, and Fiaac, (all later canonized as well).

Patrick preached and converted all of Ireland for 40 years. He worked many miracles and wrote of his love for God in Confessions. After years of living in poverty, traveling and enduring much suffering he died March 17, 461.

He died at Saul, where he had built the first church.

Why a shamrock?

Patrick used the shamrock to explain the Trinity, and has been associated with him and the Irish since that time.

In His Footsteps:

Patrick was a humble, pious, gentle man, whose love and total devotion to and trust in God should be a shining example to each of us. He feared nothing, not even death, so complete was his trust in God, and of the importance of his mission.

http://www.catholic.org/saints/saint.php?saint_id=89

Díchu later became a saint himself:

Saint Díchu mac Trichim was the first convert of Saint Patrick in Ireland. His feast is noted in the Martyrology of Donegal as “Diochu of Sabhall”, under date of 29 April.

There is a film (or better yet, a DVD) that makes the story of Saint Patrick come alive.

St. Patrick: The Irish Legend is a 2000 historical drama film about the life of St. Patrick Who was born in England.(AD 387-493), the man who brought Christianity to Ireland.

Patrick Bergin as St. Patrick, Malcolm McDowell as Quentin, Alan Bates as Calpornius and Susannah York as Concessa.

My buddy Father Philip Majka and I especially like the scene when the snakes flee out of Ireland once Patrick arrives!

Seasonal festivals

It is generally accepted that Stonehenge was an ancient spiritual centre. Today, many people come to Stonehenge to welcome the sun and the seasons. There are four events each year when the stone circle is open to the public free of charge for a limited amount of time. These events are the summer and winter solstices and the vernal and autumnal equinoxes.

English Heritage has opened the stone circle to celebrate the solstices and equinoxes for the last ten years. These events are open to anyone and everyone for a limited time period. Pagans and Druids attend and run the ceremonies. These events attract large audiences who come to Stonehenge for many reasons:

• # to watch the ceremony
• # for a celebratory experience
• # to welcome the seasons.

People come from all over the country as well as from the local area. Local Pagan and Druid groups are heavily involved in the planning of these events.  The spring equinox access is a small peaceful gathering without facilities, parking is not available in the Stonehenge Car Park

The exact time for the 2013 Spring (or Vernal) equinox at Stonehenge is 11.02am ; Sunrise on the March 20th at 6.09am.

Open Access for Stonehenge on the Spring Equinox 2013 is expected to be on the 20th of March 2013.

Expect a short period of access, from approximately 5.45am to 8.00am.

This is the second of the four ‘sky points’ in our Wheel of the Year and it is when the sun does a perfect balancing act in the heavens.

At the Spring (or Vernal) Equinox the sun rises exactly in the east, travels through the sky for 12 hours and then sets exactly in the west. So all over the world, at this special moment, day and night are of equal length hence the word equinox which means ‘equal night’.

Of course, for those of us here in the northern hemisphere it is this equinox that brings us out of our winter.

For those in the southern hemisphere, this time is the autumnal equinox that is taking you in to your winter. And this is very much how I think of the equinoxes – as the ‘edges’ of winter. This is why they can be quite hard on our bodies as it is a major climatic shift, so it is a good time to give a boost to your immune system with natural remedies and cleansing foods.

Here in Wiltshire (as with the rest of rural Britain), it was traditional to drink dandelion and burdock cordials at this time as these herbs help to cleanse the blood and are a good tonic for the body after its winter hardships.

As the Vernal Equinox heralds the arrival of spring, it is a time of renewal in both nature and the home, so time for some spring-cleaning!

This is more than just a physical activity, it also helps to remove any old or negative energies accumulated over the dark, heavy winter months preparing the way for the positive growing energy of spring and summer.

As with all the other key festivals of the year, there are both Pagan and Christian associations with the Spring Equinox.To Pagans, this is the time of the ancient Saxon goddess, Eostre, who stands for new beginnings and fertility.

This is why she is symbolized by eggs (new life) and rabbits/hares (fertility).

Her name is also the root of the term we give to the female hormone, oestrogen.By now, you may be beginning to see the Christian celebration derived from this festival – Easter.

And this is the reason why the ‘Easter Bunny’ brings us coloured eggs (and if you’re lucky chocolate ones!) at this time of year.

So, as nature starts to sprout the seeds that have been gestating in her belly throughout the winter, maybe you can start to think about what you want to ‘sprout’ in your life now and start to take action.

Solstice Events UK have been offering ‘non obtrusive’ small group guided tours of the solstice and equinox events for many years and we welcome their approach and ‘thought provoking’ trips.  It works out much cheaper and certainly more convenient at that time of the morning. London departures can be booked here

Link: http://pagancalendar.co.uk/
Link: http://wwp.greenwichmeantime.com/longest-day/
Link:  http://www.stonehengetours.com/stonehenge-spring-equinox-tour-2013.htm
Link: http://www.english-heritage.org.uk/education/resources/stonehenge/business-management/events/

Merlin says “See you there and remember – RESPECT THE STONES!”

Stonehenge on Twitter: http://www.twitter.com/ST0NEHENGE

Merlin @ Stonehenge
The Stonehnege News Blog

The Island Men Built This By Mistake

A recent addition to the prehistoric monument library in London’s chief library has claimed that a group of Coalisland lads over looking for work in England 3000 years ago built the Stonehenge construction after another unsuccessful night out chasing the local women whilst most likely drinking ether or absinthe. Why the Fianna labourers built the monument is still open to interpretation although expert archeologist Dr Fredrick Winston OBE has put forward a couple of hypotheses:

“Firstly, let us acknowledge these brave innovators from Coalisland who came over here to lay down a few roads over 3000 years ago. Having arrived here they probably realised that roads hadn’t been invented yet nor train tracks for that matter. It’s a likely scenario that they decidhed to stay in England for the time being before making the long trek back to Coalisland by foot, a journey lasting 133 days. Personally, I believe they decided to built some kind of construction, hoping to entice the local women with their labouring skills. They definitely were not some kind of Pagans or spiritual hippies. Just after a bit of skirt I think. They appear to have erected coarse load-bearing walls with the intention of adding the plasterboard later. What went wrong we cannot ascertain but it’s likely they just gave up the ghost what with the effects of hardened drinking and simply threw up a few long irregular stones to act as ceilings. “

A group of Coalisland Historical Committee members have put in place plans to finish off what their forefathers started and build some kind of courting court or brothel that the original planners probably intended to do. The British Archeological Society will receive notification of their idea later in the week. Timmy Herron is confident they’ll get the green light.

“It’d be a crying shame if they don’t let us finish off the whorehouse, like. We in Coalisland have a long history of building things. Eastern Building Supplies recently built the outhouse around the back of the Cohannon Inn and anyone who has used the toilet there says it’s a great job and you can do your business in comfort.”

The book – “The Crazy Womanizing ‘Island Navvies Weren’t Hippies At All” will be on sale next year some time.

        Three teachers – two females and one male (named Mr. Doble, Ms. Duran and Ms. Dulay) – arrived a month before enrolment time and presented themselves to the village head who took them to the school premises. They were welcomed by Tiyo Lucio and Tiya Marta, a childless couple who lived just across the newly built school. The loquacious husband cheerfully told the teachers that they may board with them if they wish and also offered to help them  settle  in their new environment. He also boasted what a terrific cook and housekeeper his wife was, that he was in fact planning to buy her a portable oven.

        After refreshments, the guests were taken upstairs and showed the large, airy room with its own private little balcony. This delighted the trio and in return, they asked the farmer if he would be interested in the job of school janitor, promising they would strongly recommend him if he was. The farmer nodded excitedly; he could use the extra cash he said.

        Tiyo Lucio was a grouchy, middle age farmer with a mean mouth. Because of this, he was not so popular with the barrio folks. But somehow his new job changed all that. He was now cheerful and solicitous. His neighbors were likewise impressed by the confidence and importance the three city-bred teachers gave the old manand so it did not take long for him to redeem himself with the community.

       A few months after classes opened, the school head was summoned by the town mayor for a confidential interview. Imagine Mr. Dimaunahan’s shock when he was told that there was a slight possibility his three new teachers were impostors. The head countered that the teachers’ credentials were in order; that as teachers he was satisfied with their performance. Parents and students alike had only praises for the three who went out of their way to be serviceable to everyone in the community. With this, the town mayor instructed the school head to keep everything strictly confidential until further investigation had been made.

       It was shortly after this talk when a series of mysterious death overtook the children of the newly opened primary school. Another  boy did not come home one evening and so his worried parents along with other relatives organized a search party for their nine year old son, Jose.  They went directly to the teachers’ home and asked for help because earlier than evening, a classmate of the missing boy had implicated Arts & Gardening teacher Mr. Doble as perhaps the last person to have seen Jose; he claimed that when “Sir Doble” told them to go home because it was getting dark,  his classmate had lingered behind to finish weeding his assigned plot. Mr. Doble, was of course, concerned and worried. And so, without hesitation, the three teachers joined the search party.

      The boy’s body was discovered in shallow ditch near a densely wooded area. His abdomen was slashed open, his  entrails pulled out and his  heart and liver removed. The mother fainted at the gruesome sight and had to be carried unconscious, in a carosa  ( a native sled used for conveying goods)  with her son’s mutilated body.

      The teachers generously offered to help purchase the boy’s coffin, specially rushed for him since children’s coffins were not readily available  in the barrio. Except for the small opening to view the head of the corpse inside, the entire coffin was closed. Mr. Doble explained it was better this way in order to prevent the unnecessary exposure of his death which must be kept secret  until official investigations were made. The dead boy’s parents were grateful for the financial help and entrusted him with the full details of the funeral.  Mr. Doble insisted that the corpse must not be embalmed and that it should be buried within 24 hours.  

      Another mysterious death struck in less than a month. This time a young girl did not return to her class after recess. She told a classmate that she was going to a certain spot where her group passed that morning to recover a package she had hung by a tree and forgotten. It must have been her lunch box, the classmate surmised. The girl failed to return for class and neither did she make it home that late afternoon.

      Her father and an uncle found her body behind a clump of bamboo, the package she went out to recover was still held tightly in her hands. Again, the child’s abdomen had been slashed open, her entrails pulled out and her heart and liver missing. Evidently she was struck from behind and was instantly killed, her skull cracked open.

      As with the first death, Mr. Doble, Ms. Duran and Ms. Dulay offered their help – it was the least they could do, they said, because after all these children came from the primary school where they taught. The parents were also very grateful and did not complain when Mr. Doble said, the body should not be embalmed; that it had to be buried within twenty four hours.

      Three more deaths took place within a short span of three months but  this time the children did not come from the same primary school. They were  children left by themselves in their homes by busy parents who had to tend to their fields. These horrible events brought the entire barrio in a state of hysteria. Parents refused to send their children to school, rice fields were left unattended, market stalls were closed; a pall of gloom had descended on the entire community.

      Activities in the barrio were practically in a standstill  with neighbors now distrusting each other; strangers too were treated with open hostility. But in the midst of all these, the community  never suspected the teachers because of their generosity and willingness to come to the aid of everybody;  they were ,as a matter of fact, even  excluded by the local policemen from their list of suspects because of the high praises from the victims families.

      On the sixth death, however, an older sister of the victim , who was working in Manila had telegraphed her parents not to worry because she was going to pay for everything. She wanted a decent coffin for her brother and because there might be a slight delay in her arrival, she told them to have the body embalmed for at least ten days.

      Without consulting the teachers, the parents brought the body to the town funeral parlor for embalming and to lie in state in an adjoining chapel. When the three teachers heard this, they hastily went to their boarding house , packed all their things and hired a passing caretela (horse drawn carriage)to bring them to the bus terminal.

      At the wake of all these reports,  the mayor called a conference of all  barrio officials  and police officers to discuss the strange killings. Questions were asked but nobody could come up with acceptable answers. Both mayor and police officers suspected that behind the murders was a deranged mind but the superstitious barrio officials were more inclined to believe that an aswang was on the prowl.

      The following morning, three strange reports awaited the mayor. He learned that the teachers were gone; the janitor’s house had been torched to the ground and the old couple was nowhere in sight, too. But the strangest report came from the town embalmer. The corpse of the dead child was a banana stalk dressed in burial clothes.

          Further investigation proved the mayor’s initial suspicion was right. He revealed that it was a statement made by his compadre - a retired public school principal from a large city in Metro Manila who had also attended the inauguration of the newly opened primary school in the barrio – that made him suspicious of the three. The retired principal narrated to him that as a new E.T.C. graduate in the 1940s, his first teaching job was in this remote public school  somewhere in Central Luzon. He reminisced what a big scandal it was when three alleged  impostors had been dismissed from their teaching posts for suspicions of witch craft. And he seemed to recall their names were Doble, Dulay and Duran but he could not say for sure.

       “It was much too long ago,” the octogenarian apologized. “ But there is something so familiar about those faces and names.”

      The three teachers were indeed impostors, but they had vanished without a trace. Three years later a series of gory incidents were reported in a far-flung fishing community in Mindanao. This time, the killings occurred after a newly opened maternity clinic hired their new batch of employees- two comadronas and a male nurse. Three mothers had been killed as they lay helplessly strapped in the delivery table. Their unborn babies were plucked from their swollen abdomens along with their heart and liver. The birthing assistants  disappeared without a trace when the finger of suspicion pointed to them.

      The mysterious deaths remain unsolved to this day. What was more horrifying besides the the apparent cannibalism was the fact that after learning of the banana stalk switching , the parents of the other dead children had their dead disinterred  and found inside the coffins, decaying banana stalks!

      What happened to the bodies of the children? Why was it necessary to make the switch and for what diabolical reason? 

Click through the pic for my latest article at “Witches & Pagans” in my new column “49 Degrees: Canadian Pagan Perspectives.” This is in response to Jason Mankey’s articles at “Raise the Horns” which can be found at http://www.patheos.com/blogs/panmankey/2013/03/25-most-influential-people-in-the-birth-of-modern-paganism-european-wing/. Graphic altered from Jason’s original design at http://wp.patheos.com.s3.amazonaws.com/blogs/panmankey/files/2013/03/1101080-300×300.jpg.