2021-11-20

gogol

 GOGOL EN MEDIO DE LAS CONTRADICCIONES DEL EVANGELIO (3)


La puerta es estrecha y lleno de contradicciones y de renuncias está el Reino de los cielos. Cristo no era de este mundo estaba en el mundo vino a los suyos y los suyos y no lo recibieron. Es más difícil que un rico se salve que un camello pase por el ojo de una aguja. A esas me atengo para refutar a los tramposos y los prevaricadores a los que se arrogan virtudes que no les pertenecen. El orgullo y la soberbia matan. Los lujuriosos se arrojan al precipicio de las carnales pasiones y santifican la sodomía. Se vuelva yerma su esperma. Feministas que adoran a la serpiente. Surgen cataclismos y hay angustia entre las gentes. Ayer vi cómo un capador emasculaba a una verraco símbolo de los ateos que se tienen la tea y hacen equilibrios en la cuerda floja de la ingratitud, hijos de los abismos, pájaros de fantasía y políticos de todos los colores, bajo el predominio de lo hodierno. Otro toro que ese no vale. Vamos a unas elecciones generales en que se sabe quien será de antemano el ganador. Están engañando al pueblo con sus perversiones. Dos embajadas muñeron el enredo de convertir a esos pijoflautas y descamisados en ganadores, con su varita mágica de trocar lo blanco en negro y de convertir el agua en vino. Mientras don Tancredo se pone de pérfil, España se asemeja a las Bodas de Caná con mucha química donde te aniquilan enviandote por correo un maletín infectado de virus que inyectan en el cuerpo del que molesta células cancerigenas. ¿Ha llegado la hora del Apocalipsis? Mensajes dentro de la botella, cartas al vacío, y bostezos. 

Por eso leemos, con buen criterio, a los buenos escritores rusos como Goncharov, apóstol de la indolencia y de la accidia, y nos recostamos en el diván televisivo viendo pasar imágenes. Nada se puede hacer. Nuestra voluntad está inhibida y nuestra mente alienada por los sitcoms. Mejor, no pensar. Que inventen ellos. Ahora entiendo a Unamuno. 

Gogol hacía examen de conciencia sobre nuestras pesadillas diurnas y nocturnas. Monstruos imbéciles, reinas de las mañanas, vestidas de faralaes, atontadas que cantan viejas coplas que ya no inspiran a nadie. 

El gran autor ruso ucraniano imbuido de espíritu mesiánico se propuso salvar al mundo. corregirel vicio mediante la sátira. 

Decepcionado el 11 de febrero de 1852 echó al fuego sus libros. Se perdieron sus mejores escritos en aquel auto de fe personal. Diez años después fallecería victima de un cáncer en medio de atroces sufrimientos. Sin embargo su arte se refleja en las obras que se salvaron de la quema las almas Muertas o los Cuentos de Nochebuena. Al mundo lo salvará el látigo de un cosaco. Este genio ruso a través de la palabra tuvo una visión anticipada del edén cabalga de nuevo. En el cielo los ángeles ríen. Gogol quiso transportar el sentido del humor y la sátira a ese paraíso ortodoxo que tan bien describe a través de la fe de sus atamanes. 

Tal vez, enmendándole la plana al Salvador, porque los cristos están rotos de dolor y de cansancio, no prorrumpen jamás en carcajadas, quería inculcarnos una espiritualidad amable e incluso cómica. Son lirios puros del campo, sin embargo, esos cristos SE NOS APARECEN DOLIENTES Y DERRUMBADOS POR EL MISTERIO DE LA Abnegación Y EL DOLOR.

2021-11-19

APUNTES DE MI DIARIO VERANO DE 1966 EL AÑO QUE ENTREVISTÉ A BAHAMONTES E INGLATERRA GANÓ LA COPA DEL MUNDO

 PERIODISTA 1966 27 DE SEPTIEMBRE

 

4 ABRIL LUNES SANTO:

Hoy Se Fue María. Al hora que redacto maría Prudhome la gran revelación de esta primavera estará paseando por las calles de la ciudad del Dante. Cuando huelo mis manos aun aspiro el perfume que ella me dejó de las suyas. Me acariciaron como nadie en el mundo aun me acarició. Tu partiras demain et tout sera oublié”... alors on verra... je te aime je t´adore antonino  mais tu vais c est pas `possible... je voudrais t´en donner tout, mais cést pa possioble je l´ai promis a mon Dieu.... quie tu es jolie muy darling, havent met another like you. You are the first and the last

On Friday evening we were dancing trembling of happiness and desire. I respected her. We went for a walk at Retiro park. The sunset glared on her eyes. Al abandonarla en su hotel vagué por las calles madrileñas. Estaba confuso. Era la primera vez que yo besaba a una mujer. Me levanté y fui a misa para pedir por ella. Este Domingo de Ramos  fue inolvidable. Nunca la volvería yo a ver a este dulce profesora canadiense.

 

13 de abril miércoles de pascua.

 

Bajé unos días a Fuentesoto. Me hinché a comer rosquillas de palo, que es una tradición de pascua, pero me dicen que los lugareños abandonan el campo cierran las casas abandonan el arado y la reja y se vuelven a la capital. A mi me tira esa tierra.

La torre de san Gregorio que divisaba en lo alto al levantarme de la cama a través del ventanuco de la portada es un lugar mágico. Antigua iglesia construido hace ocho siglos. Creo que el abandono de la tierra traerá consecuencias y ya nada volverá a ser lo mismo aunque no lo dudo la gente quiere progresar y echarse coche.

En preparación del examen final en la Escuela de periodismo estuve trabajando toda la tarde en la hemeroteca municipal. A las siete regresé a la casa de Álvaro de Bazán a ver el partido de fútbol que transmitía TVE.  La final de la Copa del Mundo. Inglaterra se impuso a Alemania por 3-2. Fue un momento histórico. El estadio de Wembley vibraba de emoción patriótica. Nobby Stiles sin dentadura alzaba la gran copa y bailaba en la cancha. Impresionante el gol fantasma de Hurst y los tiros a puerta de Bobby Charlton. Las paradas de Banks. Hoy me siento muy inglés. Tuve el sentir de que alguien me llamaba a Inglaterra. Tengo algo de caballero andante y tal vez yo forme parte de la hueste de Palmerín de Inglaterra que marchó con su ejército a conquistar Jerusalén. Sueño despierto alguna vez.

El agua y el viento  de Fuentesoto ennegrecieron y purificaron mi piel. Vienes más moreno mi madre dijo. “madre, cargué las pilas y vengo con el espíritu en forma. En el pueblo se respira bien. En Madrid no". 

Amar a Castilla es una gran idea. Los dolores de barriga desaparecieron ya estoy curado o casi de esa operación de apendicitis que yo temía fuese un cáncer.

 

16 junio 1967 jueves

La pasada navidad me operaron de apendicitis en el Hospital del Generalísimo. Parece ser quedaron secuelas o adherencias según el lenguaje quirúrgico. Poco antes de que me operaran murió en una de sus salas el general Muñoz Grandes.

Los puertorriqueños  andan a palos con la policía federal tratando de defender su idioma castellano. Estos mestizos de Borinquen les dan una lección a los vascos y catalanes separatistas, que menuda la prepararon en  Barcelona cuando entró a tomar posesión de la archidiócesis de Barcelona Don Marcelo el primado de Toledo. Recibieron a a palos al buen prelado que es de Valladolid. Los separatistas hablan de progreso pero yo me digo qué tipo de progresismo puede ser ese. Son unos maldecidos unos bujarrones. Creo que para salir en defensa faltan intelectuales pero aquí lo que tenemos es a don Bartolomé Mostaza.

Vietnam. Mil muertos en la operación Hawthorne. Una celada en un bosque de los vietcongs.

Las cadenas radiales hablan de la próxima caída de Hanoi. Una foto trae el Arriba impresionante, capta corriendo a una niña ardiendo desnuda  por medio de una carretera para ponerse a salvo del gas mostaza. En otra imagen un oficial de los leales a Nhgyuen disparando en la sien  de un prisionero del Vietcong. Son dos fotos dignas del Pulitzer. El fango, los arrozales y los pozos de tirador donde los combatientes vietnamitas se emboscan constituyen una pesadilla para el poderoso ejercito yanqui. “Es una guerra extraña y horrenda” declara Luis Ponce de León un uruguayo encuadrado en las tropas USA, de permiso en Montevideo. Todo apunta a que los EE.UU han perdido la guerra.

Conflictos laborales en Amsterdam, y en Helsinki Kosiguin el presidente ruso continua su visita a Finlandia. Se entrevista con Kekonnen primer mandatario finés

 

17 junio 1966 viernes

A partir de esta fecha los nacionales de Honduras gozarán de pasaporte español, decisión que me gusta y trae hoy el BOE. El gobierno de Franco tiende los brazos a Hispanoamerica. Es fruto de las relaciones comerciales del ministro de Industria López Bravo. Ya digo es una decisión la mar de acertada. Nuestra patria tiene allá un compromiso ineluctable que hubo un tiempo que fue obviado. Ahora vuelve a surgir. América del Sur siempre me ha encandilado desde que escuché las lecciones magistrales de nuestro profesor canario  Mario Hernández  Barba. Se ofrecen coyunturas favorables para cuajar una vía de acercamiento con aquellos pueblos hermanos. Propone este profesor abrir nuevas cátedras de Historia de America. Sólo existe una en nuestro país, mientras en Rusia hay 47.

Criticas a de Gaulle que en Moscú habla de una Europa desde Gibraltar a los Urales. Ello le desplace a los norteamericanos.

El ayuntamiento de Cádiz está incómodo con el Correo Catalán porque publica un articulo en el que dice que los gaditanos son la cuna del señoritismo. En Cádiz ha surgido un grupo de presión que quiere constituirse en enlace entre los republicanos y monárquicos. Pemán es su adalid

 

18 de junio 1966 sábado

Entre los jóvenes americanos a punto de graduarse en Harward únicamente un 12% piensa dedicarse a los negocios. Les trae al pairo el sistema capitalista, dando preferencia a los valores espirituales al ocio y la cultura y la paz no la guerra. ¿Decadencia del capitalismo?

Aquí ciertamente proliferan los lectores a de Alan Grimsberg el poeta que dijo “America vete a hacer puñetas con la bomba atómica”. Es la generación hippy flores en el pelo y canciones, sentadas en California y en Chicago riots. Me gusta el disco y no dejo de ponerlo en el tocadiscos “If you go to San Francisco” de MacKency emblema de las marchas anti guerra de Vietnam. Las antorchas humanas siguen ardiendo en la ciudad de Hue. La primera victima fue una muchacha: Djo Thi Yen Pi de 16 años que se quemó a lo bonzo en Nha Traurg en enero del pasado año. Las autoridades budistas designan a los que han de inmolarse de acuerdo con sus condiciones psíquicas y religiosas. Antes del sacrificio se les proporcionan anestésicos de hierbas naturales para mitigar el dolor del trance. No se sabe si van de grado a la hoguera o a la fuerza.

 

20 junio 1966 lunes

 

Qung principal monje budista entra hoy en su segunda semana de huelga de hambre para protestar contra el gobierno de Saigon y a favor de Ho Chih Ming. Fue internado en una clínica de Hue. Ciudad que ha sido tomada por los gubernamentales con un solo muerto en la lucha.

 

 

El primero de julio próximo se hará cargo de la  presidencia de la Republica Dominicana Joaquin Balaguer, ex colaborador de Trujillo. Balaguer es un intelectual amigo de España y su cultura que ha publicado libros de versos. Estuvo en la embajada de Madrid y Paris. Habrá de enfrentarse al paro endémico y al analfabetismo cuando jure el cargo.

En Argentina la situación sigue confusa. Hay ruido de sables en torno a la personalidad del general Onganía.

 

 

8 de agosto 1966

 

Como me he vuelto un ser sin intimidad voy a decidir proseguir este memorial tratando de dar de lado a la gazmoñería y a las mariposas negras que revuelan en mi mente. No cobro en Radio Nacional soy compañero del arbitro Galende y un vasco. El pluriempleo la envidia la palabra vacía la puñalada por detrás trabajo con compañero de la Escuela de Periodismo que se llama José Luis Albeniz

Cuando acabe las practicas me marcharé a Inglaterra

Estoy harto de este país y de este Madrid lleno de hipocresía y pecados burgueses. Estoy harto de las mujeres de mi país. Dinero y agasajos a las del bello sexo, tiempo perdido. Noto que ellas se burlan de mí. Me toman el pelo

Hay que aprobar la revalida del periodismo.

 

11 de agosto 66

 

Voy a dormir a casa de Pérez Mateos porque hace unas noches tuve un ataque de los suyo. Ay, chato, chato estoy muy mal. Llamamos a la vecina, una señora de Riaza que es frutera y tiene dos hijas muy bonitas, pues creíamos que se moría. Salió la mayor Milagritos en camisón y  el enfermo al ver sus transparencias resucitó. Se le pasaron todos los males.

Fui al baile y conocí a una chica me dio el teléfono y quedamos. No sé si iré. La voluntad se va debilitando y viene el desengaño no sé de quién será la culpa del ambiente o el responsable seré yo con mis telarañas en la cabeza. Cada día todo se me hace más cuesta arriba. Quiero superar las depresiones que me dan de vez en cuando y me dejan baldados. He cogido el vicio de fumar. Una cajetilla de Celtas largos me dura una semana pero con el estudio y el trabajo en la radio va aumentando la dosis. Reconozco que el tabaco es malo pero me fortalece el espíritu y me ayuda a sobrellevar las largas horas de estudio. Estoy preparando los exámenes de revalida y convalidación. Muchas noches no me acuesto hasta las tres de la mañana. Soy ave nocturna como la lechuza que dicen que es el ave de la sabiduría.

 

12 de agosto de 1966

 

Hoy día de Santa Clara recibí mi bautismo de fuego en la radio. Entrevisté a Federico Martín Bahamontes en el programa Gaceta de los Deportes que se emite a las nueve de la noche. No salió del todo mal. Me escuchaban en casa y señalaron mis defectos. Se me notaba algo nervioso y titubeante pero Federico es todo un prócer. Aparte de un gran ciclista el mejor que ha dado España es una gran persona, muy simpatico, me habló de Toledo y lo mucho que quiere a su mujer Fermina. Está derecho como un huso. Es todo músculo. Me recuerda a aquel santo extremeño, San Pedro de Alcantara, que tenía el aspecto de un manojo de sarmientos. El toledano es un místico del pedal. Rey de la montaña.

La cosa no salió mal del todo pero a mi me gusta más la maquina de escribir que el micrófono.

Desde que olí la tinta de las enfurecidas linotipias se adueñó de mi el duende de la imprenta.

Llamo a Blanca Valle para preguntarle sobre nuestro viaje a Inglaterra. A ella también le han concedido una beca para enseñar castellano en calidad de profesor asistente.

Quiero aprender inglés perfectamente antes de iniciarme en periodismo. Yo suelo tomar las cosas ab ovo desde el principio. Por eso tendré que renunciar a ser redactor deportivo en Radio Nacional de España. Estoy columpiándome en el tiovivo de la duda.  Soy incapaz de jugar a dos barajas. Unas veces me parece maravilloso ese sueldo de seis mil pesetas aquí y marcharme a Inglaterra a pasar hambre.But England is calling me.

El Mateos con sus neuras me hace perder mucho tiempo.

 

14 de agosto

 

Transmito un partido de beisbol, no tenía ni idea de este juego pero un cubano que trabaja en la radio me iba soplando las jugadas. Un buen consueta. Yo diría un buen samaritano. Creo que también salí airoso. Sustituimos Albeniz y yo a Juan Manuel Gozalo (le llaman Kubala) y a otro locutor granadino que es el segundo de Matías Prats. Estoy apabullado y me siento muy pequeño y neófito en estas lides al lado de tales divos de la radiodifusión.

Tuve que ir a dormir en ca Pérez Mateos. Le da miedo. Estoy de él hasta los mismísimos. Espero que venga pronto de Soria su compañero de Piso el cura Abel Hernandez quien ocupa la habitación contigua a la suya. Está Abel de vacaciones. Es un gran periodista aunque dicen que está en dudas si no cuelga la sotana.

 

 CONTINUARÁ

 

 

19 de noviembre 2021 SANTA GERTRUDIS Y EL PAPEL DE LAS MUJERES EN LA IGLESIA

 Noviembre el mes de la sementera. Caen las hojas de los alisos, recojo las bellotas del carballo centenario en medio de la iglesia donde han colocado un monumento al peregrino y luego subo me acerco a la aldea de Vetonia viejo castro romano y me dedico  a la misma operación que antes. las bellotas de la encina se diferencian de los fabucos del roble en que son más alargadas y muestran un cascabillo que sale sale del rabo. El fabuco es más rechoncho y quizá más endeble que el fruto del quejido. 

La madera del quejigo quercus se puede trabajar y de hecho sirvió para montar los durmientes de la red de ferrocarriles españoles. La de la encina es mucho más dura pero ambos árboles son de la misma especie, uno de la España húmeda y otro de la España seca. entrambos constituyen un símbolo de la fortalece y dureza del carácter hispano. 

Son de hoja perenne. contemplando las vainas de ambos frutos que se derraman en abundancia por bosques y serranías pienso en la maravilla de la creación. 

Tiene que haber un Dios creador que regula el universo y estipula las alternancias de las estaciones, manda la lluvia y hace fluir las aguas de ríos y océanos. Por esta época planto yo estas bellotas en el jardín delantero de mi casa que guarda los huesos de algunos combatientes en la batalla de Brunete. Por estas fechas recordamos los españoles la guerra civil y cunden los ataques al Generalísimo Franco en un tono machacón de los dejá vu.  

Revanchismos y venganzas a todo meter es la filosofía de la Memoria Histórica orquestada por los perdedores de aquel conflicto. Que se repiten más que el ajo y la cebolla.

Por lo visto ni los rojos ni los nacionales podemos vivir sin él. siempre viene a nuestros muertos como el Tenorio a los teatros. Hemos celebrado la fiesta de Santa Gertrudis la Magna, esa santa alemana del siglo XIII por cuya figura sintieron los españoles gran devoción. Era taumaturga. 

La proclamaron patrona de las Indias Occidentales.

Tuvo visiones sobre el futuro y profetizó este tiempo de descreimientos y ataques a la Fe precisamente como señal antecedente de la Parusía. Si Dostoyevski dijo que sólo nos salvará la belleza, santa Gertrudis dijo que nos salvará el amor y que éste triunfará al fin.

Leo un articulo muy interesante en una página de la iglesia ortodoxa rusa sobre el papel de la mujer en el altar. 

Viene a coincidir con la idea paulina tomada del judaísmo "calle la mujer en la sinagoga". 

Empero, el papel de la mujer tanto las consagradas monjitas. una mujer María de Nazaret es la abogada e intercesora de los cristianos madre de la iglesia universal. 

Una labor humilde y callada he aquí la esclava del Señor pero imprescindible. 

En congregaciones eclesiales la misa de los domingos se ven muchas más féminas que varones. No sirven al altar pero están siempre alrededor alentando la presencia de Jesús en él, dando ese toque femenino imprescindible para que las casas vayan bien. Su labor no es ancilaria sino fundamental como el ramo de flores que no podrá faltar en una boda.

En el caso concreto de Rusia la religión cristiana se salvó gracias a las pobres babuskas (abuelas), madres y esposas de los popes o monjitas de monasterio. Ellas aportan ternura maternal y guardan el relicario del amor que es parte imprescindible del mandato de Jesús que siempre anduvo rodeado de mujeres. 

María Magdalena ungió sus pies su hermana marta le daba de comer la cananea le interrogaba, salvó a la hemorroisa de flujo de sangre y salvó de ser dilapidada a una meretriz al que los judíos iban a apedrear cuando Jesús subía hacia Jerusalén. Es esta humildad la respuesta a las grandes reivindicaciones del feminismo radical del cual adolecen algunos en la iglesia, 

Las llaman empoderadas a estas mujeres un concepto muy diverso al de la mujer fuerte transmisora de vida que dan las Escrituras,

Noviembre es un mes de reflexiones y de meditaciones cuando caen las hojas y la gente se recluye junto a la estufa del cocedero. Lamento pensar contra corriente

SANTAS INGLESAS DE CORNUALLES

WOMEN SAINTS OF CORNWALL, PART 1

There is a humorous Cornish saying: “There are more saints in Cornwall than in Heaven.”

Among the host of saints who shone forth from the fifth to the seventh centuries in Cornwall to the far southwest of England, there were many women. We find holy missionaries, teachers, anchoresses, abbesses, nuns, righteous laywomen, martyrs, princesses and queens. Many of them were natives of Cornwall, but many came from Ireland and Wales where Orthodox Christianity flourished at that time. As is always the case with such saints, many of them were related, albeit the relation was not always necessary by blood—it was spiritual in many cases. These saints contributed much to the establishment of the Christian faith, world view and way of life in Cornwall for many centuries.

Though the history of Cornwall had periods of reversion to paganism, wars and invasions, the spirit and example of its early saints always nurtured, inspired and supported its inhabitants, and that is why they are still venerated today. The original Lives of nearly all the early Cornish saints were lost and the new accounts were written (often in a legendary form) by Roman Catholics after the Norman Conquest and contain only grains of truth. However, many traditions associated with the saints were passed down by pious folk from generation to generation and indeed there are some places in modern-day Cornwall where the memory of its ancient saints is still very much alive or being revived.

Almost all Cornish towns and villages are named in honor of a local saint; in some cases even rivers and bays are corruptions of local Celtic saints’ names, and nearly every settlement has a church or a chapel dedicated to its heavenly patron or patroness. In addition, there are dozens of pre-Norman holy wells, crosses and stones closely associated with saints. There are only a few shrines left, but the relics of saintly men and women may lie hidden under church floors, saved by pious people during the Reformation. Some pilgrims and tourists visiting Cornwall notice its atmosphere of holiness and feel the special presence of God in this early Christian (the first Christians may have appeared here in the first century) and mysterious land. Now let us recall several celebrated holy women of Cornwall.

  Saint Breaga of Cornwall

Commemorated: May 1/14 and June 4/17

St. Breaga (Breage, Breaca, Bray) is credited for evangelizing part of South Cornwall, which finely illustrates the role of women in spreading Orthodoxy in these lands. Her earliest biography no longer exists, though the poet, antiquary and “father of the local history of England” John Leland (1503-1552) who loved the early saints wrote a short narration of her life. According to tradition, St. Breaga lived in the late fifth to early sixth centuries, hailed from Ireland[1] (the region Lagonia mentioned in her story is identified as county Laois), became a nun, studied at one of the monasteries founded by St. Brigid of Kildare (mentioned as “Campus Breacae” in her story, identified as Mag Breg in Meath), and later was sent as a missionary to Cornwall, accompanied by seven other male and female preachers.

Among them were Sts. Sinwin (Sithney, to whom a neighboring parish is dedicated), Germoe, Elwen, Crowan, and Helen, though the name forms change with time and vary in different locations. The missionaries first settled on the bank of the River Hayle, but some of them were soon murdered by the cruel ruler Tewdwr Mawr. However, we know that St. Breaga survived, arrived first in Pencair, then in Trenwith and Talmeneth, where she built churches. There is evidence that the holy woman travelled all over Cornwall and her missionary endeavors were successful despite the fierce pagan opposition in some districts. Some traditions claim that Breaga lived as an anchoress in Penrith for many years and that she was martyred by pagans (the latter is not supported by modern researchers).

The main church she founded was in what is now the village of Breage close to the south Cornish coast, where the holy handmaiden of God reposed and was buried. Her earliest chapel was a tiny wooden oratory housing the altar by a preaching cross where converts gathered for worship in the open air. That chapel was later replaced with a stone church. St. Breaga was held in great veneration after her death for many centuries, and her relics were famous for working miracles. In the Middle Ages St. Breaga was venerated across Cornwall and Devon, including in the Diocese of Exeter, and an annual fair in honor of this saint was held at Breage on the third Monday of June.   

    

    

The present St. Breaga’s Church in the village of Breage was built of granite in around 1170. The structure has some Norman as well as many fifteenth-century elements. It was enlarged afterwards, with aisles, transepts and chapels added. Inside it has preserved some striking wall paintings. The most famous of these is that of “Christ of the trades”, depicting the wounded and lacerated Savior, with a large number of medieval tools below Him. There are two explanations for this unusual scene. Firstly, it was a colorful warning to illiterate medieval people against working on Sundays. Secondly, it could be simply Christ’s blessing of the work of various tradesmen. Other frescoes depict early saints, such as St. Ambrose and St. Christopher. They were rediscovered “by accident” under layers of plaster in the 1950s. A modern stained glass window on the south wall of the chancel depicts St. Breaga, its saintly patron. Other than that almost no noteworthy windows survive. Another unique feature of St. Breage’s is its nineteenth-century reredos carved by Belgian craftsmen. The church was reopened in 1879 following a major repair of its chancel.

  

A Celtic cross stands in the churchyard of Breage church next to the south porch. Interestingly, it is made of sandstone that cannot be found anywhere in the region. Perhaps it was purposely transported from somewhere to commemorate the saint or even mark her grave. The churchyard is circular in shape clearly indicating an early Celtic (and probably monastic) foundation. The village lies a few miles from the town of Helston which is famous among tourists for its custom of the “Furry Dance”.

  Saint Endelienda of Cornwall

Commemorated: April 29/May 12

St. Endelienda (Endelienta, Endellion), one of the greatest female saints in Cornwall, lived in the sixth century. She was born in either South Wales or Cornwall. If the former is true, she may have been one of the numerous children of the celebrated Welsh King Brychan of Brecknock; one of her brothers was St. Nectan of Hartland with whom she, of course, communicated. The holy virgin enlightened most of North Cornwall and founded several chapels. One of them from time immemorial stood in Tregony and was dedicated to her. It is there (according to another version, at Trentinney) that she lived for many years and performed miracles. It is known that from time to time St. Endelienda retreated to Lundy Island in the Bristol Channel (now in the English county of Devon) for solitary prayer and built a church there. Situated just opposite her brother Nectan’s main church at Hartland, Lundy Island also had a chapel that bore her name.

According to a popular tradition, St. Endelienda had a cow that provided her with milk every day for subsistence for many years. One day a local landlord, who was annoyed because the cow often strayed onto his grounds, in his fury killed the animal. The ruler executed the lord for this evil deed. The holy maiden could not tolerate this act of cruelty and began to pray hard to God. The Lord answered the intercessions of the venerable virgin and both the landlord and the cow were restored to life. It was said that grass in that area was greener than usual afterwards.

St. Endelienda predicted the day of her death. Shortly before her repose—according to tradition she was slain by pirates—the saint received communion for the last time. Before she died, Endelienda had gathered her disciples and gave them her final instructions. Notably, she ordered that after her death her body be laid on a cart yoked by two unguided calves. She told them to let these calves walk wherever they wished, for it would be the will of God. The calves pulled the cart and stopped at the top of a small hill in an idyllic spot. Now this village is called St. Endellion after her. There her relics were enshrined in a church which subsequently became collegiate. Large pilgrimages to St. Endelienda’s shrine at St. Endellion and to the site of her hermitage at Trentinney continued until the Reformation.

The village of St. Endellion lies in North Cornwall near the more famous picturesque village of Port Isaac on the coast. Its large parish church is still dedicated to St. Endelienda and commemorates her memory. It is built of granite moor stone in the Gothic Perpendicular style and dates back to the fifteenth century. This church is unique as it still holds a part of this saint’s shrine with her banner and an Orthodox icon of the saint (by John Colleman), depicting scenes from her Life and standing above it with candles lit alongside. It is a hard black stone altar which once served as the base of her main reliquary, her relics rested in a metal casket above it. The reliquary would be taken and carried in processions on her feast-day before the Reformation.

    

Under Henry VIII the main shrine was destroyed, and if relics still survive, they lie concealed somewhere under the church floor. The shrine altar is in perfect condition however, and in the nineteenth century it was moved from the sanctuary to the south chapel. This holy object still contains all of its medieval consecration crosses and has eight niches all way round, which are now empty. The church font is Norman, and fine examples of wooden and stone carvings of different periods can be found within the church. The church tower is tall with three stages, and in former times it was used as a landmark for sailors navigating the north Cornish coastline. The church retains its collegiate status with clerical and lay prebendaries appointed for it (though their role is now ceremonial).

St. Endelienda’s Church in St. Endelion was loved by the English poet laureate John Betjeman (1906-1984), who is buried at St. Enodoc's Church in Cornwall. Famous for his self-deprecating, witty and gently satiric poetry, Betjeman, who loved English antiquity, the world of the English province and its ancient churches (he even compiled a guide to English parish churches), was a real phenomenon in English poetry in past decades, and he is commemorated on a plaque with an angel above him in St. Endellion’s chancel. Betjeman used to say that this church gives the impression that it goes on praying day and night, whether there are people inside it or not. “St. Endellion! St. Endellion! The name is like a peal of bells!” he once wrote. There are two holy wells in the vicinity of the village, and they bear the name of St. Endelienda who used their waters during her lifetime.

The village is also famous for its annual music festivals, bell-ringing traditions, and for its connection with Nicholas Roscarrock (1548-1634), a writer and antiquarian who studied the Lives of a great many early English saints and collected traditions about no fewer than 100 saints of Devon and Cornwall.

In 2010 the former UK Prime Minister David Cameron gave his and his wife Samantha’s daughter the name “Florence Rose Endellion” after Samantha had given birth nearby during their holiday. St. Endelienda is depicted with her symbols—the palm of martyrs, a cow and a well—on a bead of the unique sixteenth-century Longdale Rosary of gold and enamel, kept in the Victoria and Albert Museum in London.

Saint Morwenna of Cornwall

Commemorated July 5/18

One of the most illustrious female saints of Cornwall is especially venerated in Morwenstow—the northernmost parish of Cornwall just beyond the Devon-Cornish border near the town of Bude. It stands on the rocky Atlantic coast with its frequent storms, and its name means “holy place of Morwenna”. We know little reliable information on St. Morwenna, who was born in the second half of the fifth century and died at the very beginning of the sixth century. Her earliest Life was lost, but she is mentioned in the twelfth-century Life of St. Nectan. According to tradition, she was one of the twelve holy daughters of the above mentioned King Brychan of Brecknock in Wales. She was born either in South Wales or Cornwall where her family had moved by the time of her birth. The name “Morwenna” most probably means “sea virgin”. The saint may have obtained a brilliant education in Ireland from where she returned to Cornwall as a missionary.

    

The saint may have enlightened a large part of north Cornwall, but what we do know for certain is that she lived as an anchoress at Hennacliff (the name means “the raven’s crag”) by the sea, on a bluff on the edge of the precipice. This place was later named Morwenstow after her. St. Morwenna was famous for the many miracles that she performed. Where the waves are very high and the Welsh shore can be seen on clear days, St. Morwenna built a tiny cell for herself and a stone church for the local inhabitants with her own hands. The holy anchoress would carry heavy boulders from the coast up to the top of the cliff on her head. A miraculous holy well gushed forth from a boulder not far from the church through St. Morwenna’s prayers. The legend says that “when the church was being built, St. Morwenna was carrying a stone on her head up from beneath the cliff. When she put it down to rest and refresh, St. Morwenna’s well sprang up; when she finally dropped it again, in the place she wanted, the church was built there, although the first choice for its site was elsewhere.” Before St. Morwenna died, her brother St. Nectan visited her for the last time to give her communion. The saint asked him to lift her head onto his arm so that she could gaze across the Atlantic at her native Wales in the distance for the last time.   

    

St. Morwenna has been venerated in Morwenstow as well as other sites in Cornwall. Thus, the neighboring village of Marhamchurch is probably associated with her, though a number of modern researchers believe that this village is named after St. Marwenne—our saint’s holy sister of whom nothing is known. The fourteenth-century church at Marhamchurch is dedicated to her. The local parish on the Monday following August 12 organizes annual fetes with “reenactments” of St. Morwenna’s legends with parades (it is known that Morwenna was often accompanied by male and female assistants) and some traditional Celtic elements, with the crowning of “the Revel Queen” as its culmination. St. Morwenna is also the heavenly patroness of Lamorran in Cornwall, where the thirteenth-century church bears her name.

    

    

Morwenstow, which is visited by Orthodox pilgrims, has a beautiful Norman parish church dedicated to St. John the Baptist and St. Morwenna. The first church on this site was Celtic and erected by Morwenna herself, and the current church has Norman and later elements. Its only Saxon feature is its fine tenth-century baptismal font. The church is beautiful, warm and welcoming inside. The relics of St. Morwenna are believed to rest somewhere under the church floor to this day, though their exact location is unknown. The people living here and pilgrims visiting this church note its special atmosphere of holiness, as if St. Morwenna were still alive here. An ancient faded wall-painting (fresco) on the north wall of the chancel is thought to depict its founding saint, Morwenna, praying for a priest (or a monk) presiding at the altar.

The church has a large stained glass window that was created in honor of Parson Hawker and St. Morwenna and contains a depiction of her that is copied from the above-mentioned fresco (the writing says “Fresco in Morwenstow church”); this picture shows St. Morwenna interceding before God for the priest (or monk) who serves at the altar. St. Morwenna is praying and the priest is kneeling before her. This scene is depicted in the window in the center of the second column from the left. The bottom left picture in the stained glass is also of St. Morwenna, portrayed holding the church to show she founded it, and the writing behind her head says “Morwenna”. The right hand column in the window, third from the bottom, is of the Well of St. Morwenna.

There is an ancient holy well dedicated to St. John the Baptist just outside the churchyard of Morwenstow church (now on the grounds of a private house)—one of just a handful of working baptismal wells dedicated in Britain to this saint. The well-house is locked most of the time, though its water is still actively used for baptisms. The current font was certainly used for outdoor baptisms along with St. John’s well water in olden times. The former holy well of St. Morwenna still exists, though it looks abandoned, overgrown and difficult of access. It is on Vicarage Cliffs a mile away from the village on the cliff slope overlooking the ocean. Now it is sadly dry, but it is the remainder of the very well (mentioned above) that St. Morwenna founded herself while having a rest.

    

There is a later Celtic cross head on the churchyard, although it is not associated with our saint and was originally used as a way-marker. In recent years there have been attempts to revive the veneration of Morwenna in Morwenstow. As for St. John the Baptist, there is an annual local patronal festival in his honor, which is attended by the school and many believers.

We cannot but mention another outstanding figure closely connected with Morwenstow. In the mid-nineteenth century a kind-hearted pastor, poet and hymn-writer named Robert Stephen Hawker (1803-1875) served at the parish church of Morwenstow for forty-one years. He had a reputation as a pure, honest and sincere person, who was a very talented man at that. He was reputed as an eccentric (thus, at one time he would wear Armenian vestments), an ascetic, a visionary, claimed he met and struggled with demons, talked to birds, preached against the storms, and, most importantly, saw St. Morwenna with his own eyes. When one sceptic argued that he did not believe in the existence of Morwenna, Hawker answered him: “Morwenna is not a fiction! More than that, I am absolutely confident that she is still here, for I saw her in the church.” And we have no doubt that Hawker, who had a hut near the church for quiet prayer, writing poetry and meditation, saw St. Morwenna more than once inside this holy church and conversed with her.

It is said that this saint has appeared to other believers inside this church too. It is worth mentioning that Hawker’s life was not idyllic; rather it was full of stress. Apart from church ministry Hawker was determined to bury all shipwrecked sailors in the churchyard rather than on the beach where they were washed up or even left unburied (and there were so many such tragic incidents over the years of his ministry). The pastor, of course, compassionately prayed for their souls. The white-painted figure of one such ship, The Caledonia, is mounted in the church’s north nave aisle. All but one of its 10 sailors sadly drowned. And Hawker restored life in the Morwenstow parish, where before his arrival there had been desolation and a lot of smugglers.

    

Remarkably, it was thanks to Robert Stephen Hawker that the Harvest Festival was revived in English churches. He even wanted to revive the ancient (early English) service of harvest-day, the “Lammas-service”, but since it falls on August 1 according to the new calendar it would have been too early for the first crops. Thus, he invited his congregation to the church on the first Sunday of October, 1843, to give thanks to God for their bountiful harvest, realizing that the period when the crops were just gathered would be more convenient and practical. The idea was soon welcomed by other clergy, and now the Church of England has a fixed celebration for the Harvest Festival in its calendar; the Morwenstow parish was the first to celebrate it under Hawker. Though this priest and poet was not officially Orthodox, his soul and worldview were clearly orthodox. Hawker named one of his three daughters Morwenna after his favorite saint. He is buried and commemorated at the church, and what is known as “Hawker’s hut” stands on the way towards the cliffs from the church, now under the care of National Trust. Girls in Cornwall and Devon are baptized with the name “Morwenna” and some similar forms to this day.

    

  

Several years ago, Mrs. Maureen Wilson, who studied traditions associated with St. Morwenna, local history, customs, archeology and folklore for seven years, wrote a booklet entitled Unveiling Morwenna, based on “good circumstantial evidence” rather than actual facts. In the course of her research the author discovered that life in the fifth and sixth century Celtic Church was far from primitive; in fact it was much more organized and visionary than she believes the Church of England is today. The author suggests that Brychan was a charismatic religious figure of Romano-British learning rather than a king (the Celts referred to any figure of great importance as “royal”) and that the twenty-four children of King Brychan are not to be taken literally; rather, they were his purposefully-chosen twelve male and twelve female disciples.

A man of great wisdom, intelligence and insight, Brychan founded several “colleges” across his kingdom to train all of them and then sent them out for missionary endeavors to different lands. A saint himself, Brychan had several “cells” and “sketes” for retreat too. One of his spiritual children was St. Morwenna. The author goes on to suggest that on her arrival to Cornwall Morwenna set up a large-scale missionary and educational work, establishing several centers, schools, farms, having men, women and children among her disciples whom she also trained as missionaries. She suggests that the saint travelled energetically, excelled in crafts, agriculture, medicine (she along with other female saints often brought medicinal herbs to Cornwall with them, which is why local traditions claim that they “sailed to Dumnonia on a leaf”), and was very close to common people, helping them in everyday needs and labors. According to Mrs. Wilson:

1. Morwenstow was the probable farmstead where food for Morwenna’s missionary work was produced. (“stow” can also mean “subsidiary holding”).

It was a place she loved, and where she chose to die ... so her bones might well be here!

2. Kilkhampton was the most likely place for the saint’s mission school or college. (Kil means ”church cell”.) This village has quite a significant origin and is also accessible for students, (St. Morwenna is known as a “teacher saint”), and so this is a real possibility.

3. Marhamchurch was where St. Morwenna had her “retreat”, or hermitage. Some have argued that the saint of this village was different, and called St. Marwenne, but Mrs. Wilson’s research points to the fact they were one and the same person. (Spellings alter over 1,500 years). Nectan also had a hermitage, further along the coast from his base in Hartland.

4. Evidence shows one of St. Morwenna’s missionary journeys, away from her base, was to Morwellham Quay, in the south of the West Country peninsula.

5. Killock Farm near Kilkhampton was most probably the site of a small satellite station servicing St. Morwenna’s main mission. (Killock = “church/cell”.). Kilkhampton has a “Lady Well” and Killock has “St. Peter’s well”, both may have been associated with Morwenna.

6. Morwenna was not a pioneering missionary in Cornwall. By that time the seeds of the faith of Christ were being overshadowed by paganism in the period of social chaos, so Morwenna’s calling was to strengthen Christianity as a durable faith for generations to come. And indeed she inspired and influenced a substantial community. The Dictionary of National Biography for 1894 contains the names of several notable people with the surnames “Morwen”, “Morwyn” and similar forms, denoting that these families were once associated with communities founded by Morwenna. Many communities, even tiny and isolated ones, in north Cornwall, still hold Morwenna in great respect. Isn’t this the fruit of her tireless labors to enlighten, educate and take care of the inhabitants of this whole region?

(This information was received from the author of Unveiling Morwenna by correspondence).

We conclude Part 1 on women saints of Cornwall with this poem by R. S. Hawker:

MORWENNAE STATIO

My Saxon shrine! the only ground
Wherein this weary heart hath rest:
What years the birds of God have found
Along thy walls their sacred nest!

The storm—the blast—the tempest shock,
Have beat upon these walls in vain;
She stands—a daughter of the rock—
The changeless God’s eternal fane.

Firm was their faith, the ancient bands,
The wise of heart in wood and stone;
Who reared, with stern and trusting hands,
These dark grey towers of days unknown:

They fill’d these aisles with many a thought,
They bade each nook some truth reveal:
The pillar’d arch its legends brought,
A doctrine came with roof and wall.

Huge, mighty, massive, hard, and strong,
Were the choice stones they lifted then:
The vision of their hope was long,
They knew their God those faithful men.

They pitched no tent for change or death,
No home to last man’s shadowy day;
There! there! the everlasting breath,
Would breathe whole centuries away.

See now along that pillar’d aisle,
The graven arches, firm and fair:
They bend their shoulders to the toil,
And lift the hollow roof in air.

A sign! beneath the ship we stand,
The inverted vessel’s arching side;
Forsaken—when the fisher-band
Went forth to sweep a mightier tide.

Pace we the ground! our footsteps tread
A cross—the builder’s holiest form:
That awful couch, where once was shed
The blood, with man’s forgiveness warm.

And here, just where His mighty breast
Throb’d the last agony away,
They bade the voice of worship rest,
And white-robed Levites pause and pray.

Mark! the rich rose of Sharon’s bowers
Curves in the paten’s mystic mould:
The lily, lady of the flowers,
Her shape must yonder chalice hold.

Types of the Mother and the Son,
The twain in this dim chapel stand:
The badge of Norman banners, one
And one a crest of English land.

How all things glow with life and thought,
Where’er our faithful fathers trod!
The very ground with speech is fraught,
The air is eloquent of God.

In vain would doubt or mockery hide
The buried echoes of the past;
A voice of strength, a voice of pride,
Here dwells amid the storm and blast.

Still points the tower and pleads the bell;
The solemn arches breathe in stone;
Window and wall have lips to tell
The mighty faith of days unknown.

Yea! flood and breeze, and battle shock
Shall beat upon this church in vain:
She stands, a daughter of the rock,
The changeless God’s eternal fane.

(From Cornish Ballads and Other Poems, by R. S. Hawker, ed. by C. E, Byles, p. 49. This poem was first published in Ecclesia, 1840).

Holy Mothers Breaga, Endelienda and Morwenna, pray to God for us!

Dmitry Lapa

7/21/2018

[1] There is actually no consensus as to where St. Breaga was born. Some old traditions claim that she was of Dumnonian descent and travelled to Ireland with the aim of getting education under St. Brigid. There are usually lots of conflicting details in the traditions related to early Celtic saints. If we are to outline this saint’s story, we can say for sure that she was a holy woman who successfully preached Christ to convert inhabitants of south Cornwall and built several churches, being previously trained at a monastery in Ireland in the Celtic tradition.