Saint Dwynwen, Saint Brigid

Today is St. Dwynwen's Day.  It is called the Welsh Saint Valentine's Day, but that is doing her an injustice.  She is her own woman, with her own story, and her own immortal soul.  I have little in common with her, other than a knowledge of the real God and a physical locality.  I don't know her culture and customs, the daily realities of a dark age Celtic princess.  Her sacred well and ruins reside on a tidal island off the coast of Anglesey.  I have been there, and I have prayed to her.

Saint Dwynwen lived in the fifth century.  Her father forbid her betrothal, so she prayed to fall out of love with the man.  An angel provided her with a potion that turned her betrothed to ice.  She was distraught, so she prayed to God, who granted her three wishes.  Dwynwen asked for her betrothed to be healed, for God to help all true lovers, and for herself to remain unmarried.  She then dutifully became a hermitess, but people sought her for her use of herbs for healing.

It is no coincidence that Dwynwen and her sister saints seem to have stepped right out of a fairy tale.  From Saint Dymphna, the Irish princess whose father killed her because she refused to commit incest with him, to Saint Winifred, who was beheaded by a lustful man and whose saintly uncle replaced her head and restored her to life.  These saints' stories are the intrusion of the Story into creation.  They are, you might say, an extension of the Incarnation.  They are familiar the way He is familiar.  Because He made them, and us, for Himself.

It is fitting that Saint Brigid shares a name and feast day with the pagan goddess.  She is the full-color portrait of a person and a reality whose shadow we saw first in nature.  The worshipers of Brigid were looking for Christ.  Thanks be to God, the real Brigid came and showed Him to us.

+JMJ+

Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash