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

 

Minster Abbey in Thanet, Kent, U.K.

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

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

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

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

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

HERE is Merewalh's page in the Wikipedia website.

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

The inside of St. Mary's Church

Minster-in-Thanet

Kent, U.K.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The interior of San Felipe de Neri

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

God bless us all

Silver Rose

Web sites:

My parish: https://sanfelipedeneri.org/

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

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

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

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