Monday, February 14, 2022                                      (today’s lectionary)
Memorial of Saints Cyril, Monk and Methodius, Bishop
Stories of romance and sacrifice
Valentine’s Day Massacre. Valentine’s Day Magic. My niece Kelsey’s long-time boyfriend is named Valentin. This is, I’m sure, a very special day for them.
Having been in love with Margaret for a good two months, I stole into her mobile home and washed the dishes, covered the floor with rose petals, and got a romantic record ready to play on her stereo. When she came home from work she couldn’t stop smiling.
I imagine we had a great dinner together, maybe even one that I cooked, but she was such a good cook herself … I can make up stories but the lingering memories are sweet enough. I imagine that at best, I was the sous-chef.
 Consider it all joy, my brothers and sisters, when you encounter various trials, for you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance.
As for the Massacre, which involved tommy guns, Bugs Moran, Al Capone and nasty smiles on fake policemen, it happened very early in the morning. Dick Tracy wasn’t even up yet. Depictions from the painter’s palette are all dominated by red.
I like to go to Aldi the day after Valentine’s Day and get half price candy. I will not do that this year. I am trying to reform. And Aldi is a good 30 minutes away when we’re in Austin. I got enough candy at Christmas to last awhile yet. I want to eat less. Much less. None. That’s not going to happen. I don’t want to say any more.
Let your perseverance be perfect and complete, lacking nothing. And if any of you lacks wisdom, you should ask God who gives to all generously, and you will be given the wisdom you seek. But you MUST ask in faith.
St. Valentine is honored by Lutherans and Anglicans today, but the Catholics cancelled out in 1969, because too little is known about St. Valentine, of whom there are two, who died in 269 and 273 AD. The second saint’s head has been preserved for these 18 centuries in the abbey of New Minster in Winchester, England. I did not look very far into this story.
The one who doubts is like a wave of the sea that is driven and tossed about by the wind. That person must not suppose he will receive anything from the Lord, for he is a double-minded man, unstable in all his ways.
Cyril and Methodius took Valentine’s place in the Roman Catholic roster of saints. Along with Benedict, they are the Patron Saints of Europe. There are no romantic legends attached to their stories, and I would likely not have strewn rose petals in Margaret’s home on Cyril and Methodius Day, February 14, 1979.
Be kind to me, Lord, and I shall live. Let your kindness comfort me according to your promise to your servants.
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Barter by Sarah Teasdale
 Life has loveliness to sell,
All beautiful and splendid things,
Blue waves whitened on a cliff,
Soaring fire that sways and sings,
And children’s faces looking up
Holding wonder like a cup.
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Life has loveliness to sell,
Music like a curve of gold,
Scent of pine trees in the rain,
Eyes that love you, arms that hold,
And for your spirit’s still delight,
Holy thoughts that star the night.
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Spend all you have for loveliness,
Buy it and never count the cost;
For one white singing hour of peace
Count many a year of strife well lost,
And for a breath of ecstasy
Give all you have been, or could be.
 The stories of our lives involve sacrifice, romance, and sometimes miracle, and I am thankful for all I remember of mine. I am grateful for God’s touch and protective arm, for his finger pointing out to me the risks I must take, sometimes prodding me in the back.
As the Pharisees again sought to argue and seek signs from heaven, Jesus sighed from the depth of his spirit. Then he left them, got into the boat again and went off to the other shore.
As Jesus did with the Pharisees, sometimes the Holy Spirit might roll his eyes at me, and sigh. I too seek too many signs beyond his Presence, beyond the continuing heartbeat inside my chest. But I do not think the Holy Spirit will ever leave me. If he does, I’ll hightail it over to the other shore.
Poem reprinted by Garrison Keillor in The Writer’s Almanac, 2/11/22
 (James 1, Psalm 119, John 14, Mark 8)
(posted at www.davesandel.net)
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