A Blessing

At first glance, it appeared to be a basket full of long coloured candles tied with pretty gold or silver ribbon and gift tagged. A closer look revealed the words: “Through the intercession of Saint Blaise, bishop and martyr, may God keep you free from all harm to your throat and from all other harm besides. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.” The candles were tied in pairs so that they opened to form a cross. Tomorrow, February 3, will see the annual blessing of throats as the Church commemorates the feast of St. Blaise.

We take so many of our customs for granted; we even overlook them in our hurry to get on with the day and its more pressing timetable. And then, we are jogged into awareness of the saint’s feast-day by the announcement in Church. This season of itchy throats, coughs and hoarseness carries its own reminder that perhaps the pills and potions need a helping hand! But who is St. Blaise and what is his association with throats? How did this custom come about? According to Church history, St. Blaise was the Bishop of Sebaste, Armenia, in the Fourth Century and legend has it that he cured a boy who was about to die because of a fishbone stuck in his throat. From the Eighth Century onwards he was invoked on behalf of the sick, especially those afflicted with illnesses of the throat. And the custom has been carried through, unbroken, to current times, eighteen centuries later.

For most of us, the church year has two seasons and two major feasts: Lent and Advent, Easter and Christmas. But a closer look at the liturgical calendar reveals a richness of minor feasts – saints’ days, Our Lady’s days and days commemorating important events and topics. In February alone, we have the feast of Our Lady of Lourdes (February 11), Holy Childhood (February 12) and Bible Sunday (February 19). No, I haven’t turned religious all of a sudden; I just have the lovely, informative calendar from the Catholic Communication Centre and it hangs handily beside my computer!

Presenting the Presentation

Before first Mass on February 2^nd, a very small group will gather in the porch outside the main entrance to our Church. If the weather holds, it will be a cold, dark wintry morning and the lights inside the Cathedral will beckon warmly, but there is something to be done before the regulars can enter and occupy their spots in the pews. This day is different.

The celebrant, vested, pauses at the top of the steps while the sacristan stands with a basket of candles beside him. Prayers are recited – invocation and response – voices at first hesitant then gathering in resonance as the significance of the occasion sinks in. The candles are blessed and distributed and the people, too, feel the sprinkle of holy water as they cross themselves in time honoured ritual. The candles are distributed, lit and the little congregation processes into church behind the Priest, singing a hymn. The candles are extinguished, Mass begins. What is this day?

The feast of the Presentation commemorates the occasion when the infant Jesus is presented in the temple, in accordance with Jewish Law which prescribes that all the first born of human and animal alike be offered up to the Lord, 40 days after birth. This day also commemorates the Purification of Mary, following Jewish custom for women who had given birth (in the Catholic Church this custom was continued and known as ‘Churching’. The practice has been discontinued for some time).

As a very young child, I looked forward to this day as Candlemas. We lived in Bareilly where the winters were even colder and the early mornings much darker. The church was far away, so my father would wake me up at the crack of dawn. Warmly wrapped up and muffled to the eyebrows, I was transported by bicycle, anticipation and excitement rising with every turn of the wheel. There would be other children and infants brought by their parents – a sweet reminder of that young Jewish mother and her infant son - and we would participate wide-eyed as the flickering candles dispelled the darkness. The fragrance of incense warmed the air and the musical chant of the Nunc Dimittimus resounded between stone walls. I remember Simeon’s prayer so vividly – we had to learn it ‘by heart’! - “Now dost thou dismiss thy servant, according to Thy word, in peace; for mine eyes have seen the salvation of thy people…”.

This is the day when Simeon tells Mary, "Behold, this child is set for the fall and rising of many in Israel and for a sign that is spoken against, (and a sword will pierce through your own soul also), that thoughts out of many hearts may be revealed."

This day is significant in the time-line of the Church calendar. A tradition upheld. And for those of us to whom tradition is important, there is a certain tenderness in the memory and a quickening of the spirit. For, in tradition there is continuity - a link to the past and hope for today.