The email sender, a famous astrologer I had never heard of, tries to instruct me on how to prepare for Valentine’s Day. Famous Astrologer states they have the ideal menu for me to prepare for my beloved, according to my beloved’s zodiac sign. Famous Astrologer wants to ensure my Valentine’s prolonged fun and enjoyment, and don’t I yearn for unending fun and enjoyment? According to them, I have the honour and pleasure and obligation to plan three courses, shop, prepare, serve, and clear up. According to my beloved’s zodiac sign, the ideal Valentine’s dinner consists of something “creative and slightly strange”, sure to “get my beloved thinking.” About what, I wonder.
I never thought about Valentine’s Day when I was growing up in Brazil, or ever wrote a card to someone asking someone to be my Valentine or wishing them a Happy Valentine’s day. In Brazil, we enjoyed Dia dos Namorados, the equivalent of Valentine’s Day, on June 12. The date was chosen for the population by an advertiser who knew what he was doing: June was a slow month for shopkeepers who needed to move their inventories. He organised a Christmas in June, two weeks before Saint Anthony’s Day, the day of the Brazilian match-making saint. Buying pressure sent everyone out into a frenzy of shopping: red roses and chocolates finished first, and you just knew that if you got a book by an unknown author, your beau had lost the struggle to get a yearned-for best-seller. In the end, shopkeepers were happy, and so were some gift recipients.
But I barrelled towards life in the US, and one mid-winter day my kids arrived home with handfuls of school-made Valentine’s cards. I thought that it wasn’t age appropriate, and it seemed the school was brainwashing the kids, practically forcing them to produce cards and more cards to people they liked and disliked. Fine, it was a democratic Valentine’s. But there was no chance to say, “No, I don’t want you to have a happy Valentine’s day.”
Of course I wasn’t going to change the status quo. Valentine jubilation had spread to the four corners of the world. With mounting years, Valentine’s cards filled up my kids’ backpacks, with the accompanying smell and mess of glue and glitter sticking to everything. Until they became teenagers and Valentine’s turned serious, but that’s a different story.
Who Was That Valentine Guy?
The original Valentine was a priest who lived in the third century. From then on there’s little agreement as to the priest’s doings. That’s because Valentine is the name of thirty other male saints, “and even a few Valentinas.” (Between us, I think Valentinas would be better at match-making than those Valentinos.)
But we now have two Valentines dictating soppy cards and selling chocolate boxes from frankincense-filled Paradise. First, there was a Saint Valentine, Bishop of Terni, Narnia, and Amelia. No, he did not write The Chronicles of Narnia, but he might have owned a magic wardrobe, according to unsubstantiated church gossip. This is where his life turns interesting, because his history merges with that of Saint Valentine of Rome. No, Saint Valentine of Rome did not come out of the wardrobe, as far as I know, but it was such a long time ago, who’s to say he didn’t?
Apparently, both Valentines ministered to Christians during the third century and were imprisoned because they were always preaching and the powers that be didn’t like that. One of the Valentines tried to convert emperor Claudius II himself, and that was the last drop. But Valentine (Which one?) started talking with a judge who decided to test him and his faith. The judge’s daughter was blind and she was brought to Valentine’s presence. Valentine prayed, laid hands on the daughter, and she was then able to see clearly. Which makes it ironic for Valentine to be the saint of love these days, because when you’re in love you don’t see anything clearly. There’s that mist, or a thick smog, surrounding the love object. Love really is blind.
The thankful judge asked Valentine how to repay him, so Valentin did not hold back: Break all the idols in your home, fast for three days, and undergo baptism. In the end, everyone in the judge’s home, including the slaves, became Christians.
The two Valentines also had to obey a decree by emperor Claudius II that forbade all Roman soldiers to get married. Claudius didn’t want his soldiers to worry about their lonely spouses and families back home, as he believed it would soften the soldiers’ hard stance. Claudius wanted his conscripts’ total devotion to the cause of marching to remote lands, fighting, killing, and winning. It’s either that or the fact that conscripts had to be single; married men did not become soldiers. No exception. So what did Valentine do? He secretly married soldiers and their beloveds.
Soft, married soldiers weren’t on Claudius’ Wish List, so he found an easy solution: “Orf with his/their head/s!” Although there are several conflicting dates of when they were martyred, they all agree that both Valentines were decapitated. One body was buried in Rome and another in Terni.
Strange Dates
In 1969, the Roman Catholic Church removed St. Valentin’s from its General Roman Calendar list, mostly because so little is known or proven about him. As is the case, in my opinion, with most saints.
In Eastern Orthodoxy, St. Valentine is celebrated on July 6. The other Valentine, the Bishop of Terni, Narnia, and Amelia (officially called Bishop of Interamma), is celebrated on July 30. Double celebrations for all, and there are no excuses for forgetting a significant gift.
However, the official Liturgical Calendar for Eastern Orthodox Dioceses of the United States identifies February 14 as the memorial of Saints Cyril and Methodius, who lived in the 9th century. Venerated as saints, they are also called Apostles of the Slavs and Co-Patrons of Europe (Big Cheeses at the European Union must be pleased). Cyril and Methodius devised the Glagolictic alphabet, which they thought matched the Slavonic language, and that alphabet gave origin to the Cyrillic script. The two saints led convoluted lives at a time when the Orthodox and the Roman Churches fought for territories and dominance in different areas, but they achieved something useful for humankind.
St. Valentine’s Relics
The Oratory of Phillip Neri, also known as the Birmingham Oratory, owns a gold reliquary that accommodates the Body of St. Valentin under one of its lateral altars. If you feel so inclined, just take a cheap flight to Birmingham, England, to sort out your Valentine’s woes.
You’d think, wouldn’t you, that if someone had a saint’s whole set of remains, there wouldn’t be any more remains anywhere else. But no. That’s the super-power of saints. They’re just about anywhere you wish them to be. If Birmingham is a tad far away, or beyond your budget, or you really don’t fancy the Brummie accent, you’re not short of options for Valentine’s bones abound everywhere.
For instance, The Basilica of Santa Maria in Cosmedin, Rome, is swarming with gold-colour reliquaries inhabited by holy bits of saints. In the whiff of candles and oil lamps, there are partial skulls aplenty, all crowned with flowers, surrounded by shards of bones, tangled hair, and vials of blood from saints I didn’t know existed. Saint Valentine’s skull stands a little lopsided in his reliquary, and it looks like he’s gnawing at someone’s femur. I think he inhabits a tight rent-free space with his colleagues’ fragments, but he surely deserves a reliquary of his own.
Strangely, the Basilica’s website does not list Saint Valentine’s skull as one of its many relics, but a Saint Valentine is present as a fragment of “bone” that shares a casquet-like reliquary with a medley of Saints Eusebio, Theodore, Celestin, and Aurelia. Who would have thought.
Dublin, Ireland, is another Saint Valentine’s place of pilgrimage. The Shrine of St. Valentine in Whitefriar Street Carmelite Church was built after an Irish preacher, John Spratt, visited Rome in 1835. He preached so well that Pope Gregory XVI awarded him the remains of St. Valentine of Rome. They arrived in Dublin to be worshiped by all in 1836. A good while later, John Spratt died, people lost interest in Saint Valentine, and his remains went into unholy storage. But interest in Valentine resurfaced in the mid-1900, so his remains were rehoused in a new altar and shrine. A statue of Saint Valentine enhances the altar, and you can buy “hand painted replicas” at the church shop. Most importantly, you can sign the book where people implore Saint Valentine for the right type of love.
Now, you can also find chunks of Saint Valentine’s bones in Vienna, Austria; Prague, Czech Republic; Roquemaure, France; Lesbos, Greece; Savona, Italy; Balzan, Malta; Chelmno, Poland; Glasgow, Scotland; Košice, and Nováky, Slovakia; and Madrid, Spain. His body seems somewhat overstretched.
There are more pieces of Valentine around Europe than we know what to do with it, although some relics are not certified as having been from the correct Valentine(s). But who’s to say that them bones haven’t facilitated a miracle or two?
Today, Saint Valentin is considered the patron saint of engaged couples, happy couples, beekeepers, epileptics, fainting, greetings, travellers, young people, love, lovers, and possibly, things we know nothing about yet. Therefore, beware who you pray for. You don’t want all those Valentines fighting for strange miracles to happen in your life. But you do want a match sweet as honey, made in heaven, so go for it!
You could say, with thirty Saint Valentines hovering around, that your chances to find love are very high, indeed. Well, give it a try. There’s always the possibility that a certain sliver of bone is indeed from a holy man. Or woman or chicken.
Do you still want to know about the menu the astrologer ordered me to cook on Valentine’s day, otherwise I’d be stuck in eternal heartbreak? Oh, I declared, “Orf with his head!”
Music of the Rant
It has to be Prokofief’s Romeo and Juliet‘s Dance of the Knights, right? London Symphony Orchestra, Maestro Valery Gergiev YouTube
P.S.: I’ve taken out a couple of commas, and corrected Pope Gregory’s Roman numerals. Did you notice that?
Regina's Rants 
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