When I was still a teenager I met St Martin in Diana L. Paxson's novel, The White Raven. I would meet him again in books about what isn ot called Celtic spirituality, the body of texts and prctices that opened the door to a devout Roman Catholic to enter the world of magic. So Martin of Tours was that door. The soldier turned saint who gave part of his cloak to a beggar and saw that the beggar was Christ because Christ is in the least of us, has always meant a great deal to me, even before I knew that his time was old Halloween or that this feast was the close of that time of reverencing the dead, and drawing near to the world of spirit that begins on All Hallows and is called Allentide. Tonight candles and lanterns are lit for--I doubt a final time--but a final time in this round of celebrations, and we turn from autumn into the season of winter.
Armistice Day was and is the Feast of Martin of Tours, the Roman soldier who became a contemplative saint and a bishop. He was known to be a friend to the poor, and beyond that to the outcast, and the indigent, those who have falled off the main track of life. This matters so much because, unlike Vereran's Day, which paints a picture of a glorious successful warrior of steel, Martinmas points to the truth that so many soldiers, like so many other souls, fall apart, fall through the cracks. This is one of the reasons we light lanterns, for all of those lost and struggling and forgotten souls.
Words matter. Armistice Day is the end of the war. It is the time to commemorate all who were lost, not to glorify a particular nation or pay a cheesy attention to our idea of soldiers, but to seriously look at the cost of war and focus on the need for peace. In America where war is abstract and the army volunteer, we are safe enough tot talk about glorious warriors and think that hanging a flag and saying "Thank you for your service" does something, but Armistice Day originated in Europe where the actual war was fought, where young men were sent to kill each other in fields of red poppies, where it is remembered that battle fields are farm fields, are real fields on real peoples's land. Mars, the God of War was the God of the Fields and of protection and he lended his name to Martin the Saint. Martin was a soldier, not a warrior. He was a paid employee who had to go into military service for a superpower of a state trying to hang on to its influence. He did his time and got out when he could. There is no glorification of the war cult here. His progression was from sword to plowshare and the incident for which we most remember him using his sword, was to cut his cloak in two and share it with a beggar.
Of old, Martinmas was the beginning of Christmastime. Now it is the herald of it and leads up to the next quiet weeks before Advent. Much as they say at Yom Kippur, the gates, the gates are closing, but these are the gates between us and the other worlds. However all mystics and magicians know that, in the end, the gate is never.... ever... truly shut. No.
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