St. Patrick's Day and a Recurring Mystery
St. Patrick's Day has once again
come and and I almost missed it until too late. I know it comes in March,
but so does March Madness and who can remember that date? At least the
Ides of March gives you a numerical frame of reference. I will try to
remember that it is the 17th, but next year help a sister out and give
me a hint some time around the 10th.
This brings to mind a much larger question. Why does the whole country celebrate St. Patrick’s Day (March 17, as it turns out) but nobody
celebrates St. Olaf’s Day (July 29)? I
am mostly Norwegian (though on St. Patrick’s Day I am allowed to be Irish
through the use of large amounts of green and/or beer). I know a little about St. Patrick, and a
great deal more about St. Olaf and I can think of no reason for the lack of
celebration for one and too much celebration for another except, maybe, good
press.
Olafr Haroldsson (995-1030) was also known as Olaf the
Fat, though now days he is called Olaf the Holy in honor of his sainthood. He is also referred to as Norway’s
Eternal King, and credited with bringing Christianity to the Viking
hordes. The battle axe on Norway’s coat
of arms is there in his honor.
Olaf
was a typical Viking teen, in that he went on raids to England and did his fair share of
raping, pillaging and plundering. But
young Olaf had bigger dreams than common marauding. He came from royalty (pagan and fur-clad as
it was) and wanted to unite all of Norway into a single country. Around 1015, Olaf wintered in Normandy (France)
with Duke Richard II. This man was an
ardent Christian, and worked his magic on Olaf the Barbarian, turning him into
a baptized, believing Christian.
In that same year, he returned to Norway,
declared himself King (always easier to say than to execute) and, in the true
spirit of good Christian kings, promptly aligned himself with several Nordic
tribes and went to war. What followed
could make up at least half a season on the Game
of Thrones series. The truth is
that while Olaf fell in the grey area of both governance and piety, he has
become—whether through dint of service or conspiratorial good press—the patron
saint of Norway. We celebrate his name day on July 29th
and everyone gets to wear red and drink beer.
So why is the green thing (with beer) on March 17 all the
rage and the red thing (with beer) on July 29 a snoozer? Because the Irish have better press! No one thinks of Norwegians as the, “Hail
fellows, well met!” of the drinking crowd.
We are dour, serious, and long-faced, and nobody likes a mean,
depressed or belligerent drunk. We don’t
have rosy-cheeked singers and dancers; instead of River Dance we’ve got the
Ride of the Valkyries. Norwegians don’t
have bonnie lasses. We have dangerous
women with axes in their hands. We like
serious cold, unending toil and pickled fish. “The Irish
Washer Woman” is a sprightly jig. The
best music Norway
has produced is Edvard Grieg’s and his is heavy even on a good day. St.
Patrick’s Day has cute little leprechauns and four leaf clovers. We have Munch and his paining of The
Scream. Let’s face it—no one wants to
celebrate with a Norwegian.
This year, on July 29th, I’m going to wear red and a big
button that says, “Kiss me, I’m a Viking—or face the consequences.”
Plan a party with a Norwegian and keep the faith.
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