Canonization

You can fall into Wikipedia pretty easily. You can't really look up anything that you're interested in without it linking you to a related topic which, chances are, you're going to be interested in as well. It's a slippery slope, choosing to learn more about Dali's Christ of St. John of the Cross. One, it's a mouthful. Two, you spend most of your time trying to find where that nutbag tore the canvas in 96. Three, you can find out there is a place called the St. Mungo Museum of Religious Life and Art. Which begs the question...

St. Mungo?

So I started looking that up and, lo and beholden, there was a St. Mungo. Now, I'm going to ask you to stay with me, because this gets a little shaky.

First off, ol' Mungo is the patron saint of Glasgow, and that's not bad. If you can nail down a post as the patron saint of a major city, you're doing pretty good in the old saint department. Which is really the only department you should be putting any effort into, at the point. He's also the patron saint of salmon, those accused of infidelity, as well as being the patron saint "against bullies," for reasons which will become apparent later. So, what did Mungo do to become such a great success? To be in charge of the well-being of a significant Scottish city, a myriad of other strange and seemingly disconnected charges under his care, and to have a kitschy little boutique museum named after him?

In order to become a saint, you have to perform three miracles. Check this out:

Miracle 1: Mungo straight up brought a bird back to life. Serf, his friend and fellow saint (I guess there was something in the water?) had a pet robin, which was killed by his classmates so they could blame it on Mungo, I guess hoping to drive a wedge into their holy, holy playdates. Mungo brought it back from beyond the grave. Do you understand me? Motherfuckers tried to frame Mungo, and he holied his way out of it.

Motherfucker made a zombie sparrow. Or... like... the Jesus of sparrows! Maybe that sparrow went over to his buddies later and was all, "Do you doubt me now, Chirp Chirp? Here, feel on the back of my head where that little fucker whacked me with a rolled up newspaper. Know me, bird of birds."

I don't know. Parchment scroll. It's not important.

Miracle 2: This one's awesome. King Riderch wanted to kill his wife because he believed her to be unfaithful, but couldn't prove it. So, ends justify the means, he took her ring, threw it in the lake, and claimed that she'd given it to her lover. When she couldn't produce the ring to refute his claims, the King had an airtight case. Facing execution, she pleaded to Mungo for help, who orded a servant to go and catch a fish in the river. The servant brought Mungo the fish and, upon opening it, found the fucking ring inside.

"Ma'am, is this your rign?!"

If I were a more skeptical man, I would enjoy thinking about the moments between when he sent the guy to get the fish, and when he actually saw the ring resting in its glistening innards. He must have been sweating blood like that Indian Jesus statue.

That's a statue of Jesus in India. Not a statue of Indian Jesus.


Anyway... now that I have two crucifixions up here, we can get to the important stuff.

St. Mungo is known for having performed four miracles, getting the A+ in sainthood, and probably pissing off Serf in the seat next to him for messing up the curve (Serf is the patron saint of hangin' ten or some shit like that, probably). There is a famous verse, in Glasgow, used to help remember the miracles he performed while in the city. It goes thusly:

Here is the bird that never flew
Here is the tree that never grew
Here is the bell that never rang
Here is the fish that never swam

We've heard two of the stories. Here are the others.

Miracle 3: He brought a bell from Rome which was used for ceremonies and to mourn the deceased.

That's it.

He brought a bell from Italy. By those standards, UPS has probably achieved sainthood a hundred times over delivering genuine Roman bells all over the country to needy sniper-ready towers and New Jersey Catholic weddings. The bell didn't even do anything miraculous he could claim credit for. The original bell hasn't even existed since the 1640s.

What the fuck, man?

Miracle 4: The tree that never grew. You may have noticed that I went a little out of order to the one in the song, but I wanted to save this. I wanted to relish it.

St. Mungo was left in charge of a fire at St. Serf's monastery, which is nice because at least we know they stayed in touch. St. Mungo fell asleep, and the fire went out. He felt bad about letting his friend down so he went outside, and I quote:

"Taking branches from a tree, he restarted the fire."

...

WHAT?

Forget for a second that this miracle seems to paint Mr. Mungo as a slacking, Gomer-Pyle-quality saint. He made fire?! That' a miracle?! That means first year boy scouts can achieve sainthood! Fuck, cavemen can achieve sainthood! Are there no standards? Is this the final result of saint standardization falling lower and lower as saint scores drop because of slackers like St. Serf? He made fire, people! By that rationale, NATURE is a SAINT.

Damn it.

Also, I assume St. Serf's monastery is near the beach, and that the fire was in a cement pit with a few coat hangers sticking out and "DANGER - HOT COALS" stenciled along its circumference.

I guess that's why he's St. Mungo. Sure, he never punched out a horse, but when your ability to start a fire and transport chimes is considered nothing less than miraculous, your expectations are not that high. I guess that's why the little mnemonic verse isn't very specific on just what transpired, eh Mungat?

So... here's my problem with the rhyme, then: That bird totally flew (at least the first time it was alive, for sure), that tree completely grew otherwise how could he harvest its limbs, and the fish must have been able to swim to get caught, unless no nevermind it had to have swum. Swam.

I can't attest to the ability or inability of the bell to ring.

The whole thing just smacks of inaccuracy to me. However, I can't fault St. Mungo. For a few reasons, most importantly being that he's a saint. But I can't fault Mungo because he's a saint. Named. Mungo.

And he made me ask myself, "What an odd name for a saint. I wonder if there are any other similarly odd-named saints?"

Yes. There is.

I have included, here, a brief listing of some of the greatest names of saints ever to grace our piddling little planet before being called back home, most likely to complain about the name they were saddled with during their brief time here.

• St. Arnulf - Patron saint of millers.
• St. Benno - Patron saint of fishermen, though I wish it had been 'clowns.'
• St. Elmo - While better-known he is still amusing and the patron saint of, among other things, "anyone who works at great heights." Like... I don't know... trapeze artists and tightrope walkers ohmygod Circus of the Saints!
• St. Gangulphus - Patron saint of no, I'm serious, that's his name. You can look it up.
• St. Notburga - Patron saint of farmers, husbandry, and, in my dreams, hot dogs.
• St. Phocas - Patron saint of not-photography-and-that-is-a-travesty.
• St. Woldobo - Patron saint of students. Sure.

And last, but far from least...

• St. Homobonus

Pictured above, St. Homobonus was a merchant in northern Italy who believed God allowed him to work to help people living in a state of poverty. He was a skilled and prosperous tailor, partook in the Eucharist every day, and was named Homobonus.

Homobonus.

The name derives from the latin Homo and Bonus, meaning "Good Man." Still... I just can't... I mean, I can't. He's a saint. A saint. What I'm supposed to do, guys? What I'm supposed to do? Homo. Bone. Us. Guys.

For real.

Or, alternately (and which I think is much cuter) he's named after something that Pacman gets when he refuses to meet up with Ms. Pacman at the center of the screen and instead eats a cherry in front of Blinky, tying the stem into a knot with his giant pixelly tongue.

Assuming Blinky's a guy.

Which I do.



So I guess what I'm saying is don't be so quick to brush off something like scholarly pursuits about sainthood. You might be able to burn off two or three hours of your life making fun of the names of people who have been dead for hundreds upon hundreds of years and who lived much better, meaningful lives than yours.

And that's always fun.

---

And those are just the patron saints of occupations and activities. I'm not even going to get into ailments, illnesses and dangers.