To commemorate today, the feast of St. Boniface, we bring you a first of its kind from The Rubric - a poem by one of our readers. Patrick Beranek is a parishioner at St. Peter's in Joplin. He is working on a degree in Economics and History at the University of Missouri.
In darkness, German snows fell soft, Drifts shaded by that dreadful oak Where countless Blóts were offered oft To daemons in deific cloak. To free the land of this great blight Came Boniface, of holy state. A child’s faith, and a bishop’s might Would be his twain companions great. At his approach, a robed man came To greet this stranger on his way “I bid ye welcome, in the name Of Thor, for whose defense we pray” “Tis at this tree we, stranger, come To worship Thor’s eternal might Lest furious he should become And with his lightning us should smite” Stout Boniface had heard the tale Oft whispered of upon his path The daemon dwelling in the vale The oakwood filled with wicked wrath. “Well met, fair stranger, but, alas, I come here not to worship Thor, For I serve He who doth surpass The might of all the gods of yore” The rumor spread of Boniface, The man who dared the gods defy, And many men streamed to the place To watch that madman passer-by “Oh sons of Japeth, harken near!” Cried Boniface to heathen horde, “And listen, ye, incline your ear To words of Christ, your one true Lord.” “Ye Germans, it is Holy Writ: The gods of Earth are daemons all. Yet praise to one such you emit, As did all nations since the Fall.” “So, slaves are ye to awful Thor To serve and join him deep in Hell. This, your fate forevermore, Twas ever since great Adam fell.” “But fear not, Germans, for I bring Good news of victory and life For Jesus Christ, the world’s great king Has bought ye by his fearsome strife.” “Upon the torturous cross he died, Then three days was he in the grave, But death itself Our Lord defied, And now he lives, our souls to save.” The crowd fell silent, knowing not. ‘Tis true? What these bold words impart? God on a cross? Absurd, the thought! But yet, the words struck deep the heart. Amidst the folk thus gathered there A man of trembling stature rose With wizened face from years of wear And eyes well spent on countless woes. “There is truth, stranger, to your tale,” Began the sage with sadness deep, “Our wise know well, to no avail, The evil of the rites we keep.” ‘Ere once I fought to earn a place In Valhalla, there brave to dwell. But now, I know what is the case: Thor casts his dead forthwith to Hel. “But of this Christ, our folk know not, We have not seen this risen God. But every night when storms are wrought, Thor casts his mighty lightning rod.” “How can your unseen god unseat The master of our land and sky? Thor’d crush your Christ beneath his feet. See his oak! No tree is so high!” “So, go, return to that blessed land Where Thor’s dark reign doth not extend, For our folk have our lot in hand, To face as men, ‘til all shall end.” Thus spoke he to our blessed saint, And dourly all there did accord But with resolve that loathed to faint Bold Boniface spoke for his Lord. “Ye heathens! I tell you this day The Lord my God is Lord of all! Germania whole lies at his sway, And Thor shall flee his mighty call!” “So, gather here, ye faithless corps, Tomorrow morn, at break of day. In God’s name, I shall challenge Thor, And ye shall see the truth I say.” The whispers spread throughout the crowd: “How wild! How Rash! But oh, how Brave! To fight the lord of storm and cloud! Ah, what a way to earn one’s grave!” The crowd dispersed to tell their kin Of that Berserker at the Oak Who thinks to face Thor’s wrath and win. His God, he said, would strength convoke. So, Boniface did fast and pray, And offered mass to bless the night. So that God’s hand might join the fray Against the daemon he would spite. At words “hoc est” the thunder boomed A darkling spirit groaned in pain. But Boniface unphased resumed; The daemon’s waking cry proved vain. But now awake, a devil stood In shade at base of his great oak Where men poured blood into the wood His evil name so to invoke. Greeks hailed him Zeus, the Latins, Jove, They worshiped him, in times before Christ’s banners from both homelands drove Him to the north, where he was Thor. “Who dares?” he cried, “Profane my land. With those, the sacraments of Christ? Germania still heeds my command, Yet Christian preachers strive to heist!” “Though I loathe all, I shall need aid To keep the light of Christ away.” So Thor to all the daemons made This plea, an army to array. “Come ye, oh foes of His great name, Ye enemies of The Most High! Now shall we put this man to shame, He who dares try expose my lie!” Thus came they, a demonic flood From Arab mosque, from Indic cult, From Pagan labyrinth of blood, There with that spectre to consult. Then Thor addressed the teeming horde “Abominations gathered here, Ye who are subject to the sword Of Satan, prince of Earth, draw near.” “We know our strength is doomed to wane As Christ, our foe, shall spread his reign. Until, at last, He cease restrain, And Ragnarök then He shall deign.” “So, we must fight for what is ours Lest once again Christ drive us out Decided shall be, in these hours The course of years to come, no doubt.” “Then let us take up this priest’s dare And kill him, for damnation’s sake! With legion witness gathered there All hint of faith we’ll surely break!” The mob, with clamor and with scorn Thor’s wicked plot did they approve. And so, they waited ‘til the morn When Boniface would give reprove. All through the night the great saint prayed: “God guard me, for Germania’s sake. For I am naught without your aid. Teutonic souls forbid Thor take.” To that great oak the Germans came From miles away they streamed to see The man who dared the gods defame And what fate Thor hath planned for he. A terror moved throughout the crowd As Boniface drew near boldly An axe he held, men cried out loud As he prepared to cut the tree. “Fool!” Thor cried, with horrendous glee, “Does he not know false worship’s might? For centuries, beneath this tree, My slaves have fed me with their rites.” “So come, ye diabolic choirs! Come spirits of the air, make rage! Come ye who fan the burning fires, Of Hell, this Christian do engage!” “Ye daemons claimed here as divine, Come brace the arm with which I throw That lightning bolt which has been mine. Since Adam’s fall Earth’s rule bestowed!” The skies turned black, the wind was shear, As Boniface his sharp axe raised. The folk entire was seized with fear. But Boniface remained undazed. ‘Twas then the prayers of Boniface Were heard in heav’n from here below And God sent Michael out to face The daemons in Teutonic snow. As Boniface his swing did cast Down towards the heart of oaken wood The prince of heaven’s host at last Against Thor’s retinue then stood. As axe met wood, the daemons fled Before that archangel’s campaign That host of Hades, filled with dread Dared not to face him once again. At Michael’s order, sweetest gale Was redirected from its route. Though pleasant to those in the vale It pulled the oak up from its root. So down it crashed, that oak of Thor. That cursed tree, with blood replete Where Thor was worshiped oft before. Now felled at Boniface’s feet. The Germans who the tree-fall saw And there arrayed, in holy fear Didst at the great sign pale with awe And looked upon the saint austere For all the folk on that day knew The Lord God, He was Lord of all. And so they feared the judgement true: That they had sinned, each one, and all. They saw their Blóts for what they were, As blasphemies against their king. With guilt, therefore, their hearts did stir, Contrite, together, they did ring: “Oh mercy, please, great Boniface, Our infidelity forgive! Lest your great God should hide his face And back to Thor’s domain us give!” “We are prepared now to atone For all our crimes against the Lord! So plead our cause before His Throne, Oh Boniface, hold back his sword!” “Fear not!” spoke Boniface with joy, “For the same God, who in your sight, Did cleanse the land of Thor’s employ, Now please to make your souls snow-white!” “If ye’d believe the teachings true The Catholic Church doth guarantee, I’ll baptize ye in river blue, And Christians God shall make of ye.” On that day thousands joined the ranks Of the great Church’s militant So let us, then, to God give thanks For he who did these souls present. Oh Boniface, your zeal bestow On Christian preaching of our day Defend us whilst we dwell below With grace to persevere, we pray.