The Organist Wore Pumps (The Liturgical Mysteries) by Mark Schweizer Page A
Authors: Mark Schweizer
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Gaylen.
“ St. Hywyn,” I began, “also called Owen or Ewen, was a disciple of St. Cadfan in the 5th century. He founded monasteries and churches in Wales and western England. No one knows how the little church in Nantwich became associated with this saint, but it may have been because of his feast day and what happened in 1164.”
“ My knowledge of medieval history being what it is, you’ll have to elaborate.”
“ Really? You don’t know what happened in 1164?”
Gaylen snarled.
I laughed. “In that year, Holy Roman Emperor Frederick Barbarossa gave the bones of the Three Kings to the cathedral at Cologne. According to the St. Hywyn parish legend, the bones were carried to Cologne in a caravan headed by a Welsh priest, coincidentally also named Ewen. The relics were enshrined and are in Germany to this day. But here’s the rub. Ewen managed to get home to England with some of the relics hidden in his bags. He and they landed in the little monastery at Nantwich where the bones were stored for some seven hundred years. The reliquary where the bones are kept dates from the 1400s. Apparently it’s quite a work of art, made of wood with silver and gold inlay. And these bones kept the monks flush for many, many years.”
“ You’re saying that one of the Three Kings is in Nantwich?”
“ That’s the legend.”
“ One of the Three Kings that visited Bethlehem? The gold, frankincense, and myrrh Three Kings?”
“ The very ones.” I checked my notes. “The reliquary was hidden by the monks in 1536 when the monastery was shut down. It was rediscovered in 1892 and returned to the church where the monastery stood. It’s been there ever since, along with Hywyn’s staff, little known and rarely visited. Anyway, the vicar and the vestry thought that, if advertised correctly, sending the relics on a short tour of the eastern U.S. might generate several thousand pounds after expenses. The reliquary is to be displayed at several well-to-do churches. We’d have to make an offering to St. Hywyn’s.”
“ Hmm. And the money would go to the feeding and clothing of the poor?”
“ Well, that and the upkeep of the building. If that isn’t done, there won’t be any more feeding or clothing going on at all. Here’s a picture of the reliquary.”
I handed the last page of my notes to Gaylen, the page that I’d printed off the internet with a beautiful photograph of the Nantwich Reliquary. There had been a lot of information, once I’d Googled the subject, most of it put out by the publicity firm the church had hired.
Gaylen studied the photo, then pointed to the bottom of the page and said, “I see some links here to some auction sites. They’re not selling it, are they?”
“ Not that I know of. Farrant didn’t mention that. But I suppose they would sell it if they had to.”
“ Hmm. How much will it cost us?”
“ Four thousand bucks. And we get the reliquary the first week of January. It would be a great centerpiece for our Epiphany service. We can take up an offering for the mission work as well.”
“ Sounds reasonable. Just to be clear, you’re saying that we’re going to have the bones of one of the Three Kings on display for our Epiphany service?”
“ Yep.”
Gaylen managed a smile. “Well, why not?”
Chapter 13
The Slab Café was bustling for lunch, but with our reserved table status, Nancy and I calmly pushed our way through the line of would-be patrons and sat down to the angry glares of many out-of-towners.
“ You know, dear,” said one of the men to his wife, but loud enough for everyone in line to hear, “it’s amazing that the police in these little burgs think they can just barge in wherever they want and get a table without waiting in line like civilized people.”
Nancy stood back up, put her hand on the butt of her gun and gave him a hard look. “Patriot Act,” she said.
The man mumbled something unintelligible and Nancy sat back down, followed by Pete a few
“ St. Hywyn,” I began, “also called Owen or Ewen, was a disciple of St. Cadfan in the 5th century. He founded monasteries and churches in Wales and western England. No one knows how the little church in Nantwich became associated with this saint, but it may have been because of his feast day and what happened in 1164.”
“ My knowledge of medieval history being what it is, you’ll have to elaborate.”
“ Really? You don’t know what happened in 1164?”
Gaylen snarled.
I laughed. “In that year, Holy Roman Emperor Frederick Barbarossa gave the bones of the Three Kings to the cathedral at Cologne. According to the St. Hywyn parish legend, the bones were carried to Cologne in a caravan headed by a Welsh priest, coincidentally also named Ewen. The relics were enshrined and are in Germany to this day. But here’s the rub. Ewen managed to get home to England with some of the relics hidden in his bags. He and they landed in the little monastery at Nantwich where the bones were stored for some seven hundred years. The reliquary where the bones are kept dates from the 1400s. Apparently it’s quite a work of art, made of wood with silver and gold inlay. And these bones kept the monks flush for many, many years.”
“ You’re saying that one of the Three Kings is in Nantwich?”
“ That’s the legend.”
“ One of the Three Kings that visited Bethlehem? The gold, frankincense, and myrrh Three Kings?”
“ The very ones.” I checked my notes. “The reliquary was hidden by the monks in 1536 when the monastery was shut down. It was rediscovered in 1892 and returned to the church where the monastery stood. It’s been there ever since, along with Hywyn’s staff, little known and rarely visited. Anyway, the vicar and the vestry thought that, if advertised correctly, sending the relics on a short tour of the eastern U.S. might generate several thousand pounds after expenses. The reliquary is to be displayed at several well-to-do churches. We’d have to make an offering to St. Hywyn’s.”
“ Hmm. And the money would go to the feeding and clothing of the poor?”
“ Well, that and the upkeep of the building. If that isn’t done, there won’t be any more feeding or clothing going on at all. Here’s a picture of the reliquary.”
I handed the last page of my notes to Gaylen, the page that I’d printed off the internet with a beautiful photograph of the Nantwich Reliquary. There had been a lot of information, once I’d Googled the subject, most of it put out by the publicity firm the church had hired.
Gaylen studied the photo, then pointed to the bottom of the page and said, “I see some links here to some auction sites. They’re not selling it, are they?”
“ Not that I know of. Farrant didn’t mention that. But I suppose they would sell it if they had to.”
“ Hmm. How much will it cost us?”
“ Four thousand bucks. And we get the reliquary the first week of January. It would be a great centerpiece for our Epiphany service. We can take up an offering for the mission work as well.”
“ Sounds reasonable. Just to be clear, you’re saying that we’re going to have the bones of one of the Three Kings on display for our Epiphany service?”
“ Yep.”
Gaylen managed a smile. “Well, why not?”
Chapter 13
The Slab Café was bustling for lunch, but with our reserved table status, Nancy and I calmly pushed our way through the line of would-be patrons and sat down to the angry glares of many out-of-towners.
“ You know, dear,” said one of the men to his wife, but loud enough for everyone in line to hear, “it’s amazing that the police in these little burgs think they can just barge in wherever they want and get a table without waiting in line like civilized people.”
Nancy stood back up, put her hand on the butt of her gun and gave him a hard look. “Patriot Act,” she said.
The man mumbled something unintelligible and Nancy sat back down, followed by Pete a few
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