Martinmas: the history of Veterans Day

 

Martinmas

Most folks with an aptitude for history know that Veterans Day used to be called

Armistice Day, commemorating the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh

month of the year 1918, when the armistice ending major hostilities in World War I took

effect. Far fewer recall the reason why that specific date, 11 November, had been

chosen to close out the most destructive conflict in human history up to that point. For

this we must look to an older holiday, and to one soldier in particular.

St Martin of Tours, also known as Martin the Merciful, was born in Pannonia, a central

European province of the Roman Empire, in the early fourth century. His father was a

tribune in the Legions, awarded the status of veteran and the 160 acres of Italian land

that came with it. At the age of 10, Martin became a Christian catechumen against his

parents’ wishes. Christianity had only recently been legalized, and remained far from

accepted amongst the upper echelons of Western Roman society.

As the son of a veteran officer, Martin was required to join the cavalry at 15 years of

age. By 18, he found himself stationed in Gaul, modern day France. It appears by then

that he’d been assigned to the Emperor’s elite mounted bodyguard. Here the most

famous incident of his life occurred, at the gates of Amiens. The residents of the city

were hunkering down for an oncoming winter storm, when Martin noticed a beggar at

the city gate. This beggar had no cloak, no blanket. He would surely freeze in the night.

Impulsively, Martin took his own military cloak and cut it in twain with his sword,

handing one piece to the beggar. That night, wrapped in the other half, Martin had a

dream of Jesus Christ standing before the assembled saints and angels of Heaven,

holding aloft the half-cloak and proclaiming, “See how Martin the solider has clothed

Me!” Come morning, Martin immediately set out to search for the beggar—who had

vanished without a trace. Still but a catechumen, Martin immediately sought Baptism.

The rest, as they say, is history; or at least hagiography. Martin became a monk and

disciple of Hilary of Poitier. He confronted the devil and converted brigands. He

defended the divinity of Christ against the Arianism of the imperial court. He won his

mother to the faith, though his father proved a bit more hard-nosed. Mercies and

miracles followed in his wake wheresoever he trod. Officials often refused to see him

because they knew that he would demand amnesty for some prisoner, and they would

find themselves unable to decline.

Eventually Martin became Bishop of Tours, the diocese now a part of his name. At 45 he

confronted the pagan Emperor Julian the Apostate, telling him, “I am a soldier of Christ.

It is not lawful that I should fight.” Charged with cowardice, he volunteered to travel to

the front unarmed, yet before he could get there the invaders sued for peace. Today

Martin is revered as the patron saint not only of soldiers but also of soldiers-turned-

peacemakers. And while few today remember his feast day on 11 November, a century

ago, at the close of the Great War, all of Europe knew the significance of Martinmas.

His influence continues in subtler ways as well. That famous half-cloak of his became a

sacred relic carried about by the Kings of France as they traversed their realm. When the

royal retinue would bed down for the night, this cloak would be housed in little shrines

along the road, which came to be called “chapels”—after capella, the word for “little

cloak.” Since these chapels were used by nobles on the move, Vespers services

consisted of the unaccompanied human voice. Today we call such singing “a cappella,”

or “from the chapel.”

Martinmas festivities today, in those parts of Europe which still celebrate the feast,

coincide with the autumn harvest, livestock slaughter, and the tapping of beers and

wines. The night before involves bonfires, and children processing through the dark with

paper lanterns, singing and earning treats. Thus the holiday rather strikes one as a blend

of the American celebrations of Halloween and Thanksgiving, between which it falls.

Yet the message at the heart of it all is peace, ever peace: the peace of God which

passeth all understanding. May wars cease in all the earth. May the knight never need

to unsheathe his sword. May we know the blessings of God, love for our neighbors, and

prosperity shared by all of humankind.

In Jesus. Amen.

-Eminent Grand Prelate Sir Knight Ryan Stout