Waldorf/Steiner Community Courses and Programs
Sophia Institute Festivals Studies
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Please join us for a free 12 week study during the Michaelmas Season beginning on Michaelmas Day, September 29th. We will turn to legends about St. Michael which take us back in time and to different phases of the development of the consciousness of humanity. St. Michael is being portrayed in these legends in different ways and with differing tasks.
Our common studies include the study material found here following. Please study the stories and legends provided for the week in the following way turning to the study material and the subject material on three days during the week. Step 1 / Day 1: Study the stories and legends for the week by reading them to yourself or to your small group, ideally in a semi formal setting during a dedicated period of time. Step 2 / Day 2: Recall and retell from memory the stories and legends for the week to yourself or to your small group, ideally in a semi formal setting during a dedicated period of time. Share observation regarding the content, and the mood and emotional aspects you are experiencing regarding the stories and legends for the week. Step 3 / Day 3: Turn to artwork, for instance watercolor painting, and create artwork out of your contemplations of the stories and legends for the week with emphasis on recalling and deepening the mood and emotional aspects you are experiencing regarding the stories and legends for the week. Please feel free and encouraged to join the conversation by posting comments, artwork and observations via this submission form. |
Spanish Michael Legend from the Philippines
According to some legends, St. Michael the patron saint was summoned by the Spaniards for the city of Ozamis, while for Iligan City, it was supposedly dedicated to the Virgin Mary. (Iligan is a city north of the province of Lanao del Norte in the Philippines.) Several times the Spanish had tried to get St. Michael to come to Ozamis, but there was always an interference. Sometimes a great storm came, disturbing the calmness of the sea that separates the Iligan city from Ozamis city, and the boat carrying the patron saint could not sail.
When they had summoned St. Rosario to Ozamis, there were no hindrances encountered. With this phenomenon the authorities decided that St. Michael would stay at the side of Iliganons, thinking that he was meant only for them. At that moment, the Moros were invading Iligan and St. Michael saved Iligan by creating a great miracle. The whole vicinity of Iligan was covered with water so that the Spaniards could not see the place and could not invade the city. This incident made the Moros believers in the power of the patron saint, and they testified on behalf of the miracles performed by the patron when they were about to invade and attack the city. The patron saint also defended the Iliganons on the day of battle and acted as a safeguard against the wickedness and snares of the devil.
Through these phenomena, St. Michael was held in high esteem in Iligan. Other stories about his miracles, stated under oath, had him protecting the main center of the city against fire; another had him riding a horse into a group of invaders and routing them; and still another had St. Michael causing a daytime blackout of the city in Word War II just as a Japanese plane was ready to drop its bomb load. Laying aside these facts and other reported events, there is no doubting the special powers of St. Michael in the minds of Iliganons.
Iliganons traditionally celebrate his feast day during the 29th of September, making some activities during this day to honor him and making the celebration the most colorful event in the city. This celebration caused the Iliganons to empower and unite in the name their great faith.
When they had summoned St. Rosario to Ozamis, there were no hindrances encountered. With this phenomenon the authorities decided that St. Michael would stay at the side of Iliganons, thinking that he was meant only for them. At that moment, the Moros were invading Iligan and St. Michael saved Iligan by creating a great miracle. The whole vicinity of Iligan was covered with water so that the Spaniards could not see the place and could not invade the city. This incident made the Moros believers in the power of the patron saint, and they testified on behalf of the miracles performed by the patron when they were about to invade and attack the city. The patron saint also defended the Iliganons on the day of battle and acted as a safeguard against the wickedness and snares of the devil.
Through these phenomena, St. Michael was held in high esteem in Iligan. Other stories about his miracles, stated under oath, had him protecting the main center of the city against fire; another had him riding a horse into a group of invaders and routing them; and still another had St. Michael causing a daytime blackout of the city in Word War II just as a Japanese plane was ready to drop its bomb load. Laying aside these facts and other reported events, there is no doubting the special powers of St. Michael in the minds of Iliganons.
Iliganons traditionally celebrate his feast day during the 29th of September, making some activities during this day to honor him and making the celebration the most colorful event in the city. This celebration caused the Iliganons to empower and unite in the name their great faith.
Legend of Mont Saint-Michel
Guy de Maupassant
I had first seen it from Cancale, this fairy castle in the sea. I got an indistinct impression of it as of a gray shadow outlined against the misty sky. I saw it again from Avranches at sunset. The immense stretch of sand was red, the horizon was red, the whole boundless bay was red. The rocky castle rising out there in the distance like a weird, seignorial residence, like a dream palace, strange and beautiful—this alone remained black in the crimson light of the dying day.
The following morning at dawn I went toward it across the sands, my eyes fastened on this, a gigantic jewel, as big as a mountain, cut like a cameo, and as dainty as lace. The nearer I approached, the greater my admiration, for nothing in the world could be more wonderful or more perfect.
As surprised as if I had discovered the habitation of a god, I wandered through those halls supported by frail or massive columns, raising my eyes in wonder to those spires which looked like rockets starting for the sky, and to that marvelous assemblage of towers, of gargoyles, of slender and charming ornaments, a regular fireworks of stone, granite lace, a masterpiece of colossal and delicate architecture.
As I was looking up in ecstasy, a Lower Normandy peasant came up to me and told me the story of the great quarrel between Saint Michael and the devil. A skeptical genius has said: “God made man in his image and man has returned the compliment.” This saying is an eternal truth, and it would be very curious to write the history of the local divinity of every continent as well as the history of the patron saints in each one of our provinces. The negro has his ferocious man-eating idols; the polygamous Mahometan fills his paradise with women; the Greeks, like a practical people, deified all the passions.
Every village in France is under the influence of some protecting saint, modeled according to the characteristics of the inhabitants. Saint Michael watches over Lower Normandy, Saint Michael, the radiant and victorious angel, the sword-carrier, the hero of Heaven, the victorious, the conqueror of Satan. But this is how the Lower Normandy peasant, cunning, deceitful and tricky, understands and tells of the struggle between the great saint and the devil:
To escape from the malice of his neighbor, the devil, Saint Michael built himself, in the open ocean, this habitation worthy of an archangel; and only such a saint could build a residence of such magnificence. But as he still feared the approaches of the wicked one, he surrounded his domains with quicksand, more treacherous even than the sea.
The devil lived in a humble cottage on the hill, but he owned all the salt marshes, the rich lands where grow the finest crops, the wooded valleys and all the fertile hills of the country, while the saint ruled only over the sands. Therefore Satan was rich, whereas Saint Michael was as poor as a church mouse.
After a few years of fasting, the saint grew tired of this state of affairs and began to think of some compromise with the devil, but the matter was by no means easy, as Satan kept a good hold on his crops. He thought the thing over for about six months; then one morning he walked across to the shore. The demon was eating his soup in front of his door when he saw the saint. He immediately rushed toward him, kissed the hem of his sleeve, invited him in and offered him refreshments.
Saint Michael drank a bowl of milk and then began: “I have come here to propose to you a good bargain.”
The devil, candid and trustful, answered: “That will suit me.” “
Here it is. Give me all your lands.”
Satan, growing alarmed, wished to speak “But—”
The saint continued: “Listen first. Give me all your lands. I will take care of all the work, the ploughing, the sowing, the fertilizing, everything, and we will share the crops equally. How does that suit you?”
The devil, who was naturally lazy, accepted. He only demanded in addition a few of those delicious gray mullet which are caught around the solitary mount. Saint Michael promised the fish.
They grasped hands and spat on the ground to show that it was a bargain, and the saint continued: “See here, so that you will have nothing to complain of, choose that part of the crops which you prefer: the part that grows above ground or the part that stays in the ground.”
Satan cried out: “I will take all that will be above ground.”
“It’s a bargain!” said the saint. And he went away.
Six months later, all over the immense domain of the devil, one could see nothing but carrots, turnips, onions, all the plants whose juicy roots are good and savory and whose useless leaves are good for nothing but for feeding animals.
Satan wished to break the contract, calling Saint Michael a swindler. But the saint, who had developed quite a taste for agriculture, went back to see the devil and said: “Really, I hadn’t thought of that at all. It was just an accident, no fault of mine. And to make things fair with you, this year I’ll let you take everything that is under the ground.”
“Very well,” answered Satan.
The following spring all the evil spirit’s lands were covered with golden wheat, oats as big as beans, flax, magnificent colza, red clover, peas, cabbage, artichokes, everything that develops into grains or fruit in the sunlight. Once more Satan received nothing, and this time he completely lost his temper. He took back his fields and remained deaf to all the fresh propositions of his neighbor.
A whole year rolled by. From the top of his lonely manor, Saint Michael looked at the distant and fertile lands and watched the devil direct the work, take in his crops and thresh the wheat. And he grew angry, exasperated at his powerlessness.
As he was no longer able to deceive Satan, he decided to wreak vengeance on him, and he went out to invite him to dinner for the following Monday. “You have been very unfortunate in your dealings with me,” he said. “I know it, but I don’t want any ill feeling between us, and I expect you to dine with me. I’ll give you some good things to eat.”
Satan, who was as greedy as he was lazy, accepted eagerly. On the day appointed he donned his finest clothes and set out for the castle.
Saint Michael sat him down to a magnificent meal. First there was a vol-au- vent, full of cocks’ crests and kidneys, with meatballs; then two big, gray mullet with cream sauce; a turkey stuffed with chestnuts soaked in wine; some salt- marsh lamb as tender as cake; vegetables which melted in the mouth; and a nice, fat pancake which was brought out, piping hot and spreading a delicious odor of butter.
They drank new, sweet, sparkling cider and heady red wine, and after each course they whetted their appetites with some old apple brandy. The devil drank and ate to his heart’s content; in fact he took so much that he was very uncomfortable, and began to retch.
Then Saint Michael arose in anger and cried in a voice like thunder: “What! Before me, rascal! You dare—before me—”
Satan, terrified, ran away, and the saint, seizing a stick, pursued him. They ran through the halls, turning round the pillars, running up the staircases, galloping along the cornices, jumping from gargoyle to gargoyle. The poor devil, who was woefully ill, was running about madly and trying hard to escape. At last he found himself at the top of the last terrace, right at the top, from which could be seen the immense bay, with its distant towns, sands and pastures. He could no longer escape, and the saint came up behind him and gave him a furious kick, which shot him through space like a cannonball.
He shot through the air like a javelin and fell heavily before the town of Mortain. His horns and claws stuck deep into the rock, which keeps through eternity the traces of this fall of Satan. He stood up again, limping, crippled until the end of time, and as he looked at this fatal castle in the distance, standing out against the setting sun, he understood well that he would always be vanquished in this unequal struggle, and he went away limping, heading for distant countries, leaving to his enemy his fields, his hills, his valleys and his marshes.
And this is how Saint Michael, the patron saint of Normandy, vanquished the devil.
I had first seen it from Cancale, this fairy castle in the sea. I got an indistinct impression of it as of a gray shadow outlined against the misty sky. I saw it again from Avranches at sunset. The immense stretch of sand was red, the horizon was red, the whole boundless bay was red. The rocky castle rising out there in the distance like a weird, seignorial residence, like a dream palace, strange and beautiful—this alone remained black in the crimson light of the dying day.
The following morning at dawn I went toward it across the sands, my eyes fastened on this, a gigantic jewel, as big as a mountain, cut like a cameo, and as dainty as lace. The nearer I approached, the greater my admiration, for nothing in the world could be more wonderful or more perfect.
As surprised as if I had discovered the habitation of a god, I wandered through those halls supported by frail or massive columns, raising my eyes in wonder to those spires which looked like rockets starting for the sky, and to that marvelous assemblage of towers, of gargoyles, of slender and charming ornaments, a regular fireworks of stone, granite lace, a masterpiece of colossal and delicate architecture.
As I was looking up in ecstasy, a Lower Normandy peasant came up to me and told me the story of the great quarrel between Saint Michael and the devil. A skeptical genius has said: “God made man in his image and man has returned the compliment.” This saying is an eternal truth, and it would be very curious to write the history of the local divinity of every continent as well as the history of the patron saints in each one of our provinces. The negro has his ferocious man-eating idols; the polygamous Mahometan fills his paradise with women; the Greeks, like a practical people, deified all the passions.
Every village in France is under the influence of some protecting saint, modeled according to the characteristics of the inhabitants. Saint Michael watches over Lower Normandy, Saint Michael, the radiant and victorious angel, the sword-carrier, the hero of Heaven, the victorious, the conqueror of Satan. But this is how the Lower Normandy peasant, cunning, deceitful and tricky, understands and tells of the struggle between the great saint and the devil:
To escape from the malice of his neighbor, the devil, Saint Michael built himself, in the open ocean, this habitation worthy of an archangel; and only such a saint could build a residence of such magnificence. But as he still feared the approaches of the wicked one, he surrounded his domains with quicksand, more treacherous even than the sea.
The devil lived in a humble cottage on the hill, but he owned all the salt marshes, the rich lands where grow the finest crops, the wooded valleys and all the fertile hills of the country, while the saint ruled only over the sands. Therefore Satan was rich, whereas Saint Michael was as poor as a church mouse.
After a few years of fasting, the saint grew tired of this state of affairs and began to think of some compromise with the devil, but the matter was by no means easy, as Satan kept a good hold on his crops. He thought the thing over for about six months; then one morning he walked across to the shore. The demon was eating his soup in front of his door when he saw the saint. He immediately rushed toward him, kissed the hem of his sleeve, invited him in and offered him refreshments.
Saint Michael drank a bowl of milk and then began: “I have come here to propose to you a good bargain.”
The devil, candid and trustful, answered: “That will suit me.” “
Here it is. Give me all your lands.”
Satan, growing alarmed, wished to speak “But—”
The saint continued: “Listen first. Give me all your lands. I will take care of all the work, the ploughing, the sowing, the fertilizing, everything, and we will share the crops equally. How does that suit you?”
The devil, who was naturally lazy, accepted. He only demanded in addition a few of those delicious gray mullet which are caught around the solitary mount. Saint Michael promised the fish.
They grasped hands and spat on the ground to show that it was a bargain, and the saint continued: “See here, so that you will have nothing to complain of, choose that part of the crops which you prefer: the part that grows above ground or the part that stays in the ground.”
Satan cried out: “I will take all that will be above ground.”
“It’s a bargain!” said the saint. And he went away.
Six months later, all over the immense domain of the devil, one could see nothing but carrots, turnips, onions, all the plants whose juicy roots are good and savory and whose useless leaves are good for nothing but for feeding animals.
Satan wished to break the contract, calling Saint Michael a swindler. But the saint, who had developed quite a taste for agriculture, went back to see the devil and said: “Really, I hadn’t thought of that at all. It was just an accident, no fault of mine. And to make things fair with you, this year I’ll let you take everything that is under the ground.”
“Very well,” answered Satan.
The following spring all the evil spirit’s lands were covered with golden wheat, oats as big as beans, flax, magnificent colza, red clover, peas, cabbage, artichokes, everything that develops into grains or fruit in the sunlight. Once more Satan received nothing, and this time he completely lost his temper. He took back his fields and remained deaf to all the fresh propositions of his neighbor.
A whole year rolled by. From the top of his lonely manor, Saint Michael looked at the distant and fertile lands and watched the devil direct the work, take in his crops and thresh the wheat. And he grew angry, exasperated at his powerlessness.
As he was no longer able to deceive Satan, he decided to wreak vengeance on him, and he went out to invite him to dinner for the following Monday. “You have been very unfortunate in your dealings with me,” he said. “I know it, but I don’t want any ill feeling between us, and I expect you to dine with me. I’ll give you some good things to eat.”
Satan, who was as greedy as he was lazy, accepted eagerly. On the day appointed he donned his finest clothes and set out for the castle.
Saint Michael sat him down to a magnificent meal. First there was a vol-au- vent, full of cocks’ crests and kidneys, with meatballs; then two big, gray mullet with cream sauce; a turkey stuffed with chestnuts soaked in wine; some salt- marsh lamb as tender as cake; vegetables which melted in the mouth; and a nice, fat pancake which was brought out, piping hot and spreading a delicious odor of butter.
They drank new, sweet, sparkling cider and heady red wine, and after each course they whetted their appetites with some old apple brandy. The devil drank and ate to his heart’s content; in fact he took so much that he was very uncomfortable, and began to retch.
Then Saint Michael arose in anger and cried in a voice like thunder: “What! Before me, rascal! You dare—before me—”
Satan, terrified, ran away, and the saint, seizing a stick, pursued him. They ran through the halls, turning round the pillars, running up the staircases, galloping along the cornices, jumping from gargoyle to gargoyle. The poor devil, who was woefully ill, was running about madly and trying hard to escape. At last he found himself at the top of the last terrace, right at the top, from which could be seen the immense bay, with its distant towns, sands and pastures. He could no longer escape, and the saint came up behind him and gave him a furious kick, which shot him through space like a cannonball.
He shot through the air like a javelin and fell heavily before the town of Mortain. His horns and claws stuck deep into the rock, which keeps through eternity the traces of this fall of Satan. He stood up again, limping, crippled until the end of time, and as he looked at this fatal castle in the distance, standing out against the setting sun, he understood well that he would always be vanquished in this unequal struggle, and he went away limping, heading for distant countries, leaving to his enemy his fields, his hills, his valleys and his marshes.
And this is how Saint Michael, the patron saint of Normandy, vanquished the devil.
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