This post was originally published on the Feast of St Valentine in 2007.
In one of the more bizarre cultural developments in Western civilization, a certain Valentine (that's FATHER Valentine to you) watched from heaven as we creatures here below eradicated his memory, calling little pieces of glossy paper with Scooby Doo on them "Valentine" instead. It's an extraordinarily odd phenomenon, especially since we don't call those green plastic bowlers people wear in Chicago "Patrick," or those decorated trees we prop up in our living room "Jesus."
Ah, Valentine, bishop of love. How often young starry-eyed couples forget they can also seek your patronage should plague, epilepsy, or fainting trouble their happy relationship, or if they decide to open a beekeeping business together.
St. Valentine, pray for us.
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