The confluence of events, or one might say, my wyrd, has conspired that on the very day I am attending a reconstructed live performance of Beowulf, I learned about St. Chad, who is the alleged patron of elections. Ever dutiful in my pursuit of truth, even at the cost of a delightful pun, I looked into this matter. According to truthorfiction.com, there is no patron saint of elections, which is suitable: elections, after all, in the hands of God, preferably via the High Priest using the Urim and Thummim. Saint Chad, or Ceadda, however, is a real person, probably the youngest brother of Cedd (also sanctified), Cynibil, and Caelin. The alliteration of the names is an Anglo-Saxon practice, but their etymology is Celtic, suggesting a mixture of (presumably aristocratic) Celtic blood into the Anglo-Saxon ruling class. All four brothers were ordained, and two (Ceadda and Cedd) became bishops. While the careers of the brothers bishop is worthy of note, the more important data here is the two domains of the paternally-connected patron saints. Ceadda became the patron saint of astronomy, while Cedd became the patron saint of interpreters. The vagaries of English diachronics ensured some confusion between the two, and either could be construed as Chad (note the later spelling), patron saint of elections.

I have been preparing for this evening's live performance of Beowulf by rereading passages from my glossed text of Beowulf. A glossed text is anathema to serious scholars, but has certain advantages. The reader is more engaged in the text than he would be when distracted by paragraph 11.17 of the grammar or technical terms. A glossed text might work better when the reader already knows the story. The glosses in this edition do not resolve the kennings, but rather allow the reader to familiarize himself with the typical components. The actual plot of Beowulf is spare, so much of the beauty of the poem is in the style. The constant variation of components for indicating the same item is a vehicle of poetic utility, but I do wonder if it is not the ancestor of some modern English style. Could the admonition of high school English teachers that one should not use the same word for the same concept multiple times in a row owe some of its force to the love of inventive language seen throughout classic English literature?