St. Hosanna?

Yes, Hosanna is a name. It’s usually spelled Osanna (Italian) or Osanne (French), and it’s also found as a French surname (Ozanne). There’s also the medieval English spelling of Osenna (although Osanna and Osanne were more popular). In Montenegro, it’s Ozana. The Hebrew is something like Hoshana.

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First, it’s the name of a saintly Saxon princess, Osana or Osanna, of the same royal family as Osred, Oswyth, etc. (So it might not have any relation to “hosanna,” or it might be a deliberate pun.)

The main story about her is from Giraldus Cambrensis (several hundred years later), which just says it was a very bad idea for a priest’s concubine to sit on her tomb in church like it was a bench. Married priests were a thing in the pre-Augustine of Canterbury English church; but concubinage was naughty even then. So the date of the story and marital status of the woman and priest kinda make a difference to how you interpret the story.

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In many Catholic countries, it has been the custom to give a baptismal name to babies after their day of birth (or the day they were found, if they were abandoned or adopted), if that day is a saint’s day or a holy day.

Apparently, in medieval France, babies born on Palm Sunday were sometimes given the name Osanna, which was the medieval spelling of Hosanna. (Because Jesus was welcomed into Jerusalem with palm branches and shouts of “Hosanna to the Son of David!”)

The name seems to have been used in England only during the 1200’s and 1300’s, and never really caught on. It was more popular in France.

Here’s an Irish legal case dealing with piracy and stealing a whole ship, in which Osanna Berrechoun, one of the French/Breton shipowners, had her case for getting the ship back jeopardized, because people in Dundalk, Dublin, and Wales mistook her given name for “Susanna.”

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In Italy in the 1400’s, a woman with the given name Osanna Andreasi became famous for her visions and locutions (starting at age five) and her stigmata (in the form of swellings not wounds, and received at age 30). Her dad’s noble family was Hungarian, and her mom was a Gonzaga. She was born on January 17, so presumably she wasn’t named that because of Palm Sunday.

Osanna longed to study theology but her father forbid her; so she was miraculously taught to read, and then the Virgin Mary taught her theology in a long series of visions. At the age of 14 (which was considered just barely adulthood for apprenticeship purposes, although one didn’t have full rights for contracts), she took the first set of vows as a Third Order Dominican, took the habit, and then told her dad about it… or rather, she said she had made _a_ vow to wear the habit until she had accomplished what else she had vowed to do. Um. Yeah. Technically true….

Both her parents died young and left a lot of kids, so she acted as mother and father to them until all of them came of age, when she was 37. (At that time, she finally felt able to leave home in good conscience and join a convent of 3rd Order Dominican ladies; and she took final vows.) She also took care of all the family business until the oldest of her brothers came of age. Her cousin Federico I Gonzaga, the duke of Mantua, put her in charge of looking after his wife and kids while he was away at the wars. His son, Francesco II Gonzaga (who became duke), and his famous wife Isabella d’Este from Ferrara, also thought highly of her, and took her counsel on religious matters and affairs of state, as well as relying on her prophetic gifts. (Isabella’s dad was a supporter of Lucia Brocadelli, St. Lucia of Narni, and Isabella was sorry that she never got to take Osanna to meet Lucia.)

We have TWO contemporary biographies of her: Beatae Osannae Mantuanae by Sylvester of Ferrara (1505, in Latin); and Libretto de la Vita e Transito (1507, in Tuscan), by Girolamo de Monte Oliveto, one of her close associates. He also wrote a book of Colloqui between them about spiritual subjects, as well as preserving her letters.

(Her house is also open for tours! Scroll down for pics.There’s a museum and garden there, too. They have the surviving bits of her habit on display as relics, and that is one nicely fitted and constructed bodice. Niiiice. Costumers, take note. But boy, her arms were tiny, probably thanks to her ascetic practices, unless that’s a habit saved from her girlhood.)

Bl. Osanna of Mantua died in 1505. Her incorrupt body is in Mantua’s cathedral of St. Peter. Her memorial day is on June 18. (She was made a venerable in 1515, according to Isabella d’Este’s request; and she was beatified in 1694.)

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There’s another famous blessed by the same name — Blessed Osanna of Cattaro, aka Bl. Ozana of Kotor. This lady was from a remote part of Montenegro or Slovenia, and her given name was Katarina (because she was born on St. Catherine’s Day). Her background in older books in English is presented as being just from back in the waybacks… but she was actually from a married Orthodox priest’s family, the Kozics; and her uncle was an Orthodox monk who became bishop of Zeta. She longed for more, and spent a lot of time praying while shepherding her family’s flocks.

Her father, Fr. Pero Kozic, died early when she was 14; and she felt that God wanted to her to go to the big port city of Kotor (owned by Venice, and under the Patriarchate of Venice), where she could “pray better.” Her mother let her go, and she became a houseservant to earn her bread. She came home to Catholicism and learned to read and write. She used her spare means to help the poor. She wanted even more, and became an anchoress. At age 21, after an earthquake destroyed her first anchorhold, she moved to another and became a Dominican nun, and took Osanna as her religious name (after Osanna of Mantua). So many women were interested in joining her that a new Dominican convent was built next to her new anchorhold’s church, and she was their founder without ever setting eye on the convent itself.

She ended up using her prayers for fighting plague; and she was once asked by her bishop to give a speech, successfully urging everyone to defend Kotor from an Ottoman armada.

She died on April 27, 1565, and was beatified in 1927. In 1930, when her body was moved to a new tomb, her body was found incorrupt and flexible of joints, with perfect hands and fingernails, although her feet were totally gone. (Possibly somebody had stolen/collected her feet as relics, at some point in the centuries.) Her day is April 27.

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Finally, there’s also the French surname “Ozanam,” which originally was the Jewish surname “Hosannam.”

Blessed Frederic Ozanam, a professor at the Sorbonne, was one of the founders of the Society of St. Vincent de Paul, in 1833. He was a layman, who married Amelie Soulacroix in 1841, and became the father of Marie Ozanam in 1845. He died in 1853. A book by Ozanam about medieval Franciscan poets.

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Ozanam would make a cool name for a boy, especially if you like the nickname Oz but not Oswald, Osred, etc.

If you want to use the name for a girl, Osanna or Ozana is probably better than Hosanna (because the syllable “ho” has unfortunate connotations). It might be confused with Osama, though.

What Tekakwitha Means

It literally means something like “She pushes things” or “She comes toward things with her hands.”

But what the earliest dictionaries show is that it has the connotation of “She puts things in order.” The image is of someone pushing things so that they line up nicely.

It is possible that there was some play on words involved, but “She bumps into things” is an incorrect translation.

Given that one of the meanings of the Greek “Logos” is “order,” “She puts things in order” is a very significant name.

The pronunciation of Kateri and Tegakwitha apparently varied according to dialect of the speaker. There are two main ones:

Gadelli DeGAHkweeta

Kateri TegaKWEEta.

Apparently the damage done by smallpox to the saint’s eyes was not such as to make her nearsighted, but rather, it made her eyes sensitive to light. That is why, from early childhood on, she was accustomed to wear a blanket or cloth in a hood or visor style, so as to shade her eyes.

She doesn’t seem to have been bullied in childhood about this, or much else, according to the earliest sources. She was an adopted daughter of the village chief, after all.

A lot of times, it was believed that people who had misfortunes were watched and protected by spirits, in compensation, especially if they were cheerful and brave about the misfortune. So it would have been considered unlucky to give her a hard time. (And anyway, people liked her.)

Not so much later on, when her family orchestrated the bullying. Punishing the antisocial and recalcitrant, by such permitted bullying, would have been seen as helpful and good. People who didn’t agree would be under pressure not to disagree publicly. (Although tons of people seem to have voted with their feet, at that time. Obviously a chief who tries to get his way by bullying a young girl is no longer a wise or effective chief, and it’s a lot worse when she’s a nice kid and a member of his own household.)

It is possible that her family was under the impression that bullying and starving her would cause the spirits to pity her, and therefore the spirits would send her a vision, and therefore they could get her out of Christianity. But yeah, obviously that didn’t work if that was their idea.

Actually depriving Kateri of food on Sundays and holidays, because she declined to work on those days (even though she did enough work for two on her workdays) was drastically against the principles of the Mohawks and other Iroquois. The general idea was that everyone would eat if there was any food in the village, although it was common for people to be too proud to ask for food (and for their neighbors to find a tactful way to “trade” for it instead of making it a gift).

So basically she was being treated either like a captive, or like a criminal, or like someone being put on a vision quest. (But that was usually guys.)

Shrug. It’s hard to say, since people do break their principles when frustrated or growing toxic. We shouldn’t expect anything different of people in the olden days, or from different cultures.

Anyway, I will again recommend… The Life and Times of Kateri Tekakwitha, Lily of the Mohawks, by Ellen H. Walworth.

The Iroquois Book of Rites, by Horatio Hale. Tons about clan structure, differences between tribes of the Confederacy, etc.

Another good book if you can find it is The Iroquois Trail: Dickon among the Onondagas and Senecas, by Professor M.R. Harrington. t’s a sequel to Dickon among the Lenape, which is a fictional introduction to the Delaware Indians and to the general beliefs of Algonquin/Woodland tribes.

St. Kateri Tekakwitha – We Actually Know a Lot

There are a lot of books about St. Kateri that are called Lily of the Mohawks, but here’s the best one. It blends anthropology, archaeology, locality knowledge, and historical primary sources to provide a really insightful biography of St. Kateri Tekakwitha and her world. (Btw, the real name of the Mohawks is Kanienkas, “people of the flint” or “people of the chert.”)

Yes, it’s a little outdated in style, but it’s much more packed with information than anything else I’ve found.

The book points out that one contemporary biographer, Chauchetiere, who knew her personally, said that she was more knowledgeable about important crafts than most other women her age.

She was primarily a fieldworker like other women, and cooking and fetching water was her duty just like that of most young women. Of course she also could tan leather and make it into clothing, and do decorative porcupine-quillwork and elk-hide decoration. She could sew with deerbone needles and deer sinew thread. She could make burden-straps for carrying wood, which were made out of woven wood fiber (such as basswood). She could make eel-skin or wood-fiber ribbons, and decorate them with red sturgeon-paste. She could make wampum belts of the biggest and fanciest kind, which was not surprising when raised in the local chief’s household. She could also make fishing nets, which she was particularly good at, and which was an unusual accomplishment. She could make wooden boxes. She could make water buckets. She could make poles for hanging and drying corn. She could weave bark mats. She could also work in stone, making pestles for pounding maize.

Chauchetiere sums it up by saying that “…her dexterity furnished her with plenty of occupation.”

Since smallpox had damaged her eyes and made them sensitive to light, it is particularly impressive that she got so much done.

Another thing that is mentioned in this biography, and which I have NEVER seen elsewhere, is that despite her shyness, she was also known for her kindly humor among friends.

Chauchetiere says about her life in her old village, “When she chose to say something for a laugh, no one had anything to complain about, and they liked her company. She never resented the raillery which was constantly aimed at her, on account of her desire to remain unmarried.”

However, her closest relatives were so used to her being biddable and meek that they went nuts over her refusal to marry (several times, mind you). So she wasn’t always a Cinderella (although she was always a hardworker, and not treated exactly as if she were their own), but she really did get treated like a slave after her refusals began. In the end, her patience (and probably, the disapproval of others in the village) wore down her relatives to acceptance.

She brought down their wrath again — not when she decided to become a Christian, like her mother, and not even when she actually got baptized. Most of the village was interested in, or neutral toward, Christianity by that time. (Although her uncle opposed it, especially after the renowned warrior Kryn decided to go live in the new Christian town of St. Francis Xavier, and called other Christians to leave the village and come with him.)

The problem lay with St. Kateri refusing to work on Sundays and holy days.

Mind you, she apparently worked enough for two on every other day of the year. And there were various taboo days that various men and women kept, traditionally. But her relatives decided not to let her eat on her rest days.

Which, of course, was exactly the sort of fasting that she was longing to do, and that her spiritual adviser, Father de Lamberville, wouldn’t allow. (Facepalm.)

Her relatives also got some young boys to throw rocks at her and yell names at her, when going to the chapel for morning and evening services, and apparently drunk guys would routinely follow and threaten her. They also didn’t call her by name at home, instead calling her “Christian” as a slur. (Which again was not particularly effective, and was probably taken by her as flattering.) She just ignored all this.

Since her uncle was the chief and he was all for it, of course things got worse. One day, a drunk young guy rushed into the longhouse and made as if to chop her up with a tomahawk. She just stood there and looked down, baring her neck to him, and he fled.

Things calmed down for a while, until one day an aunt of hers decided that St. Kateri must have slept with her husband. She was so vocal about this that the priest actually had to ask Kateri about it, although of course nothing had happened. And that’s why the priest advised her to leave town, despite her reluctance to abandon all family ties. And so that’s why Kateri finally left home. (Yeah, I guess that wouldn’t be in any books for kids.)

But even after it was time, she was apparently too shy to ask to travel with other “Praying Indians,” even though her sister by adoption and her brother-in-law, as well as her neighbor, already lived there. Plus, she was too much of a political hot potato for anyone to offer to take her.

Except for one guy — a hotheaded Oneida man named Hot Ashes, who had become a fervent Christian after ending up living at the Christian town for a while, and after being persuaded by his wife Garhoit. He became chief of the Oneidas living in the Christian town. He was brave, kindhearted, and good at tricks that prevented trouble. So of course, he was just the guy to rescue St. Kateri, along with Kateri’s brother-in-law, and a Christian Huron friend from the village of Lorette.

The men arrived in Caughnawaga and were guested by Father De Lamberville. Kateri’s uncle was away, talking to the Dutch, so the other elders of the tribe came to greet the visitors. And then Kateri happened to show up, just in time to hear Hot Ashes saying that Christianity had turned him from a dog into a man. Heh!

The elders left and Kateri stayed, to tell the priest that she had decided that he was right and that she should go. Her brother-in-law revealed that he had come for that very purpose, and had even taken beaver skins to the Dutch first, in order to lay a false trail. Hot Ashes then said that he was heading to see the Oneidas and spread the Gospel on his way, and would travel on foot. But Kateri should go in the canoe with her BIL and the Huron man, and go live in the Christian town. So they set off secretly, and nobody caught her.

But her aunts figured out quickly that she was gone, and sent messengers to her uncle. He was coming back and walked right past without recognizing her BIL, who was going to Schenectady to buy some bread for the journey, while Kateri and the Huron guy hid in the woods. When the BIL came back and told Kateri about it, she took it as a sign from God that she was supposed to go.

While they traveled cross-country, somehow Kateri’s uncle managed to track down their party. One of the men pretended to be hunting birds, and shot off his gun. At this signal, Kateri hid in the woods, and the other man came out in the open, lay down, and started puffing on his pipe. Kateri’s uncle boggled. Obviously these guys were not fleeing with his niece, but just messing around on their own time. He decided that the aunts must have been freaking out over nothing, and went back home, embarrassed to even say anything to the men.

So after a while, the party continued their journey. They had hid another canoe on the shores of Lake George, and they used it now to paddle back to the Christian town. Chauchetiere summed it up by saying, “Her journey was a continual prayer.”

When she got to St. Francis Xavier du Sault, she presented a letter of introduction from Father de Lamberville. It said, “You will soon know the treasure I have sent you.”

I had never heard of any of this. Seriously… sometimes the old books are better.

From then on, the book adheres closely to her two contemporary biographers, Chauchetiere and Cholenec, who both knew Kateri personally. We learn about her life in the longhouse of her mother’s old friend, Anastasia Tegonhatsihongo, and how her short but happy life advanced in the faith.

Because it was so long a time between visits by the bishops, sadly Kateri was never Confirmed. And yet, we have the ability and often don’t get Confirmed, today.

She received First Communion at Christmas, during her first year at the Christian village, and received it a second time at Easter. Again, we have so many more chances to receive, but do we make the most of it?

As in South America with the Spanish Jesuits and Franciscans, the French Jesuits also taught their converts to wear their rosaries as a protectice sacramental. Interestingly, the Iroquois and Huron not only wore them around their necks, but also as wreaths around their heads. That sounds very striking.

Another thing I learned is that the typical picture of St. Kateri praying in the woods in the snow, is actually a picture of what she did in her free time, when staying in a winter hunting camp instead of in town. (This was how the Mohawks prevented winter game shortages — by scattering around in the wild, each longhouse family in a different place.)

Another thing this book talks about is St. Kateri’s best friend, Therese Tegaiaguenta. She had struggled with alcoholism after her conversion, and then suffered a terrible winter in which her husband died, and then the other hunting camp members turned to cannibalism. Getting over this was why she found it helpful to join Kateri in practices of mortification.

Yeah… I guess that doesn’t belong in a kid’s book, either.

The book also talks about how Kateri did meet the nuns in Montreal, and was inspired by their way of life, with their school and hospital. The book also mentions the first Indian nun in Canada, Marie-Therese Gannansagwas, who became a teacher.

Another interesting thing is that the Jesuit Fathers were not aware of all the austerities and mortifications that Kateri was doing. Most of the Christian converts did their own things, without revealing them to others, possibly because that was common in their old way of life. Having a means to show both devotion and bravery was to everyone’s taste in the village, not just to Kateri.

Unfortunately, her excessive zeal also messed with her health, which is why people are supposed to get spiritual direction about any extraordinary devotional practices. She died a saint; but it might have been helpful if she had lived longer on this earth, too.

One of the most touching moments in the book is how her final illness took place in Lent, during the busy planting time. But after her friends and family having to leave her alone during the daytime, one day the priests brought her the Blessed Sacrament. Kateri was overjoyed to hear about this, but then sad that she no longer had any good, clean shirt to wear, having given away so much. She confided this to her friend Therese, who got her dressed nicely in her own borrowed shirt before the Lord’s visit.

Everyone knew that Kateri was close to death, and one day she had to assure them that she wouldn’t die until they got back from the fields. And she didn’t. Her last words were an encouragement to her friend Therese Tegaiaguenta, not to fall back into alcoholism or bad habits, and her priest was there to witness it. She promised her friend as she had promised others, “I will love you in heaven. I will pray for you. I will help you.” Her last words were “Jesus, I love you.”

She was a long time dying, but it was also a time of joy. People crowded to see her face. “She died as if she had gone to sleep.” And then her face changed “little by little,” and appeared “more beautiful than when she was living.” It was April 17, 1680, and she was 24 years old.

Cholenec says that about 15 minutes after her death, all her smallpox scars miraculously disappeared. He was so startled that “I gave a great cry” and called out for the other priest and for the rest of the people, who ran in and saw the miracle. He remembers that his first thought was that Kateri’s soul must have just entered into Heaven.

Kateri’s body was dressed and laid out, her hair oiled and braided, her feet put into the best moccasins, and she laid in state. While everyone was visiting, some French guys from La Prairie arrived and followed the crowd, then talked to the priest, wondering what the deal was with this gorgeous sleeping girl. When they heard that she was dead, they ran back and threw themselves at her feet, asking for her prayers. Then they begged to make her coffin, which they did. And that’s why we have her relics today.

As for the well-known picture of her with a cross in her hand, that was drawn by Chauchetiere after having a vision telling him to make a picture of her, and he drew her as she had appeared to Anastasia after her death, with her cross in hand, telling her of what joy the cross had given her, and advising her to find the same joy. Chauchetiere also had a vision of her warning him of a future tornado that would turn the mission church upside down, despite it being made of stone. (Three priests, including Chauchetiere, then survived being scooped up by the tornado and dumped under wreckage, with barely a scratch.)

So that’s the story. A lot fuller than what they tell kids.

The funny thing is… that St. Kateri was born in the same village where St. Rene Goupil died, and where St. Isaac Jogues was tomahawked. Her mother was a captive Algonquin Christian, and her father was a Mohawk warrior, who fell in love with her and apparently had a happy marriage with her, until smallpox killed both of them and Kateri’s brother.

All this sadness ended up turning into something good.

Farewell Wherever You Fare

Kori Stovall died this week. He was a big fan of Pirates of the Caribbean, and part of a fannish/Goth family in England. He was terminally ill with heart problems, and his dying wish was to become a YouTuber and get a large number of subscribers. Johnny Depp and many other YouTubers helped to publicize his wish, but his unboxing channel, Kraken The Box, became popular for its content and humor after people subscribed just to help out.

His mother was always fairly open about the fact that his condition was deteriorating, but I think a lot of us were hoping that the kid’s high spirits, humor, and fighter’s will would triumph over bodily weakness.

Well, unfortunately that was not to be.

Condolences to Spanky (his dad), Pixi (his mom), and Ostarra (his little sister).

Johnny Depp on Captain Kori’s death.

Taken from the comment section on his mother’s YT channel:

“Fair well Captain Kori, as you set sail into the unknown,

Across uncharted waters, where ‘ere your sails be blown…

sail ever onward lad, with your crewmen at your side,

So Beneath the skies we share, we will hear your hearty cry..

“You’re aboard The Mighty Kraken, look lively every one,

For I am Captain Kori, and my order is, “Have Fun!”

“Get up into the rigging, look out from that Crows Nest…

For our great adventure, can be found in yonder West!

“My scurvy bunch of pirates, you are my chosen friends,

You leapt aboard The Kraken, Now … we sail to Rainbows end!”

— Babz Johnson. Mon 10 July 2023

Argh. More Fannish Drama.

Apparently someone whom I thought had gafiated due to health problems, and then died, is actually alive and well and living under a different name. But people at the time did not make it clear that this was just a figurative death and not an actual death, because yet again, everyone was just supposed to magically know. (I don’t know if we’re talking Facebook cliques, or Livejournal, or what, because I was never in any of them.)

I thought this person was kinda not super-likable in some ways, although very pleasant and fun in others. So I felt bad that there wasn’t more grief for this person from people who knew this person better than I did. It never even occurred to me that everyone else knew that this person was only fictionally dead.

Argh argh arghhhhhhh. And people wonder why I gafiated away from science fiction fandom.

I mean, this isn’t the only reason, but “people not acting like human beings who care for other human beings” and “cliques within cliques” is pretty high on the list. As are “people with relationships that are weaponized,” “people who demand my approval of stupid/criminal/immoral behavior”, and “people with power fantasies of taking over conventions, when everybody else is quickly tired of running conventions.”

(I’m talking about Dr. Jane Robinson, paleontologist and songwriter, who apparently decided she should be renamed James and also become a massage therapist. Well, she never needed my approval, certainly, although I do notice that it’s the altos and contraltos of filk who seem to be drawn away from their proper vocal parts. Which seems exactly like weaponizing stereotypes of bodies, and of what is masculine and feminine, to harm oneself.)

(Anyway, there’s no doubt that massage therapy is useful work and art, so hopefully all is going well.)

I suppose I should take all this as being in the grand tradition of fannish death hoaxes, but I really don’t. It turns out that there was stuff talking about this on the West Coast, when I really was still active in fandom. I’m really annoyed.

Also, if you’re a contralto, you should look to Irene Adler and Karen Carpenter, not to the tiny little vocal range allotted to today’s pop singers. Just saying….