Osƿeald

A cavalcade was making its way across the fields of Seefeld, Austria. At the head of the riding was a man tall and broad, the knight who governed these lands. All knew him for his capturing of merchants and others traveling through his territory and imprisoning them in his castle. He would promise them release in exchange for enormous sums of money, more than anyone not of the nobility could have. More than one poor man had starved to death in the knight’s custody without the means to gain his freedom. 

As he rode patrol with his soldiers little better than brigands, he caught sight of the local parish church. An idea seized his fancy, and he acted on it immediately, turning his horse and spurring it towards the house of worship. 

“Where are we going, Sir Müsler?” several men called out. 

“To Holy Mass! There’s something there I want.” 

“Ah, we’re going to Mass!” Laughter spread through the company. “To Mass, then!” 

The heavy wooden doors of the little church were heaved open and held wide, and Sir Oswald Müsler strode in. 

That day being Thursday, March 24, of the Year of Our Lord 1384, it was Holy Thursday, and the eve of the Feast of the Annunciation. Both were great occasions in the liturgical calendar of the Roman Catholic Church. The church was full of peasant faithful. 

The noise of Oswald’s shifting armor filled the quiet as he clomped down the center aisle. Heads turned in the pews, and whispers of dismay gathered and rolled like a wave trapped within the wood and plaster walls of the church. 

The Holy Sacrifice of the Mass was in progress. At that time, all prayers were said in Latin; only the readings from holy scripture and the priest’s homily were spoken in the native tongue of the region. The altar of sacrifice, at which the Holy Eucharist was confected, was nearly always placed near or against the back wall of the sanctuary. All, the priests, deacons, altar servers, and the congregation faced the altar and the tabernacle. 

The priest was engaged in the prayer of consecration, but was nearing the end. The bells had already been rung at the elevation of the host and the chalice of wine. He raptly ignored the disturbance behind him. It was of no consequence to him at the moment. 

Oswald marched up to the Communion rail, fiddled with the latch on the little metal gate in the middle, and swung it open. 

Gasps of consternation punctured reverent quiet as the knight invaded the sanctuary reserved for priests, deacons, and boys serving at the altar. 

The priest heard a metallic clanking close at hand. It was certainly not the golden censer in the hand of one of the altar boys; this sounded bigger and more varied, as of many pieces of metal. 

“I want the big one, priest.”

The loud voice in the holy quiet startled the priest, and he broke protocol to turn and see who was speaking to him. 

Sir Oswald Müsler was standing beside the priest on the top step of the altar, sword in hand, in the sight of all the people.

Glancing down to the edge of the sanctuary, the priest was not very surprised to see more than half a dozen men down there, all holding naked swords like their leader. The local knight never went anywhere without his henchmen. 

“Give me the big one.” 

The words finally registered in the priest’s mind. Oswald was demanding the host usually reserved for the priests, larger than the ones given to the congregation. 

It was the priest’s responsibility to safeguard the Eucharist, the true Body and Blood of Christ hidden under the forms of wafers of bread and wine in a chalice. Yet here were armed men who would kill him, and perhaps others, threatening to do so if he refused. 

Candlelight flickered on the murky steel of Oswald’s blade. Gray tendrils of incense smoke swirled and drifted from the still-swinging censer. 

Oswald was a baptized Catholic, one of the requirements for being allowed to receive the Eucharist. When was the last time Oswald had been to confession? Was he in a state of grace to receive the body of the Lord? The priest doubted it, but couldn’t be sure. 

Oswald was frowning, growing impatient. “Give it to me,” he demanded yet again. 

The priest took a deep breath and steadied himself. “If you will kneel…” 

“I will not. Give it to me as I stand here.” 

Except in extraordinary circumstances, the faithful always knelt to receive the Eucharist. 

Oswald opened his mouth and extended his tongue a little, as was proper when receiving. At that time, Communion was nearly always placed directly on the tongue of the communicant by the priest, again only differing under extraordinary circumstances.

The priest held up the large host, saying, “May the Body of Our Lord Jesus Christ preserve your soul unto life everlasting. Amen.” in Latin. Then the priest reached out and placed the large host on Oswald’s tongue. 

At the moment the Eucharist touched Oswald’s tongue, he thought the priest began to grow taller, or that he himself was shrinking. 

In the next instant, he realized what was truly happening: he was sinking into the stone floor! It was as if he had stepped off a ferry into a river and was sinking into fathomless mud!

Oswald’s sword fell to the floor with a clatter as he thrust his hands out to grasp the edge of the carven stone altar, in the midst of which was set the gold-plated tabernacle. 

As soon as Oswald touched the ledge of the altar upon which the priest celebrated Mass, that stone went soft as well, his hands sinking into it the way his feet were sinking into the floor. 

God, I have sinned! Oswald thought. “Father,” he gasped aloud, feeling the big host still stuck to his tongue by his saliva. “Take it back!” He opened his mouth wide and tipped his head back, getting swallowed more and more by the floor. “Please, I beg you!” 

The incredulous priest quickly plucked the host from Oswald’s tongue. 

Oswald’s sinking halted, and he panted, moving his tongue and tasting blood. He wondered if he had somehow bitten the inside of his mouth in his panic. He didn’t think so. Oswald looked up at the priest, and froze. The priest was staring, transfixed, at the host he had taken out of Oswald’s mouth. 

The large host was no longer white, it was red. More red was beaded on the surface like thick dew, and was beginning to drip. 

The priest turned and placed the red-smeared host on the corporal, a piece of white linen used in the consecration, and a fitting place for an already consecrated host.

Oswald jerked himself up out of the holes in the stone floor and hurried down the steps of the altar and out of the sanctuary through the little gate in the Communion rail. There he paused and turned to genuflect on one knee while making a stuttering Sign of the Cross. As soon as he finished the physical prayer, he fled down the aisle without looking back. 

Oswald was later found at a nearby monastery. He refused to leave, having already obtained permission from the monks to live with their community and do penance for his sins. He voluntarily did hard penances for two years, after which Oswald died a natural death. 

While Oswald was living with the monastic community, news of a Eucharistic miracle was rippling out from Seefeld. 

The host which had touched Oswald’s tongue was indeed verified to be bloody, but not with Oswald’s blood. The host itself was bleeding. 

Sir Parzifal von Weinec paid for the forging of a gilded monstrance, a special upright container for the display of the Eucharist for veneration by the faithful. He then donated the expensive item to the church as an appropriate place to keep the miraculous host. 

Friedrich IV, Duke of Austria, commissioned a new church to be built to house the bloody host. Many people were already traveling long distances to see it. From that time forward, it was a very popular pilgrimage site. It was a particular favorite of the Holy Roman Emperor Maximilian I, and Archduke Ferdinand II of Austria, who commissioned a special chapel, called the Heiligenblutkappelle, in which to keep the embloodied host. 

Oswald was eventually canonized a Saint of the Catholic Church, and the little church where the miracle occurred was renamed after him. At the sight of the miracle which was triggered by his bravado, the holes in the floor and the altar were let be, and can be seen to this day. 

The cup of blessing that we bless, is it not the sharing of the blood of Christ? And the bread that we break, is it not the partaking of the body of the Lord? 

Or are we provoking the Lord to jealousy? Are we stronger than he?

—1 Corinthians 10:16, 22

The name Oswald comes from the Old English Osƿeald, os meaning god and ƿeald meaning rule.