The priests never tell us about virgin martyrs like St. Agatha, Feb- ruary fifth. February is a powerful month for virgin martyrs. Sicilian pagans ordered Agatha to give up her faith in Jesus and like all the vir- gin martyrs she said, Nay.They tortured her, stretched her on the rack, tore her sides with iron hooks, burned her with blazing torches, and she said, Nay, I will not deny Our Lord.They crushed her breasts and cut them off but when they rolled her over hot coals it was more than she could bear so she expired, giving praise. Virgin  martyrs  always  died  singing  hymns  and  giving  praise  not minding one bit if lions tore big chunks from their sides and gobbled them on the spot. How is it the priests never told us about St. Ursula and her eleven thousand maiden martyrs, October twenty-first? Her father wanted her to marry a pagan king but she said, I’ll go away for awhile, three years, and think about it. So off she goes with her thousand noble ladies- in-waiting and their companions, ten thousand.They sailed around for awhile  and  traipsed  through  various  countries  till  they  stopped  in Cologne where the chief of the Huns asked Ursula to marry him. Nay, she  said,  and  the  Huns  killed  her  and  the  maidens  with  her. Why couldn’t she say yes and save the lives of eleven thousand virgins? Why did virgin martyrs have to be so stubborn? I like St. Moling, an Irish bishop. He didn’t live in a palace like the bishop of Limerick. He lived in a tree and when other saints visited him for dinner they would sit around on branches like birds having a grand time with their water and dry bread. He was walking along one day and a leper said, Hoy, St. Moling, where are you going? I’m going to Mass, says St. Moling.Well, I’d like to go to Mass too, so why don’t you hoist me up on your back and carry me? St. Moling did but he no sooner had the leper up on his back than the leper started to complain.Your hair shirt,he said,is hard on my sores,take it off.St.Moling took off the shirt and off they went again.Then the leper says, I need to blow my nose. St. Moling says, I don’t have any class of a handkerchief, use your hand. The leper says, I can’t hold on to you and blow my nose at the same time.All right, says St. Moling, you can blow into my hand.That won’t do, says the leper, I barely have a hand left with the leprosy and I can’t hold on and blow into your hand. If you were a proper saint you’d twist around here and suck the stuff out of my head. St. Moling didn’t want to suck the leper’s snot but he did and offered it up and praised God for the privilege. 303