Octavia: The Origins of Valentine’s Day
- Micah Coate
- 4 hours ago
- 6 min read
Even though the usual cold weather had set in on the eve of Lupercalia, Octavia was determined to sleep well. Thoughts of the coming festival put a smile on her face as the young woman warmed herself under the blankets. She still lived with her parents near the center of Rome, close to Palatine Hill—and Palatine Hill just happened to stand at the heart of the upcoming annual celebration.
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Lupercalia was not only a tradition Octavia had grown up observing; it was one her family—and indeed most of Rome—had celebrated every February for centuries.
But this year was different. Octavia had truly matured into a young and beautiful woman. Her body had developed, and her mind was increasingly aware of—and sometimes preoccupied with—the opposite sex. In previous years, without her parents’ approval, she could only observe the events from a distance, watching older women run about and flirt with young men, hoping one of the Luperci (the Roman priests who administered the ceremonial lashings) would choose to strike them.
After sacrificing goats and dogs to Lupercus (associated with fertility), the priests would cut the goats’ hides into long strips. They would smear goat’s blood on their foreheads, wipe it away with milk, then seize the strips of hide and run laughing through the streets, striking any woman within reach.
Though women desired to be touched by the goatskin—believing it would increase fertility—none wished to appear desperate. They ran from the priests rather than toward them. It resembled an innocent game of pursuit: the girls pretending not to want to be chased, yet secretly enjoying it; the boys feigning reluctance while delighting in the chase.
Legend claimed the lashings promoted fertility or blessed an existing pregnancy. In truth, only a few deeply believed in this ritual consecration. Most simply sought excitement—and perhaps companionship, even if only for a short time. Another custom of Lupercalia involved men drawing a woman’s name from a jar, pairing them for the duration of the festival. Few such pairings endured beyond the celebration.
The atmosphere was heightened by the scant clothing worn by both priests and participants. Octavia had heard from her grandparents that in earlier generations the priests had been entirely naked. Over time, however, full nudity became unpopular—perhaps due to Rome’s official shift from paganism to Christianity in A.D. 380.
Still, Octavia had carefully selected her outfit—a delicate balance of modesty and allure. Though she had tried it on many times in the weeks leading up to the festival, she drifted to sleep imagining how she would look among the other young women in the crowd.
The next morning, February 13, A.D. 496—the first day of the three-day celebration—Octavia rose earlier than usual.
Excitement filled the air.
Until she overheard her father speaking to her mother in hushed tones.
Knowing how eagerly their daughter anticipated Lupercalia, her parents looked uneasy when she approached and asked what they were discussing.
Her father, gently but firmly, explained that Lupercalia had been effectively canceled—outlawed would be more accurate. Unbeknownst to many citizens, the Pope had long sought to eliminate pagan practices. Rumors had circulated years earlier that Pope Gelasius I intended to ban the festival, but nothing had come of it—until now.
Before Octavia could voice her disappointment, her mother quickly reassured her: the feast would still occur. It would simply bear a new name and new meaning. It would now be celebrated on February 14 and called The Feast of Saint Valentine.
The Feast of Saint Valentine? Was this to be a Christian celebration? Why? Who was Saint Valentine? And could she still wear her dress?
Throughout the day, Octavia learned more from her mother—who was more receptive to Christianity than her father—about the man behind the name.
Valentine had lived over two centuries earlier, during a time when Christians were systematically persecuted. In A.D. 250, Emperor Decius instituted emperor worship, requiring citizens to offer sacrifice to him. Because Christians were monotheistic and devoted to Christ alone, they faced a terrible choice: obey state law or remain faithful to their convictions. Many were executed; others went into hiding.
Valentine was said to be a leading servant of the Christian Church. Tradition holds that he ministered to persecuted believers, healed children with epilepsy, restored sight to a blind girl, and—most compelling to Octavia—performed secret marriages for young couples in defiance of Roman law. Eventually discovered, Valentine of Rome was martyred on February 14, A.D. 269.
As afternoon turned to evening, Octavia found herself captivated. The imagery of priests chasing women with goatskin thongs began to fade in her imagination. She still longed to be admired and pursued, yet something deeper stirred within her as her mother recounted the history of Christ and His followers.
Though Octavia did not entirely approve of the Pope’s authority to reshape Roman customs, her resentment softened in light of Valentine’s story of sacrificial love.
That night, as stars appeared above Palatine Hill, Octavia prepared for bed. Unlike the previous evening, her thoughts centered on a different kind of celebration—a different kind of love. The symbols of Lupercalia now seemed like shadows of something greater and more enduring.
The life of Valentine appeared far more compelling than the legend of Romulus and Remus suckled by a she-wolf—and certainly more believable.
So on February 13, A.D. 496, Octavia fell asleep on the eve of the first Feast of Saint Valentine contemplating a man called the Christ, who gave His life for others—and how centuries later, His followers did the same.
“A love worth dying for,” she pondered, more thoughtfully than emotionally, “must be something worth living for.”
Her desire to be beautiful and loved did not diminish. Nor did her interest in boys disappear. But something within her had shifted. Saint Valentine offered something Lupercalia never had—a love rooted in sacrifice rather than impulse.
As she considered how Lupercalia had endured for centuries before fading within her own lifetime, she wondered how this new feast might be celebrated hundreds of years in the future. Whatever cultures and politics might shape it, she hoped it would still involve the joy of young love—yet also point toward something objectively true and beautiful: the highest form of self-sacrificial love, reflected not only in Saint Valentine but ultimately in his God.
REFLECTION:
The story of Saint Valentine and the origins of Valentine’s Day is surrounded by tradition and legend. While the details of his life are debated, it is widely held that he lived during intense Christian persecution and was martyred on February 14, A.D. 269.
Lupercalia, by contrast, was a Roman pagan festival observed February 13–15, dating back to Rome’s earliest traditions. Plutarch referenced it in his writings, and Shakespeare mentioned it in Julius Caesar. Historical records show that Pope Gelasius I (492–496) sought to suppress pagan rituals and established the Feast of Saint Valentine on February 14, 496—placing a Christian observance directly within the days traditionally devoted to Lupercalia.
How much Lupercalia influenced later Valentine traditions remains debated. What is certain is that the first official Feast of Saint Valentine was observed in A.D. 496.
Octavia’s fictional story offers one possible lens through which ordinary Romans may have experienced this cultural shift—from pagan ritual to Christian commemoration.
Valentine, like many early Christians, gave his life in testimony to Jesus Christ. As Jesus said, “Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends” (John 15:13). Christians believe Christ demonstrated this love through His death and resurrection, reconciling even His enemies to God (Romans 5:10; John 3:16).
Self-sacrifice is rare—and worth celebrating—not only in a Savior or saint, but also in marriage and committed love.
So whether you are married, engaged, dating, single, Christian, or pagan, perhaps this Valentine’s Day can be more meaningful—closer to the depth of its historical roots than to modern commercialism.
History shows that Jesus not only transforms hearts but reshapes cultures. Without Him, Valentine’s Day risks reverting to something resembling ancient Rome—exchanging goatskins and sacrifices for cupids, fading roses, and boxed chocolates.
Instead, perhaps we might celebrate a love defined not by impulse but by sacrifice—trading conditional affection for enduring commitment, and fleeting passion for something deeper and eternal.
That is my hope for you—and for me. Happy Valentine's Day!
Micah Coate President & Host of Salvation and Stuff