Today I would lobby hard that the church, and the world, remember a visionary woman who embraced the ephemeral with a zeal that would reverberate far past her all-too-short life: Saint Emily of the Dickinsons, Poet and Patron Saint of Those Stuck in the Middle.

Saint Emily was born the early part of the 19th Century in Amherst, Massachusetts, and by most accounts was a well-behaved, if slightly morose young woman. She was particularly troubled by the death she saw and experienced in the world; death that she felt a kindred spirit with, but also had great fear of.

Tapping into this energy felt early on in her life would, I believe, make her a most remarkable poet.

As a teen, revival sprung up in Amherst, and many of Saint Emily’s peers would publicly pledge their lives to a Jesus preached about with the Bible in one hand and fire in the other. Saint Emily was equally moved by this wave of zeal, though she couldn’t bring herself to make such a commitment. Years later she would describe her closeness to the Divine but noted that, “Some keep the Sabbath by going to church–I keep it, staying at Home.”

After a brief stint at a woman’s college (they called it a Seminary, and I guess it may have been because of the religious zeal there), Saint Dickinson left the life of the classroom for the learning of the home. She read feverishly, and Shakespeare, Jane Eyre, and other literary works provided needed breaks from domestic home life with her family.

She fell in love with words.

This love for words was seen most by others in the form of letters, especially to her dear sister-in-law Susan, with whom she exchanged hundreds of notes. These notes were playful, intimate, and honest, causing some to think that there was romance between Susan and Emily. But these ideas are mostly conjecture…and honestly, we need to stop assuming all deep affection is erotic.

People can love each other deeply without implication, Beloved.

Saint Emily’s life at home continued to root as her mother, with whom her relationship was a bit rocky, became effectively bedridden for almost 30 years. Dickinson took on the role of caretaker of both her mother and the homestead, essentially pulling back from the world and finding escape in books and in her own writing. Some of her poems were published locally, but she was still largely just writing to keep her own sanity…as many of us writers do.

Her young adult years were dotted by seclusion. She wrote, tended the family, and pressed flowers…keeping them pressed and shared with her family and friends along with letters and short poem snippets. This was basically the extent of her noteriety.

Her later adult years were dotted by loss. Her young nephew, her father by a sudden stroke (she would not even attend the funeral), her mother eventually, the disillusion of her brother’s marriage to Susan…it was all too much and cascaded over Saint Emily.

One day she simply fainted while baking for the family. Weeks of illness followed as she was in and out of consciousness, and eventually the foreboding shadows she had felt even as a young woman overtook her and she wrote her life’s final verse with a breath.

She died on this day in 1886 at the age of 55.

Though she wrote her whole life, during her breathing years she only had 10 pieces published. After her death, her sister found over 1,800 pieces of work.

Saint Emily has been in continual publication since 1890, and though much of her work has been revised and edited, original writings of hers are considered the authoritative pieces.

She truly was a hermitic mystic.

My favorite verse of Saint Emily’s is one that I use often, especially in ponderful moments in my life:

“I am out with lanterns
looking for myself.”

Saint Emily is a reminder for me, and should be for everyone, that so much more is going on with people than we may ever see, or ever know. In fact, so much more may be going on in our own hearts than we may ever reveal.

Truly, she is the patron saint of those stuck in the middle of what could be and what is.

-historical bits taken from publicly available sources

-icon found in Amherst, MA

Today the church celebrates one of our calendar-contingent feast days: The Feast of the Ascension.

Or, in German, Himmelfahrt (which is much more fun to say).

In Norwegian it’s Himmelfartsdag (even more fun to say).

But, I digress…

The Feast of the Ascension follows the Biblical pattern of 40, and finds itself a square 40 days after Easter. That Biblical pattern of 40 is meant to be a touchstone for those who pay attention.

40 days and 40 nights of the floating ark.
40 years of wandering for Israel.
40 days of temptation in the desert for Jesus.

This is not coincidence, Beloved, but rather a repeating tracer by Biblical writers to say, in a concise way, that 40 is “when you’re at your wit’s end” and you can’t take anymore.

When it comes to the Ascension, though, it’s flipped. The Biblical account notes that Jesus appeared to the disciples, and a few random folx, for 40 days and then exited stage left. It’s kind of like the Divine has “had enough.”

Why?

Because if Jesus had stuck around, the disciples never would have. We love to get attached to things and then depend on them for the hard lifting, right?

If Jesus had stuck around, the church would never learn to lean on one another (I mean…they’re still struggling to do that 2000 years later, right?).

Just like birds are kicking the chicks out of the nest in these May days, saying, “You’re made for this!” the Ascension is a way to explain that Jesus isn’t showing up in the same way anymore.

So you, Beloved, have to.

In fact: you’re made for this.

-art by Bagong Kussudiardja (Indonesian, 1928–2004), Ascension, 1983

Today the church remembers an unusual 13th Century Saint of the church, Saint Juniper, Fool and Friend.

Juniper was a companion of St. Francis of Assisi, but may have been even more extreme than him when it came to eccentricities. Juniper was known as a “fool for Christ,” and, like your aunt with an unending purse in church, was known for continually giving away all of his possessions and living in such a publicly exuberant way that he was constantly in trouble with authorities.

Eventually his monastic superiors ordered him to no longer give away his outer robe to beggars, which he had a habit of doing. Moments after the directive, he encountered a beggar and is supposed to have said, “I have been told not to give you my clothing, but if you decide to take it off of my back, I will not put up a fight.”

Juniper is a winsome saint who reminds the church, and all of us, that everything we have is always on loan, and in living that way we learn to better enjoy not only what we have, but also the moment we give it away.

Because much of the church honors Saint Solange on May 10th, I would propose we move the commemoration of an 11th Century saint also honored on the 10th to today: Saint Isidore the Farmer, Commoner and Tiller of the Land.

Saint Isidore is by most accounts utterly unremarkable.

This is, of course, why I like him.

He never penned a single thought that we’ve ever found. He never joined a religious order, never wrote a hymn, and never recorded a mystic vision for historical memory.

Instead he lived his life and tried to live it well, and for this he has my heart.

Born in the late 11th Century in Madrid, Spain, Saint Isidore was born into a working poor household and would die as a member of the working poor. He was a farmer by trade (often called a “husbandsman” having less to do with marital status and more to do with how he raised livestock), tilling the land for a wealthy landowner and working the farm, never fully able to buy the land outright. He married a young woman, Maria, and they had a beautiful baby boy who would not live past his elementary years.

Saint Isidore knew beauty and heartbreak, love and loss…like most of us in this mortal coil. He was you and me.

His shadow darkened his local parish hall weekly, and his prayers were said faithfully. He was known to have a lovely glow about him, despite his relatively meager existence. Some reported that they would see angels working with him in the fields, helping to push his plow.

Though Saint Isidore had very little money, he was known for being generous with his parish, with his family, and with his friends in need. Generosity is, after all, not a matter of means but rather a matter of the heart.

I’ll say that louder for the people in the back.

He died on May 15th in the year 1130, but because May is chock full of commemorations, sometimes they’re rearranged to fit them all in. May 11th is a relatively free day when it comes to saints worth remembering, so I’d suggest we lift up Saint Isidore today.

In his meekness he was mighty.

Saint Isidore is a reminder for me, and should be for the whole church, that the ordinary life is extraordinary, by God.

-historical bits gleaned from Clairborne and Wilson-Hartgrove’s Common Prayer: A Liturgy for Ordinary Radicals and common sources

-icon is from Monestaryicons.com written in a classic style

Today parts of the church, especially those of Frankish origin, remember a 9th Century saint whose story is all too familiar: Saint Solange, Patron Saint of Sexual Assault Victims and Resistor of Rape.

Saint Solange was the daughter of poor vineyard workers in central France. She eventually took on the role of shepherdess, tending her sheep in the fields of the area. She was raised devout in the faith.

Her beauty attracted the attention of a local nobleman. She rebuffed his advances, even though he continually sought her out, especially while she was doing her work in the fields, alone.

Yet, she persisted.

Frustrated by her lack of interest in him, he snuck up on her one night and, using brute force, kidnapped her. In the moments after being taken Saint Solange struggled violently and, as a result, fell from the horse he had tied her to as they were crossing a stream. Her abductor was so angry at her reluctance to do what he told her to and give up her body to him, he killed her on the spot.

The year was 880 A.D.

But it was also this year. And last. And every year before it.

She is remembered as a strong woman who, when accosted by the wealthy and powerful men who thought they could do what they wanted to her and with her, resisted. Her tale is one of bravery, fear, and one all too often repeated in this life.

She is a reminder to me, and should be for the whole church, that patriarchal systems of power must never be reinforced, must never be taught and, where they are found, must be resisted and fought against.

And we need to teach this to all our children, regardless of gender.

Let those with ears to hear, hear.

-information gleaned from public sources as well as Daily Magic by Judika Illes

Today the church remembers an obscure, but important saint, especially for those of us who find ourselves Lutheran in the Carolinas.

Today we honor Nicolaus Ludwig, Count von Zinzendorf, who may be considered the founder of the modern Moravian Church.

Zinzendorf was raised in an Austrian Lutheran family, and trained at Wittenberg University. Being of noble heritage, he took up a post in the court of King August the Strong of Saxony.

While there, he opened his home to Austrian Protestant immigrants, mostly of Bohemian descent. His hospitality, and the colony growing under his care, flourished, and he resigned his political post to attend to “the Lord’s watch,” as it came to be known.

He was a little too pious even for the Lutherans, but all the same was considered a Lutheran theologian. He was exiled from Saxony for his extreme piety, and founded communities in the Baltics, the Netherlands, England, the West Indies, and North America.

In 1737 he was consecrated a bishop in the Church of the Czech Brethren, a branch of the church that John Hus followers formed after his death. Because the church was founded around Moravia, it became known as the Moravian Church.

Zinzendorf also had great concern for social justice, a streak which continues in the Moravian Church to this day.

In the United States, and particularly Pennsylvania and the Carolinas, the Moravian Church and the Evangelical Lutheran Church in America maintain a special relationship. Here in Carolina it’s not unusual for families to have both Lutheran and Moravian members, and for churches close to one another to work together in mission. We are close theological cousins, and though there are certainly differences, we share pastors and are in full communion.

While many might know Moravians for their thin, wafer-like sweet cookies (and a pretty good thing to be known for!), they should be known more-so for their continued care for the poor and the oppressed around the world.

As Mothers Day approaches, I’m compelled to note that today the church honors the mother of mystics, 15th Century icon: St. Julian of Norwich, Enigma and Anchoress.

We know little about St. Julian, though she left us a treasure trove of writings from which to grow from. She became an anchoress of St. Julian’s Church in Norwich, a statement which means little to our ears, but explains that she lived in a shack adjacent to a particular church, in exile and voluntarily alone. She sought the contemplative life without distraction, and at the time this was seen as a benefit to her and her insights. We would later know it was certainly a benefit for our collective knowledge, but may have done her personal harm in the long run.

St. Julian called her insights “showings,” and she has recorded fifteen of them for the world. She was only around thirty years old when these visions happened to her, and they show both her admiration for the Divine and what she believes the Divine was showing her. In these experiences she recounts a God who is close, intimate, and “homely,” according to her description. She draws upon scripture and other medieval writings of the time to extrapolate on these extraordinary experiences.

St. Julian (sometimes called Dame Julian) was sought out for her wisdom. Though she lived as a recluse, others traveled far to hear her thoughts and seek her guidance.

St. Julian of Norwich died in the year 1417, and has long been honored on May 7th or May 8th by much of the church.

My favorite quote of hers, which was scribed while she was on her death bed, is, “All shall be well, all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.”

She is a reminder to me, and should be for the whole church, that insight into the Divine can happen to anyone, anywhere. And sometimes the most feeble amongst us holds the most acute lens.

-historical bits taken from Pfatteicher’s New Book of Festivals & Commemorations

-icon written by Marcy Hall of Rabbitroomarts: https://www.etsy.com/shop/RabbitRoomArts?ref=simple-shop-header-name&listing_id=973273358