“That doesn’t bother you?” he asked, turning his head. “They’ve done so much, and here I am…and you…what have we done?”
“Look, if they want to put stock in shiny things that sit on their mantles, pieces of paper with fancy calligraphy, book endorsements from people scrounging for shreds of recognition in an over-crowded field of ‘I thought of it first/I’m the most edgy/I’m the most woke’ then they can refresh their Amazon ranking and Insta-posts all they want and live that life of begging for the spotlight one 15 minutes at a time. Spare me. I’d rather not, thank you.”
He blinked, staring at her. She gazed far off into the distance, squinting, as if trying to make out the truth somewhere in the night sky and report back on what really matters.
“Me?” she said with a smirk. “I’ll just do my best not to spill breakfast on me before it’s too late to change for work and call it a success.”
“That’s refreshing,” he said.
“Damn right it is.” She nodded. “Actually, I’m going to change my Twitter handle to ‘That’s Refreshing’ right now…”
“Doesn’t that negate your whole point?” he laughed.
“Nah,” she said, “not as long as I still don’t give a crap who reads it.”
All the sweetness of nature was buried in winter’s grave, and the wind sings a sad lament with its cold plaintive cry; but oh, the teeming summer will come bringing life in its arms, and will strew rosy flowers on the face of hill and dale.
In lovely harmony the wood has put on its green mantle, and summer is on its throne, playing its string-music; the willow, whose harp hung silent when it was withered in winter, now gives forth its melody. Hush! Listen! The world is alive!
Today the church remembers two of the original twelve disciples: St. Philip and St. James the Less, Apostles, Martyrs, and Friend of the Obscure.
While there are disciples of Jesus with fewer speaking roles than Philip and James the Less (lookin’ at you Simone the Zealot and Mattias!), St. Philip and St. James the Less are pretty obscure, with James taking the lion’s share of that cloud of mystery. Nevertheless, like many characters in the scripture, these two deserve remembering because they “were in the room where it happened,” and went on to work in the world even after it happened.
St. Philip is more well-known, hailing from Bethsaida, that fishing village that birthed St. Peter and St. Andrew. He’s remembered for two main stories in the scriptures: his call story in John 1:43-51, and the Feeding of the Five Thousand (John 6:5-7). He’s mentioned a few more times, but most people will recall these two tales more readily.
St. Philip is said to have traveled to modern day Turkey after the Pentecost story, preaching and teaching with reported success. Lore says that he was married and had two daughters who accompanied him. His death came at the hands of the townspeople of Hierapolis in Phrygia (Turkey), where he was either stoned or crucified, depending on which literature you follow. He was buried there and his daughters, who remained unmarried, survived him and are also buried there.
In iconography you’ll often find St. Philip depicted with a “Tau Cross” (T-shaped), and/or with two loaves of bread, referencing both his death and the Feeding of the Five Thousand.
St. James the Less (a moniker that distinguished him from James the brother of John), is simply noted as one of the disciples of Jesus and his mother may have been one of the Mary’s present at the crucifixion. Apparently they were at a loss for names in the ancient world, hence why there are so many named Mary and James…but I digress.
Post-Pentecost we don’t really have any stories of note about James the Less other than that he was said to have been martyred using either a saw or a “fuller’s club,” a large club with spikes or knobs. One of these two images usually appear in his iconography.
St. Philip and St. James are commemorated by the Roman church on this day, May 3rd, though Lutherans and Anglicans usually commemorate him on May 1st (which is more traditional). But in 1955 Pope Pius XII declared that May 1st should be a day dedicated to remembering the working class, and so he put St. Joseph the Worker’s feast day on that day, and transposed these two obscure apostles to May 3rd.
Honestly, it’s six in one hand and half a dozen in the other, because half of the church honors them on May 1st and the other half on May 3rd. Decide which candle to light and do your thing, Beloved.
St. Philip and St. James the Less are a reminder for me, and should be for the whole church, that sometimes in life all you get to be remembered by is your name.
And sometimes that’s enough, by God.
-historical notes from Pfatteicher’s New Book of Festivals & Commemorations
-it is worth noting that Pfatteicher encourages the church to adopt the older commemoration date of May 1st to honor these saints
Today the church remembers 4th Century Bishop St. Athanasius, who presided in Alexandria and was not known for brevity.
Athanasius is known as “the father of Orthodoxy,” arguing vehemently with the Arians who denied the full divinity of Jesus. Because of him the phrase “of one Being with the Father” became central to the Nicene Creed at the Council of Nicaea in 325.
He assumed the Bishopric as the successor of Bishop Alexander, but many opposed his selection and, like he with Arius, brought him up on heresy charges. He appealed to Constantine himself, and was mercifully exiled to northern Gaul.
After Constantine’s death he was allowed to return to Alexandria and resume his duties. Yet, it wasn’t before long that he was charged again by those who disliked him. Pope Julius I convened a council in the late 330’s and declared Athanasius innocent.
He would be brought up on heresy charges again, of course, and by his death he would see exile from the church five times.
The Athanasian Creed, named after Athanasius (though not written by him) is still sometimes recited on Holy Trinity Sunday in some parishes. It is yet a further “circling of the wagons” of the creeds of the ancient church, leaving less room for interpreting God’s work in the world.
Athanasius is seen as a great “doctor of the church,” but he should also be seen as a case study for what happens when our search for what is “correct” overwhelms the church. The one who cried heresy against others was quickly charged of heresy himself…and it would mark his whole life.
The schisms in our own Lutheran legacy are a testament to this deep and unfortunate truth.
If the faith is contingent solely on right and inerrant interpretation, you eventually end up with a church of one: yourself.
-historical bits from Pfatteicher’s New Book of Festivals & Commemorations
Today the ancient Celts would celebrate the festival of Beltaine, welcoming May as a month where the increasingly hot sun (the “tene” part of the word above) would warm the greenery enough to produce harvest. The “bel” portion of the word is a mystery, as it could stand for an ancient Celtic sun-god, Belanos, or could just be a form of the ancient word for “brilliant”
At dusk, having let their own hearth fires die out (which they only let happen once a year), the whole clan would ascend a nearby hill to get as close to the setting sun as possible. They’d set up huge poles and dance around them with flowers in their hair. They’d drink, and feast, and sing. They’d create flower garlands to adorn their doors or trees near their houses.
They’d create huge fires which they believed would help warm the sun, and they’d jump over the fires as a way of emboldening themselves for summer work, and if you were planning to be married soon, you’d do it three times for good measure. The elderly would circle the flames reciting prayers, and mothers would carry newly born infants near the coals as a way to ensure they’d be protected in childhood.
Fire, for them, purified the air of disease, and they believed that a bit of the hair from the same dog could be the cure, as they hoped setting these fires now would protect the unborn harvest from lightening strikes or other natural fires in the hot days.
As the fires smoldered each family would take a coal home to start their new hearth fire, and the rest was scattered throughout the crops for good luck.
If you stayed up all night on May-day, those who observed the sun rise would swear it danced for joy three times upon the horizon before jumping up in summer glory.
While the Lutheran church doesn’t officially commemorate anything on April 30th, I’d lobby hard that we (especially in these days) collectively remember that today is the day when the Vietnam War officially ended in 1975, bringing unification to that war-torn country once again.
This unification brought an end to waiting up for the evening news to hear if your number is called.
It brought an end to waiting for that letter to arrive, that proof of life.
It brought an end to waiting for that military vehicle to drive up one fateful afternoon and change your family forever…
And yet, even though the war officially ended, we know that it continued to rage in the minds and bodies of so many soldiers.
Even though the war officially ended, we know that it continued to rage in the hearts of so many who lost their son, father, brother, cousin, friend.
Even though the war officially ended, we know that peace is fragile and an absence of violence is not the same thing as peace, and that wars and rumors of wars persist.
But on this day when this particular piece of humanity’s bloody history was silenced, perhaps we can look with hope on this one fact:
If that violence ended, perhaps the wars raging even as I type this can, too.
The end of the Vietnam War is a reminder for me, and should be for the whole church (and everyone!) that wars can cease, by God…they can.
Today the church honors the feast day of a number of saints in the mystic tradition including St. Catherine of Siena, Johannes Tauler, and Blessed Henry Suso.
But I’d like to lift up one of my favorite 14th Century mystics, Meister Eckhart.
Eckhart, whose formal name is Johannes, was born sometime around the year 1260 in Germany. He was trained as a Dominican, and true to form was known as a wonderful preacher.
His teachings were not only deeply mystic and spiritual, but were also seen as being on the fringe for his day (and still may be considered so, today!). Because of this, he was brought up on heresy charges by the Archbishop of Cologne, and died before the matter was settled.
Years after his death a papal bull was distributed that named some of his writings as heretical, noting that “he wished to know more than he should.”
My favorite quote of the great Meister is:
“What good is it to me that Mary gave birth to the son of God fourteen hundred years ago, and I do not also give birth to the Son of God in my time and in my culture?
We are all meant to be mothers of God. God is always needing to be born.”
Eckhart is a reminder for the church, and for each of us, that the quest to “know more than we should” is one to be risked.
My boys will look at a Blue jay and turn to the coloring page and, choosing the yellow crayon, go to town on the bird before them.
They call it a “blue jay,” but it is canary yellow.
And instead of saying, “that’s wrong,” which is my instinct, my training by a world that thinks in boxes… (like damned auto-correct for the creative heart)
I’m now just jealous.
Of that kind of insight.
The kind of insight that can see what is and riff on it like a jazz player.
The kind of insight that can make a new world using bits and pieces of this one.
“Life is like that. We don’t know anything. We call something bad; we call it good. But really, we just don’t know.
When things fall apart and we’re on the verge of we know not what, the test for each of us is to stay on that brink and not concretize. The spiritual journey is not about heaven and finally getting to a place that’s really swell. In fact, that way of looking at things is what keeps us miserable.”
Reluctant Xtian 