Today the church honors the start of an ancient feast, Martinmas, named in honor of St. Martin of Tours, Conscientious Objector, and Gentle Bishop.

St. Martin was born in the early 4th Century in modern day Hungary. His family was not Christian, and his father was a distinguished Roman legionnaire.

In his childhood he came under Christian influence, and at the age of ten he took it upon himself to sign up for Catechism classes (imagine that happening today!).

As a young teen, though, his catechumenal exploration was put on pause as he was drafted into the Roman army, a common practice for children of Roman soldiers. He was a good soldier. Very good, in fact, and well-liked by his comrades.

This is a nice tie-in to Veterans Day, no?

But, as the legend goes, one winter night he was stationed in Amiens, and on night watch he saw a poor old beggar at the city gates shivering in the cold. St. Martin had nothing to give him, so he cut his cavalryman’s cloak, and gave the old man half to wrap himself in. That night St. Martin dreamt that he saw Christ wrapped in his cloak, saying, “Martin, still a catechumen, has covered me with his cloak.”

Well, this sent St. Martin into an existential crisis. Over a period of time he became convinced he could no longer be a soldier because he could no longer justify killing.

He decided to be baptized and asked to leave the army. He was twenty years old.

St. Martin went off to seek Bishop Hilary of Poitiers (see Jan 13th for his feast day) to learn from him. He met with him and decided he wanted to join him in his work in Poitiers, but first wanted to say goodbye (and convert) his family back in Hungary. While St. Martin was journeying back to Hilary after hanging with his family, he learned that Bishop Hilary had been exiled. St. Martin decided then that he, too, would seek a solitary life for a while, and lived a hermits life in a hut outside Poitiers.

The thing is, St. Martin was becoming famous for not wanting to be famous. And so his little hut grew into two, three, thirty…a thriving humble monastery had formed that was providing charitable work all over the French countryside. In 371 the Bishopric of Tours became vacant. St. Martin’s followers tricked him into entering the city, and then would not let him leave until he agreed to be their Bishop.

“Fine,” he said. “But I’m going to do it my way…” (cue Frank Sinatra).

St. Martin, now Bishop, set up his home in a cave on the cliffs of Marmoutier, two miles from Tours. The office for his Bishopric was a hut just outside the cave. And though he had an unusual lifestyle, and an unusual approach, he was unusually effective in reaching the poor countryside people of France with charitable love, good works, and the Gospel message.

He fought for the rights of peasants in front of Emperors, not afraid to advocate on behalf of the poor. He established centers of charity and teaching in places no one else cared about. And when the Church first used capital punishment as the sentence of heresy, as they did in 386, St. Martin strongly opposed the sentence and began to ask tough questions about mixing the church and state.

He thought government and the church should not hold hands too tightly.

St. Martin died in 397. Interestingly enough, his work set much of the foundational work for the Celtic Christian Church, as missionaries trained in his little outposts traveled to the British Isles.

Martinmas, much like Michaelmas, became a festival time in much of Christendom, perhaps even spanning ten days originally. After the Reformation, many Lutherans continued to celebrate Martinmas, but did so to honor both St. Martin of Tours and Blessed Martin Luther (whose birthday is November 10th).

St. Martin’s motto, “Non recus laborem” or “I do not turn back from work” has been the motto of many of the faithful throughout the centuries.

St. Martin is a reminder for me, and should be for the whole church, that catechetical study has been known to significantly alter how people live and work. It has been formative…and could still be.

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

-icon written by Aiden Hart depicting St. Martin’s formative experience

Today the church honors an important leader in the church that most church-goers have never even heard of, St. Leo the Great, Bishop of Rome and Mediator of the Church.

Long before the church was arguing about the nature of humans and their race and sexuality, the church set about arguing about the nature of Jesus. In the 5th Century, when Pope Leo was consecrated as the Bishop of Rome, the Catholic faith was being torn asunder by schisms over who Jesus was and how Jesus was.

Yes, you read that correctly: how Jesus was.

How was Jesus both Divine and human?

Pope Leo refocused the question on faith rather than nitty-gritty explanation. He affirmed the idea that Christ had two natures and, as he was enlarging the influence of the Papacy around the known world, issued his famous (at least to churchy-people) Tome to Flavian, the Patriarch of Constantinople that had the clearest articulation of Christ as human and yet Divine.

You still talk about this idea, by the way, every time you say the Nicene Creed.

At the time all sorts of schisms were going on inside the church, there were tons of wars being fought in real-time, too. St. Leo kept Rome safe from Attila the Hun in 452, and a legion of Vandals, whom he persuaded not to destroy Rome, in 455. He put restrictions on who (under what training) could enter the priesthood, and affirmed the goodness of “all matter,” rejecting the idea that the created world is evil and we need only wait for some heaven, lightyears away.

He was a devoted liturgist, and further developed the words of the Mass, shaping the words we say yet today.

St. Leo was wise, if not particularly brilliant. He understood how to use power effectively and for twenty-two years led with theological ability and personal resolve.

St. Leo is a reminder for me that wisdom and brilliance don’t always hold hands, and you can certainly be one without the other.

But of all the things that Pope Leo the Great is remembered for, the thing that struck me is how he looked at creation and without hesitation affirmed what Genesis had already said: “this is good.”

Why does it matter?

Because, Beloved, it articulates clearly that everything that is created, matters, and therefore we can’t just do what we want with it…

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

-editorials by me

Today the church remembers an Irish saint said to have been baptized by Saint Patrick himself: Saint Benen the Gentle, Psalm-Singer and Friend of the Emerald Isle.

St. Benen was the son of clan chief, born in the early 5th Century. When Saint Patrick visited his clan with Celtic Christian teachings, young Benen was baptized and tutored by Patrick in language and theology.

As St. Benen grew he went on trips with Patrick and, while on the road with him, became known for his musical acumen and compositions, making him part of the Irish bardic tradition with Celtic-Christian flavor.

In adulthood St. Benen took a leadership position within the growing Celtic-Christian church, becoming the first rector at the Cathedral School of Armagh.

As it is with all Irish saints, St. Benen has some fun tales surrounding his life. One such tale was that, when tested by a clan chief arguing over religion, St. Benen was put in a flaming house and, like something out of the Hebrew scriptures, was able to sit in that “blazing furnace” with no problem (and he was probably singing).

He died in the year 467, having resigned his rectorship so that a younger generation could take the mantle.

St. Benen is a reminder to me, especially in these lingering pandemic days, of how central song, music, and the arts are to human spirituality. The church is one of the local conservatories of these things. The only place you sing in public is the church and the local bar (unless you’re in a choir).

If public singing is lost, we will be less whole.

-stained glass icon written for Kilbennan St. Benin’s Church Window

Today the church remembers an obscure saint, St. Willibrord of Utrecht, Missionary to Frisia.

Willibrord (b. 658) was raised in Ireland where he was ordained a priest in 688.

He was heavily influenced by the Northumbrian monk, Egbert, who told fantastical stories of his travels and work. Willibrord was enamored with these tales, and wanted in on the action. At Egbert’s invitation, Willibrord dedicated himself to exploration and missionary work.

He sailed to Utrecht in Frisia (the Netherlands) where he set up the first official see of the Roman Catholic church in that land (well, the Pope founded it, but gave Willibrord permission to do what he was doing: running it). Willibrord set to work founding schools, parishes, and monasteries. He was consecrated as Bishop by Pope Sergius I in 695, and did much to plant the church in the Netherlands.

In his old age he retired to a monastery he founded in what is now Luxembourg, and died there on this day in 739.

St. Willibrord is a reminder for me, and should be for the whole church, that stories inspire. Hearing Egbert’s tales enticed him to explore the world! The faith is full of inspiring stories, and telling them in such a way that they’re heard as the wonderful tales and testimonies they are should inspire exploration, not entrench people in trite moralisms, stilted orthodoxy, or make the faithful fearful of what’s on the other side of any fence.

A lovely historical development: as one so inspired by stories, he now has so many stories about him shared throughout the Netherlands. These tales of his accomplishments are richly embellished and fantastical, ensuring that this one so moved by stories is the subject of many moving stories himself.

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

-also, it should be noted that I will probably look like this old Irish saint when I become an old Irish saint…

Today the church remembers a more recent saint, though many have forgotten him in the cloudy cloud of witnesses: Saint William Temple, Archbishop of Canterbury and Social Reformer.

Born in 1881, Saint William was the second born of Frederick Temple, another Archbishop of Canterbury, and he had a deep love for the Church of England despite his proximity to it growing up. He is considered by many to be one of the four pillars of post-Reformation Anglican thought, joining the ranks for Richard Hooker (whom we just commemorated), Joseph Butler (see June 16th), and Frederick Denison Maurice (honored on April 1st).

Saint William was brilliant. He forgot more philosophy than most philosophers knew. He genuinely cared about people. At the age of twenty-nine he became the headmaster at Repton School, and then rector of Saint James’ Church, Piccadilly, Bishop of Manchester, and Archbishop of York in quick succession. He was keenly atuned to the needs of the working poor, and sought social reforms, educational justice, and brought all of his leanings on the betterment of humanity back to the Doctrine of the Incarnation, saying concretely that everyone, regardless of sex or gender, was created in Divine likeness.

So, Beloved, when someone tells you you’re “socialist” for wanting social programs, remind them that you want social programs because everyone is a mirror of the Divine and deserves to be cared for.

That’s the reason.

In 1917 this pastor resigned his post to devote himself to the reform of the Church of England as it attempted to modernize, and then became quite active in trying to figure out how to reorganize Britain in a post-war era. He supported labor movements, and was a big fan of ecumenical efforts and dialogue that helped people eat, work, and live well.

In April of 1942 he was elected Archbishop of Canterbury, but the ongoing war and his ongoing health struggles kind of took the wind out of his sails. He died on this day in 1944, having only served in the seat for a scant few years.

Saint William Temple is a reminder for me, and should be for the whole church, that when the Doctrine of the Incarnation is taken seriously, the health and welfare of every human must also be taken seriously.

In fact, I dare say that this characteristic might set someone who actually lives out their faith apart from those who hold up Bibles for photo ops or to garner votes…

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

-portrait by Philip de Laszlo