Today the church remembers a firebrand of a saint who threw off the shackles of patriarchy every chance she got: Saint Elizabeth Cady Stanton, Speaker, Feminist, and Woman’s Rights Advocate.
Saint Elizabeth was born in Johnstown, New York to strict Presbyterian parents in the first part of the 19th Century. Early into adulthood she married abolitionist Henry Brewster Stanton, and together they had seven children. She organized women across the country to fight for the right to vote, coming alongside other advocates like Sojourner Truth, Harriet Tubman, and Amelia Bloomer.
Together they organized the first Women’s Rights Convention in Seneca Falls, New York in 1848.
She was extremely witty, a brilliant scholar, and a staunch abolitionist. She created the “Declaration of Sentiments,” an expansion of the Declaration of Independence that inserted the word “woman” and “women” throughout the document. Along with advocating for woman’s suffrage and against slavery, she also moved the needle on the right for women to own property and divorce their husbands.
She was a regular church attender, but a sharp critic of Christianity (and religion in general) which makes me think we would probably have been friends.
She died in 1902, never witnessing the 19th Amendment or realizing the right to vote. Nevertheless, she paved the way for that legislation to happen.
Saint Stanton is a reminder for me, and should be for everyone, that sometimes we don’t see the results we labor for, but we must labor on.
-historical bits from Pfatteicher’s New Book of Festivals & Commemorations
-icon written by Fr. Robert Lentz and can be purchased at trinitystores.com
Today the church remembers a 4th Century saint who was often overshadowed by her more famous brothers Greg and Bas (you know them Gregory of Nyssa and Basil the Great, two of the three “Cappadocian Fathers” of the faith): Saint Macrina the Younger, Scholar and Universalist.
Saint Macrina was born in a family already well-steeped in. The early Christian movement. She was named after her grandmother, Macrina the Elder, and though her brothers would gain notoriety for their scholarly treatises, they themselves mentioned Macrina as a teacher of faith in their home.
Having been betrothed in an arranged marriage by her father, Macrina never tasted wedded life as her fiancé died before the wedding. She came to see her vows as belonging to Christ alone, and lived an aesthetic and austere life with her mother and a group of women who pledged themselves to communal living. In this community, everyone was equal, whether you were formally a servant or wealthy enough not to owe anyone anything.
It’s one of the early egalitarian communities of the faith, and St. Macrina grew in responsibility as the community grew, taking on what we would call an Abbess role in time.
St. Macrina was also the tutor of her younger brother, Peter of Sebaste who would become a Bishop in the early church. She taught him not only the great philosophical ideas of the time, but also about The Way which was spreading like wildfire in the West and the Near East. In this way, and because she had such a strong influence on Greg and Bas (as I call them), means she was a shaper of the early church, an unseen hand on the needle of the faith.
Known for being a deep thinker, St. Macrina was supposedly a Universalist, and is lifted up by the Universalist Unitarian Church as a great scholar. Her brother, Gregory of Nyssa, composed Dialogue on the Soul and Resurrection in which he records a conversation with Macrina on her death bed (actually, her aestheticism was so great she refused to die in a bed, and chose to die lying on the ground). In that conversation she notes her deep conviction that everyone would be reconciled to God in the end, faithful and pagan alike.
St. Macrina died on this day in 379 AD in Pontus, modern day Turkey.
Saint Macrina is a reminder for me, and should be for the whole church, that the early Christian movement comprised a multiplicity of thought and theology…and still does, despite what the zealots in all corners might want you to think.
-historical bits from open source publications
-icon a classic Byzantine style by unidentified writer where St. Macrina holds an icon of her brothers
In reading about my ancestors, the ancient Celts, I recently came across the god Manannan mac lir, the Irish god of the sea. They called him, “Ruler of the Land Under Wave” (which I think is a pretty bad-ass title).
For the Celts the sea they spoke of consisted mostly of the Irish Sea and the islands between Ireland and Britain.
It was thought that the Ruler of the Land Under Wave traveled over the water in his chariot called Ocean Sweeper, led by his favorite horse Enbarr (which roughly translates to “Waterfoam”).
Manannan held one of the ancient magical pieces of the world, a great shining cloak that could change color as the sea changed, making him largely invisible for those not paying attention.
On the Isle of Man the ancients would climb a mountain with a bundle of green rushes and pay tribute to him on Midsummer Eve, as they regarded the Ruler of the Land Under Wave as their great protector.
Even now some Irish and Scottish fisherman who hold on to the old ways say a blessing to Manannan before heading out to sea:
“Manannan mac lir (Son of the Sea), who blessed our Island, Bless us and our boat, going out well. Coming in better, with living and dead (fish) in our boat.”
A statue to Manannan mac lir still stands in Gortmore, Magilligan, County Londonderry, Northern Ireland.
This last week I watched, to much delight, “Thor: Love and Thunder,” the latest Marvel offering in their growing pantheon of adventure flicks.
Spoiler alert: the giant gloating goats are the best characters in the movie.
But the central premise, and I’m not spoiling anything here, revolves around the villain (Gorr) of the movie. He and his young daughter are members of tribe of people who’ve sworn allegiance to a deity, a god whose image he wears around his neck. He prays fervently to this deity that his daughter might be spared from the death plaguing his tribe, but his prayers go unanswered.
She dies (this is not a spoiler).
He gets a chance to have an audience with this deity, who laughs at his supplications and scoffs at his sadness and starvation, all the while sumptuously dining in front of him. Enraged, Gorr grabs a mystical blade and destroys the god, going on a crusade to eliminate all gods from existence.
After all, if the gods are unable to help their supplicants (at best) or unwilling (at worst), why have them at all?
Taika Waititi, the director and co-writer of the film, treads on fascinating theological ground here. I’m unsure if it’s intentional or accidental (I know very little about his personal background), but the central question of this plot is exactly the existential crisis that so many religious adherents, philosophers, and believers-turned-atheist/agnostics have faced.
What good is believing in a god/God if prayers go unanswered?
Conventional Christianity has often touted that when it appears prayers are unanswered, it is simply God’s “no” to the prayer.
This, to me, is a huge copout. It’s like carrying a rock in your pocket and claiming it keeps away tigers because you’re never attacked by tigers. Correlation and causation are not the same thing, and honestly the church would do well to stop saying this line to people despairing that their prayers seem to go unheeded, especially in such tragic situations as the one plaguing Gorr the God Butcher. Too many children have become “another angel in God’s heaven” because “God needed them more” than their grieving parents.
That’s a bunch of bullshit, and the church knows it. It’s theological abuse, not to mention just crappy theology.
If we want to wade into a bit of honesty…and I think we should…we need to admit that prayer is not something that can provably influence external outcomes. There are too many variables in this world to say, with certainty, that prayers move the Divine needle. Sure there are Biblical stories that suggest it (Abraham and Moses were known for changing God’s mind), and Biblical stories that seem agnostic on it (Jesus himself prays for a different outcome and yet hangs on a cross), but we cannot view those as prescriptive stories, but rather descriptive points of view (though the parables of Jesus encourage honest and persistent prayer…to what end, though?).
Rather prayer, it seems, is meant to elicit internal change, rather than external magical change. That is, prayer affects the pray-er more than anything.
Which is important, Beloved! Please don’t think this is a lesser thing. In fact, I’d probably posit it is a greater thing. I’m not sure we need a Divine who is able to be easily persuaded by supplications or who tilts at every windmill.
But this is a truth that the Eastern faiths seem to have realized a lot sooner than the Westernized versions we find around us today: prayer changes the pray-er first.
If not, solely.
That does not mean we shouldn’t be honest in our prayers. After all, expressed honesty puts us in touch with our deepest longings and desires, especially those often suppressed in life (such honest expression is a change-agent!).
Honesty is important.
But we do not have a Divine ATM at our finger tips.
Saying this truth out loud has gotten me in deep trouble many times. A few times it’s caused people to leave my parishes, or threaten to leave.
Prayer is about relationship: with the Divine, and within ourselves. Prayer is about honest expression, getting to the core nugget of what our deepest hopes are in any given situation (or just in general!).
I’ve come to see that prayer is about changing our hearts to accept and move forward more-so than changing God’s heart, Beloved.
This is not a popular opinion, and that’s ok.
But it has in fact been comforting to me many times. I dare say it’s kept me in the faith more than a few times. Because when you look at the honest prayers of people who sweated in prayer over the bed of a dying person, who visualized their cancer going away only to have it spread ever more rapidly, you cannot help but think what Gorr thinks in this philosophically deep (and deeply amusing) movie: God is either unable or unwilling.
And neither of those are great propositions.
So, perhaps it’s less that, and more that prayer is not supposed to do what we’ve been told and taught it does.
Today the church remembers one who is considered to be the first Christian ruler of Russia: Olga, Princess of Kiev, Confessor and Ruler.
Saint Olga is the grandmother of the first “official” ruler of Russia who confessed the faith. Her grandson Vladimir gets the “official” title because of patriarchy, but in actuality Olga was the first official Christian to rule the nation.
Born in the late 9th Century, Olga married Prince Igor and, after his death in the year 945 A.D., officially ruled in his stead until her son came of age.
She was known for being courageous, “sticking it to the man,” instituting reforms that her husband was unable to carry out regarding financial and administrative changes, and had been an early convert to the faith through the Scandinavian missionaries who traveled down the river system from the East.
In the year 957 A.D. Olga visited Constantinople and some say that is where she was officially baptized, though others claim that she had long been an adherent to the faith. Regardless, her personal faith did not indicate a change of heart for her country, and her son who came to rule after her was not a confessor.
Olga is remembered in Eastern Orthodoxy as the “Blessed Princess Olga,” and is honored in the Ukrainian and Russian branches of the church. She is remembered as being witty and brave. The story goes that when she went to be baptized in Constantinople, the Emperor saw her beauty and asked her to marry him. She replied, “First I must be baptized,” and then followed it up with, “and I need a Godfather. Will you be mine?”
The Emperor agreed and, following her baptism, returned to the invitation of marriage. The bright Princess replied, “We are now family through baptism, and never has a father married a daughter, even amongst the heathens!”
Knowing he had been outsmarted, he gave Olga his blessing to return to Russia with the faith.
She died in the year 969 of old age.
Saint Olga is a reminder for me, and should be for all the church, that too often the female saints amongst us don’t really get their due because, well, patriarchy is hard to eradicate and we must always keep in mind the author of histories and, well, read between the lines.
Let those with ears to hear, hear.
-historical notes gleaned from Pfatteicher’s New Book of Festivals & Commemorations
Today the church recognizes a peasant from Bavaria who would influence both an entire continent and an island nation, Johannes Flierl, Missionary to Australia and Papua New Guinea.
Born in humble beginnings in 1858, Flierl was ordained a pastor in Bavaria and started his mission work in the interior of Australia with the native aboriginal persons there. Roughly eight years later, he boarded a boat and hopped across the Torres Strait, landing in Finschafen, Papua New Guinea, the capital of the German colony of Kaiser-Wilhelmsland.
Flierl was the first Lutheran missionary on the island. He established a mission near Simbang, but didn’t baptize any locals until 14 years later.
Flierl is remembered not only for his mission work, but most importantly as a champion for the locals in their fight for rights against government oppression. A seminary in Finschafen was established in his name in 1957, ten years after his death.
Flierl’s mission would eventually become the Evangelical Lutheran Church of Papua New Guinea which, along with the Batak Church in Indonesia, is the largest of all Lutheran mission churches.
Flierl is notable for a few reasons, not the least of which is his innovative chin hair. It does my heart good to hear of a 19th Century missionary who was fighting for the rights of the people they were sent to walk with, not just trying to bludgeon them with a religion they didn’t ask to be exposed to.
The ELCA’s model for missions is one of accompaniment, and though it is unclear how closely Flierl’s work embodied that same spirit, I see glimmers of hope in his story that he may have practiced some of that mindset in his missions.
-historical notes gleaned from Pfatteicher’s “New Book of Festivals & Commemorations”
As the sun rises, it’s worth noting that the church honors a 20th Century saint on this day who worked hard to unify the quarreling factions of the body: Saint Nathan Soderblom, Archbishop of Uppsala, Unifier of the Church.
St. Nathan was born in Sweden at the end of the 19th Century to a family helmed by a pietistic pastor father. He was ordained a minister in the Church of Sweden in 1893, and served as chaplain to the Swedish legation in Paris until 1901. While in Paris he studied comparative religion, and his mind and heart was expanded.
Upon receiving his doctorate he taught History of Religion at Uppsala while also lecturing in Leipzig. He was known for being highly intellectual, highly liturgical, and highly progressive in his theology.
Despite opposition from more conservative pastors, he was elected the Archbishop of Uppsala and Primate of the Church of Sweden. In his leadership and his writing he sough what he called “evangelical catholicity,” encouraging different factions of the church to work together for the social good.
You might remember a similar agreement between St. Peter and St. Paul…
Through his leadership and efforts the predecessor bodies that would eventually become the World Council of Churches began to form and do their work.
During World War I he vehemently sought the freedom of prisoners of war and refugees, arguing for peace on behalf of the people. In 1930 he won the Nobel Prize for peace.
He died on this date in 1931.
St. Nathan Soderblom is a reminder for me, and should be for the whole church, that education not only expands the head, but also expands the heart, and a church that can agree to serve the poor is like a tree standing by the water.
It shall not be moved.
Now, if only it could agree to that…
-historical notes from Pfatteicher’s New Book of Festivals & Commemorations
Today the church remembers a saint who fought hard to move the needle of justice, especially for his poor neighbors in Turin Italy: Pier Giorgio Frassati, Social Reformer and Activist.
Saint Pier was born in 1901 to an agnostic father and artistic mother. His father would go on to serve in the Italian government, and his mother would go on to produce artwork that would be bought by royalty. Saint Pier, though, had his eyes set on adventure and advocacy.
As a young boy a mother and shoeless son came begging at the Frassti household. Pier answered the door and, so moved by the sight, gave the young boy the shoes off of his own feet. One night he witnessed a beggar come to his door intoxicated, and was horrified when his father sent him away with nothing. Sobbing Saint Pier ran to his mother who wrapped some food in a napkin for him, and sent him out into the night to find the hungry man.
For as big of a heart Saint Pier had, he also had a wonderful sense of humor. He would play practical jokes on his family and friends, and earned the name “Terror” for his wisecracks.
Though he was a smart boy, he was only an average student, and rather than find his home inside books, he found it inside the organizations working for justice. Especially dear to his heart was the anti-fascism work going on in the day, and those causes seeking to bridge the inequality gap. He spoke out against the regime of Mussolini, and was arrested for protesting alongside the Young Catholic Workers Congress.
“Charity is not enough,” he was known to say, “we must have social reform!”
His friends called him a “saint with a cigar,” as he marched, wrote (riffing off of Thomas Aquinas and St. Catherine of Siena), and spoke out against injustice.
In his leisure time he was an avid athlete, boating and mountaineering with his friends.
On one such boat trip in 1925 Saint Pier started to complain of a back ache. Returning home he was met with the death of his grandmother. Not wanting to add to the grief, he kept his pain largely to himself, though it grew in the following days.
Within a week Saint Pier found himself unable to rise from his bed, stricken at the age of 24 with Polio. He died in the arms of his mother, saying with his last breath, “May I breathe forth my soul in peace to you…”
Saint Pier is not a well-known saint, but is one who reminds me, and should remind the whole church, that moving the needle on social inequality often begins in the compassionate hearts of the young.
Which means we should listen to the young, as uncomfortable as that might make us.
-historical bits gleaned from 365 Saints by Koenig-Bricker
-icon written by Theophilia of Deviant Art (deviantart.com)
Today the church honors a proto-Reformer who, had the printing press been available during his life, may have caused all of us to be called “Hussians” rather than Lutherans: Jan Hus, Martyr, Gadfly of the Church, and prelude to Luther’s Reformation.
Jan Hus was born “Jan of Husinec” sometime around 1373 to peasant parents in Bohemia. He was fortunate to attend the newly established Charles University in Prague, where students shortened his name to “Jan Hus”…which was funny because “hus” literally means “goose.”
St. Jan, that wild goose, would go on to receive his Masters Degree and eventually teach Theology at Charles University while also being named the preacher of the Chapel of the Holy Innocents of Bethlehem. In that church he preached in Czech, a drastic departure from the Latin used in the rest of Christendom. But in these days the church was in conflict (three Popes claimed the Chair of St. Peter), and reformation was in the air!
St. Jan had been greatly influenced by that other rascal, John Wycliffe, who had truly formalized much of the radical thinking that Luther would glom onto in the Reformation. Though Jan and John differed in many areas, St. Jan began to be more Wycliffian in his preaching and writing, including condemnations of the abuses of the church (and her lazy priests) in his regular sermons.
This, as you can imagine, was a problem for the Archbishop.
St. Jan did crazy things like, oh, suggest that the bread AND the wine could be provided to the laity in the Mass. He openly questioned the historic episcopate, and started to advocate for only two sacraments (baptism and communion) to be officially recognized.
Sound familiar?
Pope Alexander V condemned Wycliffe’s writings in 1409 and, in short order, excommunicated St. Jan in 1412. Interestingly enough St. Jan was not excommunicated for his own writings, but rather because he refused to travel to Rome to give an account of them. Basically, he didn’t show up to court…
St. Jan Hus refused to be quiet, though, and even as a heretic of the church preached against the avarice the local priests showed. He was summoned to the Council of Constance in Switzerland in 1414 and, though he had been promised safe travel back to Bohemia after his trial, was immediately arrested, held in the dungeon there, brought up on false charges, and burned at the stake.
It is said that he was praying the Kyrie eleison as he died.
St. Jan Hus is a reminder for me, and should be for the whole church, that sometimes not saying something is not an option, even if it costs you your job, your status, and yes, your life.
-historical bits gleaned from Pfatteicher’s New Book of Festivals & Commemorations
Today the church remembers a translator of hymns (and, particularly, one of my favorite hymns), Catherine Winkworth, 19th Century poet and hymn writer.
Born in London in the 1820’s, Catherine would grow up with a deep appreciation for music. Her first work would be published when she was in her 30’s, a translation edition of German hymns, Lyra Germanica. It was immensely popular, churning out five editions in just a few years. She was seen as someone with the rare ability to keep the spirit of the German lyrical genius even when translated into English.
Her skill in translating German into English while retaining the essence, not just the literal word of the text, would lead her to become one of the premier translators of her time.
She was also a staunch advocate for women’s rights in the 19th Century, eventually becoming the secretary of the Clifton Association for Higher Education in Clifton, England, and a member of Cheltenham Ladies’ College.
Catherine and her sister, Susanna, were delegates to the German Conference of Women’s Work, presided over by Princess Anne.
At the age of 51 Catherine died suddenly of heart disease on July 1st, and a monument to her was erected in Bristol Cathedral.
It’s interesting to note, especially for those of us from Reformation backgrounds, that while men are known to be the “great translators” of ancient Greek and Latin hymns, the authoritative translators of post-Reformation German hymns were almost all women, including Catherine Winkworth.
My favorite hymn of her translation, and one we sang often around Thanksgiving here in the States, is ELW 839, “Now Thank We All Our God.” The second verse reads:
“Oh, may this bounteous God through all our life be near us, with ever joyful hearts and blessed peace to cheer us, and keep us all in grace, and guide us when perplexed and free us from all harm in this world and the next”
Winkworth is a reminder to me, and should be a reminder to the church, that when it comes to theology, to scripture, to “God-talk,” the literal will never do. We must capture the essence, lest we lose ourselves in the particulars. God is found between the words, between the notes, between the letters even…not in them.
-historical bits gleaned from Pfatteicher’s New Book of Festivals & Commemorations
Reluctant Xtian 