As morning dawns on February 27th, I would lobby hard that the church remember a modern saint who saw everyone as his neighbor, and therefore loved his neighbor as himself (and even more-so) without even trying, while teaching others to do the same: Saint Fred McFeely Rogers, Friend of Humanity and Muse of Young Ones.

Fred McFeely (yes, you read that correctly) Rogers was born in 1928 just as the American landscape was about to take a turn for the worst. Born in Latrobe, PA, Saint Fred was a shy child, spending much of his spare time with puppets he made or who were given to him. He was tormented and bullied at school because of his quiet way, and was called “Fat Freddy” by classmates because he was overweight.

These early experiences no doubt sent him on a spiritual quest for true friendship.

He overcame his shyness in High School through trial and error, finding out what true friendship looked like, and eventually gained a University degree in music. On one of his summers home from college he encountered a new box in his parent’s house: a television. He was intrigued and disgusted.

Saint Fred was not in love with television at first, but saw that it had potential to shape the people who tuned in. He went to work for NBC, and then his local Pittsburgh affiliate, trying his hand at children’s shows and production. While doing all of this he also answered a call from the church and graduated from Pittsburgh Theological Seminary. But rather than finding his parish within sacred halls sitting in pews, he cultivated his parish within living rooms across vast distances who sat on couches, floors, or on their knees with their small hands pressed against the screen.

Freddy had found the friends his childhood self desired, but never could make.

Saint Fred had a number of different children’s programs in different markets through the early ’60’s. He worked with child psychologists to understand best how children not only developed, but also how they learned best. He was tireless in trying to make the medium a good for children.

In 1968 Mr. Roger’s Neighborhood began airing nationally on what would become PBS. Over almost 900 episodes children learned how to make and keep friends, sing songs together, use their imaginations, and be curious. When the last episode aired in 2001, Saint Fred had not only left his mark on the television industry, he had left his mark on so many of our hearts, me included.

Fun fact: he taught me what house shoes are…always being sure to change into them when he came in the door.

Alongside his care for children and their education, Saint Fred was a tireless advocate within the halls of power for educational opportunities and children’s rights. He spoke before congress, used politics for the betterment of humans, and gave scores of commencement speeches to eager young minds wanting to change the world like he did.

As if all of the above didn’t keep him busy enough, he also married and had two sons, appropriately named James and John. He kept his license as a Presbyterian minister his many years, and reportedly had a deep spiritual life that also studied mysticism, Buddhism, and many other faiths. He never spoke about religion overtly on the air, but believed his example said volumes about his core convictions.

He was eloquent and honest and earnest. But I think his deep secret to changing the world had very little to do with what he said and most to do with who he was: he was a very good friend.

And that made all the difference.

He died on this day in 2003.

Saint Fred McFeely Rogers is a reminder for me, and should be for the whole church, that sometimes evangelism isn’t done by saying anything about your faith, but rather by simply living it and being a darn good friend in the process.

Let those with ears to hear, hear.

-historical bits from public sources

-icon written by Kelly Latimore (and is available for purchase from him!)

Today the church remembers a little known 17th Century missionary who deserves more nods than he gets: Saint Bartholomaus Ziegenbalg, Missionary to India and Defender of the People.

Born in Puslnitz, a small town in Saxony at the tail end of the 17th Century, Saint Bartholomaus (Bart) was born into poverty but gifted with a wonderful intellect, a combination that time after time has proven to be powerful when the world gives it a chance, no? He studied hard, was raised in a pietistic Lutheran home, and upon graduation “said yes to the (ad)dress” that the King of Denmark gave, imploring folks to go and preach in southeast India.

So, in 1706 St. Bart and his associate, Heinrich Plutschau set out for Tranquebar, India with hopes and dreams.

They were met with much hostility when they arrived, both by the ruling Dutch who didn’t look kindly on visitors, and by local Hindu religious leaders who didn’t love these zealous missionaries stirring things up amongst the masses. But St. Bart wasn’t just interested in converting folks (despite what the Danish church wanted him to do). He set up a printing press and became enamored with the locals, their customs, their religious culture, and their language. He wrote and published volumes on Tamil, sending his writings and thoughts back to Halle where they were shoved away without publication. He translated the whole New Testament into Tamil, a translation that has had a few revisions over the years, but that is largely the authoritative one still in use. In fact, the church dedicated to St. Bart, the Church of the New Jerusalem, organized in 1718, is still an active parish today!

But St. Bart did not have it easy, both from the outside and on the inside. The Danish Church didn’t like that he advocated for the physical and mental health of those he served, and wished he would just “save them”…an ongoing issue in the church writ large today, I’m afraid. In addition, he was often sick himself with undiagnosed ailments both physical and psychological.

As the year 1708 came to a close you would find St. Bart in a local prison, charged with inciting rebellion amonst the people.

That would not be the end of his story, however.

St. Bart forged on, continued to make partnerships with the local people and other mission work in the area. He married in 1716, finally published that New Testament he’d been translating for so long, and founded a local seminary to train clergy from India so that the church wouldn’t just be a replica of Eurpean institutions, but be contextual to the people. He also began translating the Hebrew Scriptures into Tamil, and got as far as the book of Ruth before he fell ill for one final time.

He died on February 23, 1719 at the young age of 36, and his commemoration was moved to today to make space in the calendar to honor his life.

St. Bart had a direct influence on the flourishing of the Tamil-speaking Lutheran Churches in India today.

St. Ziegenbalg is a reminder for me, and should be for the whole church, that caring for the entire person is necessary. Indeed, Jesus cared about bodies (why else would he be resurrected in one?!), so the church needs to care about bodies, too, not just “souls.”

Let those with ears to hear, hear.

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

-plaque from Tamil Evangelical Lutheran Church in Tranquebar, India

Today the church remembers a saint who was a victor (or victim?) of chance: Saint Matthias, Apostle and Patron Saint of One-Hit Wonders.

We know absolutely nothing about St. Matthias except for the brief account in Luke’s Acts of the Apostles where he is chosen by throwing dice as a replacement for Judas in the pantheon of Apostles. The early church felt it was necessary to restore the ranks to twelve, mirroring the tribes of ancient Israel. One wonders why they didn’t just incorporate Mary Magdalene into that position, as she was already performing the duties and fulfilled Peter’s qualifications for the role as a “witness to the resurrection,” but whatever. Patriarchy wins again, I guess.

When considering who should replace Judas, two disciples were put forth that supposedly fit the bill: Joseph Barsabbas and Matthias, both who were supposedly part of the seventy sent out by Jesus when he was alive. The dice landed on Matthias.

And that, Beloved, is all we know about him.

There is apocryphal lore regarding Matthias, though there is some confusion as to whether the authors of these stories meant to reference the Apostle Matthew instead. St. Clement quotes a second-century Gospel of Matthias, though we have no text of this Gospel book. Other works from the 6th Century and later expand upon the lore, often pairing Matthias (or is it Matthew?) with the Apostle Andrew in spreading the Gospel in hostile lands.

The one thing all the tales do agree on is that he was a martyr for the faith in the end. His crest exemplifies this thought, often depicting a double-headed axe resting on the scriptures.

It’s unknown why today was chosen as his feast day back in the eleventh century. Rome has him commemorated on May 14th to avoid the feast falling in the season of Lent, but Lutherans have no qualms lifting up a martyr in the penitential season. After all, though he witnessed the resurrection, he did so with his life on the line, which seems to fit both Lent and Easter sensibilities.

St. Matthias is a reminder for me, and should be for the whole church, that sometimes things just happen and they don’t need a Divine reason behind it to be significant. I’m not one to say the Holy Spirit plays dice, and in all honesty I’d rather have had Mary rightfully acknowledged as the true Apostle she was, but I’m happy to give Matthias a nod today because, whether he wanted it or not, the lot fell to him.

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

-icon written by Noah Guitierrez

Today the church remembers one of the most direct links to the first Apostles (if the lore is true), constituting a bridge between those first followers and the emerging church to come: St. Polycarp, Disciple of St. John, Bishop of Smyrna, and Martyr.

Born just as the Gospels were being penned by Matthew and Luke (70 AD), St. Polycarp was appointed by St. John the Apostle as Bishop of Smyrna (preceding my favorite Saint, Nicholas, in that role). Polycarp kept good company with both Ignatius of Antioch and Irenaeus, making him the third in that Trinity of first-generation theologians.

St. Polycarp supported the early church through words of love, encouragement, and discipline (as all good parents do), and his Epistle to the Philippians remains to this day as a pastoral letter against the growing Marcionite heresy that saw the Hebrew scriptures as irrelevant. Though this letter didn’t make it into the canon of scripture (though it was close!), it was still read and disseminated throughout the early church during worship.

Polycarp was largely the leading figure in Asia Minor where the early church is concerned. In his old age he went to Rome to argue over the dating of the resurrection (long story there!) and, upon returning to Smyrna, was captured and killed by authorities at the age of eighty-six. The story goes that he was captured, brought before the proconsul and, when he refused to give oblations to the Emperor (what is it with tough guys in power always needing their egos stroked?), he was burned alive on this date in the year 156 AD.

He is unique in that his martyrdom was captured by eyewitnesses and published to embolden the church, and the Martyrdom of Polycarp can still be found at your local library (or wherever books are sold).

St. Polycarp is a reminder to me, and should be for the whole church, that when people in power invite you to stroke their egos, the faithful response is, “No thank you.”

Let those with ears to hear, hear.

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

-icon written in Byzantine style and can be purchased at Legacy Icons (legacyicons.com)

Today the church also remembers a relatively obscure 13th Century saint, St. Margaret of Cortona, Mother and Friend of Those Who Self-Harm.

St. Margaret lived an unconventional life in many ways, at least for one who is considered a saint of the church…which makes her so relatable. Her father was a Tuscan farmer and her mother died while she was quite young. In the hustle and bustle of all her siblings, Margaret was neglected and largely forgotten, which caused her to run off early in life with a local man and have his child out of wedlock.

Though her child was this man’s, she was not his wife, and remained his mistress for nine years. One day the man’s dog came bounding toward her without her lover and, following the canine, she found him murdered under a nearby tree with no explanation.

With her young son, St. Margaret attempted to be reconciled to her father, but he rejected her and his grandson. Having nowhere else to go, she turned to the Friars Minor of Cortona to take sanctuary.

She was so tormented by her life which she assumed was a failure, that she tried to harm herself a number of times. Our past can be difficult to carry, especially when we feel like we are rejected by those we most love. The systems we find ourselves in can trap us in cycles of pain; this is most certainly true.

The kind Friars she found herself with, though, would not let her hurt herself. Gently and honestly they walked with her, and because she knew intimately the pain of rejection, she made a wonderful nurse in their sick ward, and spent her days tending those others refused to touch.

She eventually joined the Third Order of St. Francis, and her son became a Franciscan as well. She deepened her spiritual practices, and was granted permission by the church to dedicate herself to the care of the outcast, the poor, and the sick as her life’s work. She gathered her small group of followers and eventually became known as “The Poor Ones,” standing in solidarity with those who felt rejected and hurt in life.

She died on this day in 1297.

St. Margaret of Cortona is a reminder for me, and should be for the whole church, that sometimes people harm themselves not because they are selfish, but because they feel unseen, forgotten, and guilt-laden by a world that does a poor job at teaching us to transform pain rather than transmit it.

-historical bits gleaned from public source material

-icon written by Noah Gutierrez

Today the church remembers a young writer who continues to call to us from the not-so-distant past: Anne Frank, Diarist and Idealist.

Anne was born in Frankfurt, Germany in 1929 to liberal Jewish parents (Edith and Otto), and had an older sister, Margot. A young Anne would move with her family to Amsterdam in the Netherlands when the Nazi Party took control of the German government in 1934. They quickly saw that Germany was not a safe place to live or raise their family.

By 1940 the Netherlands also became a dangerous place. Adolf Hitler had so thoroughly dismantled the checks and balances in the fragile German democracy and, convinced of his own Divine right to dominate the world, invaded nearby neighbors. The fascist regime was able to bring the German public along largely through creating common scapegoat enemies out of the Jewish, LGBTQIA, and other diverse populations.

Every fascist take-over begins by demonizing a minority.

With the Jewish people taking the brunt of the hatred, the Frank family were stripped of their German citizenship and were forced to go into hiding in 1942 as the terror campaign of rounding folks up and shipping them off to detention centers stretched far and wide.

Otto Frank, Anne’s father, worked in a factory where a secret area had been secured behind a bookshelf. The family would hole themself up there to wait for the horror of the German occupation to end…if the brave would take a stand.

To pass the time Anne wrote in a small diary she had received for her 13th birthday that year, calling their small area the “secret annex.” She longed to be an author, and despite having to live in hiding, was determined to do what all good authors do: write about what they know. Her musings about their silent and secretive life would go on to live forever, though Anne would not see any of it happen.

For over two years, being silent day and night, the family waited. Wondered. Hoped. Eventually some other Jewish refugees would house with them in their small area, Anne writing the most about young Peter, the son of the Van Pel family, who had to hide alongside them.

In 1944 the Gestapo were tipped off about the secret room where the Frank family had been sheltered, and on August 4th in 1944 Anne’s family joined millions of others sent to concentration camps. In September of that year the family ended up at Auschwitz and were separated from their father, Otto, eventually ending up at Bergen-Belsen.

It was there that she and her sister both died of typhus in either February or March of 1945.

Anne’s diary had been saved by the secretaries of her father, Otto Frank, who ended up being the only survivor of the family.

As a father, I cannot tell you how unbelievably destitute that would have made me. We are not meant to bury our babies, Beloved.

Otto was reunited with his daughter’s diary and, knowing how she longed to be a published author, published it for her in 1947. It has since been turned into numerous books, plays, and movies, telling Anne’s story far and wide.

My favorite line from her diary:

“Our lives are fashioned by our choices. First we make our choices. Then our choices make us.”

Anne Frank died because some made choices…and others remained silent for too long.

February 21st is generally decided as her day of remembrance largely because few other saints of note are commemorated on this day.

Anne Frank, the young author and idealist, is a reminder for me and should be for the whole church that now is the right time to do what is right. Afterall, you may not get another chance.

-historical bits from public information

-icon written by Mister Jones Attic

Today the church rightly remembers an icon of the rights of humanity: Saint Frederick Douglass, Abolitionist, Author, and Activist.

Saint Frederick was born into slavery in Maryland, a state many people forget was actually part of the historic South. His mother died when he was a young boy, and he was raised by his grandparents. It was rumored that his birth father was the plantation owner, though Saint Frederick himself never truly knew. He also barely knew his mother, as the barbaric practice of separating children from parents was common practice on plantations across the states where slavery was legal.

He was extremely bright and savvy, he learned to read and write by bartering food for lessons from neighborhood children. He went on, then, to teach other slaves to read using the Bible and the Sunday School hour as the classroom.

He escaped from slavery by pretending to be a sailor, aided by a uniform given him by his love, Anna Murray, and successfully hopped a train that aided him in getting to the free commonwealth of Pennsylvania. From there he went to New York City, sending for Anna Murray to meet him there, eventually marrying her in 1838. The couple eventually settled in Massachusetts and Douglass became a licensed preacher.

A fantastic orator and writer, Saint Frederick would spend his days making connections with other stakeholders in the area, and writing for the “Liberator” magazine. He attended protests and organized boycotts of local transportation (he refused to sit in segregated areas), lobbying for the equal treatment of African-Descent citizens as well as women.

As his fame grew, especially after the publication of his autobiography, he traveled to the British Isles as both a touring opportunity as well as a safe-guard against his former owners hearing about him and trying to take him back. For two years he toured the isles, even meeting with Thomas Clarkson, the famous British abolitionist who had persuaded Parliament to outlaw slavery.

This meeting gave him infinite hope that the same could be true of America, an America that he lamented “didn’t recognize him as even a man.”

Saint Frederick returned to the states and began publishing his first magazine, “North Star,” writing against slavery and butting heads with politicians and leaders who suggested anything other than total freedom for slaves, and he lobbied hard for school desegregation.

By the time the Civil War was underway, the famous St. Frederick met with President Lincoln to discuss a future free from slavery. He argued that willing men of all races should be allowed to fight for the Union, and post-war was disappointed that President Lincoln didn’t have the decency to publicly advocated for suffrage for free Black citizens who had so faithfully defended the Union.

During Reconstruction Douglass worked hard through political and social avenues to ensure the newly-granted rights of Black citizens were respected. He supported the election of President Grant, and became the first Black citizen to be nominated on the Vice Presidential ticket of the Equal Rights Party (though he didn’t even know he had been nominated).

That year his house burned down. Arson is suspected. But he continued on his speaking circuit, writing and lobbying for equal rights.

President Hayes appointed Douglass as the Marshal of the District of Columbia, the first person of color so named.

In 1881 he published his seminal work, The Life and Times of Frederick Douglass, and in 1888 received a vote for the Presidential nomination at the Republican National Convention.

On February 20th, 1895 Saint Frederick, having attended a meeting of the National Council of Women, returned home and suffered a massive heart-attack. He was 77 years old. Thousands attended his funeral out of respect to his legacy of fighting for equality.

Saint Frederick is an inspiration and an icon. He worked with anyone as long as they were trying to “do good,” and this fact got him much criticism from radicals who thought no one should ever work with someone of a differing ideology, ever. But St. Frederick was fond of saying, “I would unite with anybody to do right, and with nobody to do wrong.”

Saint Frederick is a reminder for me, and should be for the whole church, of many things, but primarily it is simply this: laws that are unjust are worth disobeying.

Let those with ears to hear, hear.

-history gleaned from Claiborne and Wilson-Hartgrove’s Common Prayer: A Liturgy for Ordinary Radicals as well as public source material

-icon written by Kelly Latimore Icons (available on his site)

Today the church remembers the reformer and cranky theologian, Martin Luther. He’d wince at being called a saint, but welcomed the title of “baptized.”

Luther was as imperfect as he was ingenious. As the most prolific and public author of his day, his opinions on matters mundane (a homemade remedy for skin rashes) to mighty (Freedom of a Christian) are well-documented and well known by all students of history. He wrote beautiful theological treatises and stirring hymnody. He was a pioneer for women and children in his day.

Yet, he was a person of his era in many ways, and lamentably was unable to rightfully wrestle with his own prejudices, especially toward those of the Jewish faith.

His anti-Semitic writings have been totally and fully condemned by the Lutheran church.

With both his flaws and his fortitude he embodies one of his central theological discoveries: that we are all both sinner and saint, simultaneously. We are both perfectly imperfect, and perfectly loved by a God who has a tender spot for broken things.

One of his more poetic thoughts about the “now-and-not-yetness” of our human existence:

“This life therefore is not righteousness, but growth in righteousness,
not health, but healing,
not being but becoming,
not rest but exercise.
We are not yet what we shall be, but we are growing toward it,
the process is not yet finished,
but it is going on,
this is not the end, but it is the road.“

-icon written by Harrison A Prozenko