Today, November 30th, the church honors an often overshadowed apostle, Saint Andrew. He’s usually called “brother of Peter,” and rarely seen without that qualifier, making him, in essence, known to the world only in relation to his brother…which many people can probably identify with.
St. Andrew is the patron saint of sea-people, but also the informal saint of all who stand in the shadow of someone else.
He is the saint for the B-side of the record, the underdog sibling, the cobbler and the cooper who are no longer appreciated in their crafts.
Lore notes him dying in Greece, crucified because he refused to make sacrifice to the local gods and kept talking about Jesus.
And though he stood in the shadow of his brother his whole life, Andrew gets a place of prominence in the end: his feast day is the official marker for the start of Advent because the First Sunday of Advent every year is the Sunday that falls closest to St. Andrew’s day.
-icon written by Sister Nadine of the Sisters of St. Andrew in London, GB
It’s an odd juxtaposition that happens when the secular and the sacred collide in these early Advent days. So many of us (at least, in America) are rushing to get that tree put up, the most ancient pre-Christian solstice symbol, and haul out the red and green decorations.
Meanwhile, the church is singing a bluer song and calling everything to hush for a bit, like you would when a baby is sleeping nearby.
Both responses to this time of year in this hemisphere are appropriate, of course. The ancient Celts would spend this time cozying up their indoor spaces, knowing they’ll be in the shadow of the fireplace for many hours in the coming months. They’d tie greenery to their door as an air freshener, and they’d make warm clothes, tell stories, and play indoor games. In this way, they’re not unlike all of us in our rush to decorate for the Christmas season.
But they’d do this other thing, too: they’d slow down. Their work would stop for a while, except for those necessary things needed to survive the winter. They’d rest longer, going to bed not long after night fell and waking late with the lazy solstice sun. They’d light candles in the morning and the evening, their new sun stolen from their fireplace outfitted with a huge log that, God willing, would last a good while.
They’d cozy and they’d slow.
The secular world is begging you to cozy at this moment. The sacred world is calling you to slow.
And, honestly, I’m not sure there’s such a thing as “secular” or “sacred.” Holiness pulsates through everything if our heartbeat is in rhythm with the Divine. So perhaps it shouldn’t be so much the “secular is calling you to cozy,” and the “sacred is calling you to slow,” but rather that the tensions pulling and pushing us in this world are felt forcefully in this moment, which is not a surprise.
We’re in a moment of change, evidenced by those last leaves falling to the ground.
Here’s a deep truth that all of these pushes and pulls point to: life begins in the shadows.
I don’t use “darkness” on purpose, by the way. As prophet and poet Nayyirah Waheed wrote in her collection Nejma,
“there is dark and there is anti light these are not the same things”
Language has evolved to the point where we can be careful and choosy with our words (as imperfect as it might be).
Shadows, like that in the Valley of Death that the Psalmist sings of, is a more appropriate description, I think. We’re not talking about a color, we’re talking about an absence of illumination.
All life starts with an absence of illumination.
The Big Bang began with a deep vacuum bereft of light.
The womb which was our first home pulsated with life, but no light.
The seed trying to do what it is meant to do in this moment is buried under the weight of too much earth, and yet it lives.
Life begins in the shadows.
This is why the readings in the church here at the beginning of Advent aren’t of Mary or Joseph or a baby in a manger, but ones of foreboding and nighttime.
The church knows, as does the Earth, as has humanity from ancient days, that life begins in the shadows, so if we’re going to talk about redemption and salvation and resurrection and new life, we have to start here.
There is an 8th Century hymn that often kicks off Advent in many spaces, “Creator of the stars of night.” The Latin version of this text is most beautiful, “Conditor alme siderum…” the chorister sings in simple chant tone.
Sidus, where we get siderum can mean just “stars,” and certainly it does mean that. But in this usage it also means all the cosmic bodies: planets, meteors, stars, galaxies.
The church sings to the creator who filled up the vacuum of space and, like the Mark text, invites us to gaze up at the shadows of space in awe and wonder. In the night times of life we ponder such mysteries. Who hasn’t stayed awake in bed with their mind racing?
The shadows are meant for such pondering, for from such ponderings comes imagination and new life and all sorts of things never before seen, as frightening as those moments can be sometimes.
And, as it is, we’re again plunged into such a night time of life in this Advent season.
Change happens in the shadows. Newness starts in the shadows.
Life starts in the shadows.
So Advent must start in the shadows.
So, Beloved, cozy up and slow a bit. Ponder the mysteries with the ancients.
Today I would encourage the church to formally remember one who moved the needle on equal rights in America: Saint Harvey Milk of San Francisco, Politician, Activist, and Martyr.
Saint Harvey was born in 1930 in the outer-ring suburbs of New York City into a Lithuanian Jewish home. A bit awkward and goofy as a child, he loved being the class clown, played football in high school, and fell in love with the opera. He went on to major in mathematics as an undergrad, and eventually served in the Navy in the Korean War. His departure from the military would not be a kind one, though, as he was forced to accept an “other than honoerable discharge” due to the fact that his superiors found out that he was a gay man.
Saint Harvey drifted a bit after returning to New York from the war. He took positions where his mathematical acumen was helpful (a teacher, an actuarial analyst, a researcher), and through the help of the 60’s counterculture found his way to the Castro district of San Francisco where he opened up a camera shop on Castro Street. In this evolutionary period Saint Harvey’s very conservative political and social views also started to shift, which would spur on his activism in future years.
What might be largely forgotten to many is that in the 60’s and 70’s homosexual acts were often-times a felony, and anyone charged with these acts would have to register as a sex offender. In San Francisco the political elites were trying their level best to pander to a conservative voter base, and encouraged law enforcement to target these offenses above all else. These targeted hate tactics, along with skyrocketing taxes and an inefficient political environment, encouraged Saint Harvey to enter into the political arena with showmanship and blunt talk.
The gay political machine in San Francisco wasn’t particularly fond of Harvey Milk. They thought that he didn’t play well with them and wanted to blaze his own trail…which, honestly, was a fair assessment.
Having found his true calling in life, Saint Harvey would go on to run for different positions in San Francisco politics, starting with city supervisor. Though he gained many allies, especially from organized labor and business owners in the Castro, his showmanship was not enough to get him elected at his first go-round. In 1975 he decided to run again, and in a sea-change election the mayor, sherriff, and district attorney all shifted to the left, and Milk was offered a seat on the Board of Appeals for his role in changing the dynamics in San Francisco politics.
In 1976 Saint Harvey decided to run for the California State Assembly. Often bombastic and occasionally manic, Saint Harvey positioned himself as the underdog in the race, and though he was close to getting elected he found out that mere outrage and rhetoric wasn’t enough to cross the finish-line a victor. Having gay candidates who were out and running as their true selves, though, was stirring not just San Fancisco, but also a nation who was watching. Candidates standing for gay rights started running in races across the states.
This movement of gay rights candidates no longer hiding in the shadows of the closet caused a backlash, though. Christian conservatives started a counter-movement led by popular singer Anita Bryant with the horrible and unmistakably prejudice title “Save Our Children,” insinuating that somehow children are harmed by the mere presence of openly gay persons in their midsts.
These sentiments, unfortunately, persist today.
This Christian conservative movement led the repeal of many newly passed equal rights amendments. Gay rights protests popped up around the country in response, but the laws continued to be overturned and violence against the gay community skyrocketed, especially in San Francisco. Trying to capitalize on the anti-gay movement, California State Senator John Briggs introduced a bill that would ban out gay and lesbian teachers from teaching in California public schools. He hoped he’d be able to run for governor on his anti-gay ideas, and even called San Francisco a “sexual garbage heap” because of homosexuality.
At this time San Francisco reorganized how it elected its supervisor elections, allowing neighborhoods to directly elect their supervising representatives. Harvey Milk, already well-known and having learned from his political mistakes of the past, was a leading candidate to represent the Castro. He wasn’t only interested in gay rights, though. Milk saw the need for less expensive childcare, promoted free transportation in the city, and wanted the police to have an oversight board.
Saint Harvey became the first openly gay non-incumbant to win an election for public office in the United States.
Still kind of a thorn in the side of the political establishment, and not one for being a wallflower, Milk took on big business and the political elites, irritating most everyone. Despite his election, though, anti-gay sentiment continued to fester in the halls of power, and Proposition 6, a proposed law that would make firing gay and lesbian teachers (and any supporters of gay rights) mandatory was gaining steam. In response to Proposition 6, Harvey Milk went on a speaking tour, debating John Briggs at every turn. Briggs claimed that homosexual teachers were trying to “recruit” children, whereas Milk responded that if children were copying their teachers there’d be a hellava lot more nuns running around.
Ronald Reagan came out against Proposition 6. Jerry Brown came out against it. President Carter came out against it. It failed by more than a million votes.
On this day in 1978 a replacement for the newly resigned supervisor, Dan White, was to be announced. White had been at odds with Milk on a number of issues, and made the point of voting against any of Harvey’s initiatives on the Board of Supervisors. White had resigned claiming the salary was inadequate, but then sought to be reinstated. Mayor Moscone eventually refused to reinstate Dan White, seeking more ethnic diversity on the Board of Supervisors, better reflecting White’s district.
White snuck in City Hall with a police-issued relvolver, shot the mayor multiple times, reloaded, found Supervisor Milk, and shot him over five times.
He was 48.
Dan White’s trial gained national attention. The jury who would serve was not representative of the city population, and anti-gay sentiment continued to fester as many decided that White had done a good political deed in this double murder.
White was acquitted (!) of first degree murder, convicted of voluntary manslaughter, and with good behavior would be released within five years despite confessing to the shootings. His defense? He was confused by the machinations of the political elites of the day and had gone on a junk food binge the night before, causing a lack of mental clarity.
Riots and marches ensued, and the political landscape remained fraught for some time.
One might balk at the idea of a gay Jewish man being remembered as a saint of the church, and I understand that sentiment. However there are times when leaders have emerged who, like the Christ, have shown themselves to be on the right side of human dignity in the face of so-called Christian opposition, and Harvey Milk is one such example.
Harvey Milk was more Christ-like than the Christians when it came to human dignity, and his legacy should cause all of us to think honestly about where we are today when it comes to the growing list of anti-gay legislation being proposed and passed across this country.
Saint Harvey Milk is a reminder for me, and should be for the whole church, that sometimes non-Christians are more Christian than the Christians…which should make us honestly think and reform, by God.
-historical bits from publicly accessed resources
-icon written by the saints at Joy of Missing Out (note that Trinity Strores Icons has a wonderful Milk icon, but it’s watermarked and out of respect for their work I didn’t use it. However, I would encourage you to purchase Br. Robert Lentz’s icon if you’re looking for a way to honor Saint Harvey of San Francisco)
“A world without weapons, without McMansions in sprawling suburbs, without mountains of unnecessary packaging, without giant mechanized monofarms, without energy-hogging big-box stores, without electronic billboards, without endless piles of throw-away junk, without the overconsumption of consumer goods no one really needs is not an impoverished world.
I disagree with those environmentalists who say we are going to have to make do with less. In fact, we are going to make do with more: more beauty, more community, more fulfillment, more art, more music, and material objects that are fewer in number but superior in utility and aesthetics. . . “
Today the church honors the person who is largely considered the “creator of the English hymn”: St. Isaac Watts, Hymnwriter and Inspirer.
St. Isaac was the first-born of nine children whose father was a nonconformist minister who was twice jailed for “heretical ideas.” He was an excellent student, particularly astute at rhyming, and many pushed him toward the priesthood.
Isaac wasn’t interested in a clergy life, though, and after a few years in higher education, set his brain to writing. He was not happy with what he considered to be “poorly arranged psalms,” and attempted to do better for the church. It was during this time in his early twenties that the majority of what would be published in Hymns and Spiritual Songs was written.
At the age of twenty-four, Isaac began informally preaching and, though he had rejected the offer to enter the priesthood, found a home as an independent minister. He assumed the pulpit of an independent congregation in Mark Lane, Britain, and soon after he began to lead the congregation his health began to fail.
He was forced to live his last thirty-six years of life in the home of Sir Thomas Abney, preaching and teaching only occasionally.
Despite his illness, his fame, as well as theological, and philosophical writings flourished abroad. Having read parts of these books in my University years, I can attest to his brilliance. His work Logic and Speculations on the Human Nature of the Logos come to mind.
He fundamentally changed the course of hymnody as well. Horae Lyricae and Psalms of David, as well as the afore mentioned collection of hymns and songs, became (and continue to be!) staple pieces in the liturgy of the church.
He even made an appearance in Carroll’s Alice in Wonderland as his book of children’s songs was parodied in those pages.
But the reason you know St. Isaac the best is because you sing him every year when you shout loudly, “Joy to the world, the Lord is come!” He penned that now famous Advent/Christmas hymn and our Decembers have never been the same.
St. Isaac finally succumbed to his illness and suffering, and was buried on this date in 1748. He never married, and is still called the Melanchthon of his day (a high honor in Lutheran circles!) for his learning, gentleness, and devotion.
St. Isaac Watts is a reminder for me, and for the whole church, sometimes the most brilliant minds are found in what many would consider challenging bodies. Watts spent much of his life ill, but the fruits of his relentlessly engaged intellect remain quite healthy.
Today the church remembers a 20th Century Mexican priest, St. Miguel Agustin Pro, Martyr of the Faith.
St. Miguel was born in 1891 in Zacatecas, Mexico, and was known as a happy, cheerful, and privileged child. Despite his relatively high-born status, he developed a deep love and kinship for the working class families around him, and began to spend all of his time and energy working alongside the poor.
He eventually became a Jesuit novice at the age of twenty, and was exiled during the Mexican Revolution. He went to Belgium, where he was ordained, and eventually returned to Mexico in the wake of the war. He found churches closed, priests hiding, and being a Catholic now illegal. Fr. Miguel would regularly dress up in disguises to conduct secret and underground ministry, especially offering pastoral care, comfort, and the sacraments to the afflicted.
In 1927 St. Miguel was accused of being a part of a failed bombing attempt, though it is widely believed that the charges were false. He was handed over to the police and sentenced to death without so much as a trial.
As he was put in front of the firing squad he cried out, “Long live Christ the King!”
Though the government forbade a public funeral, people poured out of their homes to line the streets as his body passed by.
St. Miguel is a reminder to me, and should be for the whole church in the United States, that it was not so long ago that real religious persecution so close to home was a thing, so we should be very hesitant to claim it over baking cakes, serving pizza, and performing weddings and whatnot today.
-historical pieces from Pfatteicher’s _New Book of Festivals & Commemorations
Today the church honors an apostolic pillar whose writings almost (and should have!) made it into the Biblical canon: St. Clement, Theologian and Bishop of Rome.
Little is known about the life of St. Clement, who was probably the fourth Bishop of Rome. He lived and died right around the year 100, and may be the same Clement written about in the book of Philippians (4:3). He was certainly the writer, though, of the Epistle of Clement I (though probably not the Epistle of Clement II).
Ordained by St. Peter, Clement was said to be banished to Crimea during the reign of Trajan, forced to work in the mines. It was there, it is said, that he was tied to an anchor and thrown into the Black Sea (the anchor is his saintly symbol).
But though so little is known about Clement, we certainly know much about his thoughts and his voice. In the year 96 Clement authored a letter from the Church at Rome to the Church at Corinth. This letter is the earliest Christian document we have in existence, with the exception of some New Testament writings, and was written to encourage the Church at Corinth to avoid a schism and remain steadfast to one another. It’s a letter of pastoral advice.
This letter was so widely known, and so widely revered, early manuscripts of the New Testament include it in the canon.
St. Clement is a reminder for you, and should be for the whole church, that not all that is holy is contained in the canon, Beloved.
-historical bits from Pfatteicher’s New Book of Festivals & Commemorations
Today the church remembers a masterful storyteller who wove a tapestry of tales that continue to teach: Clive Staples Lewis, Writer and Dream Maker.
St. Lewis (you know him better as C.S. Lewis, no doubt) was born in Northern Ireland to a barrister father and mathematician mother. After years of boarding schools, he attended University College, Oxford and, after graduation, was appointed as a Tutor and Fellow there, and eventually as Professor of Medieval and Renaissance Literature a Cambridge.
At his heart, he was a writer. Scholarly works, fictional works, essays regarding the state of humanity, C.S. Lewis was born with one pen in his hand and another in his mouth.
As a youth he had rejected Christianity, probably as a rebellion around the death of his mother when he was ten years old. In 1929 he had a conversion experience that eventually led him back to the church in 1931. This journey from atheism to theism to the church was recounted in Surprised by Joy, published in 1955.
As it is with many converts, C.S. Lewis spilled a lot of ink defending the faith. The Problem of Pain, Mere Christianity, and The Screwtape Letters. In these works for art…which they are…he eloquently and imaginatively honors various human realities through the lens of faith.
Most of the world, though, knows him not for his essays, but for his works of fiction and science-fiction. The seven book Chronicles of Narnia and his lesser known Space Trilogy present for humanity a fanciful retelling of Christian faith and morals through a lion who dies yet lives, children who are awake and yet dreaming, honorable mice pirates, witches, and distant planet explorations that are right in your backyard.
It’s widely known that he and his fellow writer, JRR Tolkien, often met to discuss their works over a pint or three. He thought Tolkien was too verbose (he was), and Tolkien thought Lewis was too “on the nose” with his allegories (he was). And yet we’re all better for it all, right?
The works of Lewis that most affected me, though, weren’t any of the above, but two works separated by time yet linked in theme: The Four Loves and A Grief Observed.
In The Four Loves Lewis mines the realities of human love, seeking to make a connection between these loves and the deep feelings of the heart. English is such a limiting language. We only have one word for “love,” and yet many ways of feeling it. Lewis goes deep into analysis around this, offering some clarity to what we feel when we say “I love you.”
In A Grief Observed, though, Lewis is at his most vulnerable, most bare, most thoughtful (at least in my opinion). He wrote this reflection on grief after the death of his wife, Joy Davidman Gresham, after they had only been married four years. Here St. Lewis is less apologist for the faith and more barrister with faith and fairness of life put on slow, subtle trial. Gone is the idealism of the new convert, and in its place we find an honest conversation between C.S. Lewis and a faith that he considered an old friend that kind of let him down (though the work does end on a hopeful note).
It is real. It is honest. And, in my opinion, is required reading.
St. Lewis died on this day in 1963 at his home in Oxford.
One of my favorite notions of his, which I believe to be totally true, is found in The Screwtape Letters where the young demon being tutored by penpal is told that “God only coaxes, and cannot coerce.”
God only coaxes, and cannot coerce.
St. C.S. Lewis is a reminder for me, and should be for the whole church, that story has always been a way that we learn about the Divine.
And always will be.
-historical bits from Pfatteicher’s New Book of Festivals & Commemorations
In a little break from the traditional calendar, though still well within the bounds of convention, I’d propose that we honor a saint on this day that is normally honored tomorrow (but because of tomorrow’s more modern saint, this one deserves a slight adjustment I think): Saint Cecilia, Martyr and Patron Saint of Musicians.
Born sometime in the early third century, even before Christianity had really started to come into its own, the history and lore around Saint Cecilia is very suspect save for the fact that we do think there was a Cecilia in the very early church, and we do think that she died.
Everything else is really unknown, except that we are certainly sure that she broke Paul Simon’s heart at some point and definitely shook his confidence, daily.
I digress…
Some lore claims that Saint Cecilia was born into nobility and died in one of the early purges of Christians in Rome around the year 230 AD under Emperor Severus. Other sources claim that she may have lived much earlier and died under the purge in the late second century by Marcus Aurelius.
Regardless, it is considered history that this dear saint did at one time live in the early church, and did at one time die along with her husband and a host of other early martyrs.
It is said that Saint Cecilia took a vow of virginity in her youth and, despite her arranged marriage, kept that vow the enirity of her short life. To convince her husband that she was to keep her vow, she told him that an angel was watching over her. He asked to see this angel, and she said that his eyes would be open if he received the sacrament of baptism.
He agreed to be baptized, and indeed claimed to see this protecting angel that Saint Cecilia claimed was there. He respected her vow their entire marriage.
Saint Cecilia’s martyrdom became the stuff of lore not only because, well, martyrdom is notable in and of itself, but because it was said that she lived three days post-execution, evoking images of the Christ himself. She was buried by the Pope in the Catacomb of Callixtus, and in 1599 it was said that her body was found and that she had experienced no passage of time at all…a supposed miracle.
All of this is, of course, story. But stories shape us. It’s why “story” is the most important part of the word “history.”
Oh, and I know you’re wondering why Saint Cecilia is the patron saint of music, right? Never in any of the lore does it have any suggestion that she had a musical bone in her body, but in one account of her life (an apocryphal account of course) it is noted that on her wedding day, despite having taken a vow of virginity and despite being forced to marry and despite the difficulty of that day, she “sang to the Lord in her heart.”
Because of this Saint Cecilia is said to be the embodiment of the musical cadence of the liturgy, reminding the faithful that despite what is going on in their lives (or even because of it?!) a song still festers inside of all of us, encouraging us to sing a Divine note.
Because Saint Cecilia’s story is so muddled and riddled with so much lore, I think that while she still deserves a feast day, moving it a day up does no harm (and makes space for tomorrow’s saint). This is especially true because while some stories claim she died on November 22nd, others are unclear on the date…so there seems to be some flexibility here.
Regardless, Saint Cecilia is a reminder for me, and should be for the whole church (and world?), that each of us has a song to sing, by God. No matter how we find ourselves.
On November 19th three 13th Century German mystics are honored by the church, two Matildas and a Gert: Mechtild of Magdeburg, Mechtild of Hackeborn, and Gertrude the Great, Visionaries of the Church.
Mechtild of Magdeburg (“Matilda” is the Anglicized version of the name) was descended from nobility. She left home in her 20’s to join a Beguine community (a lay sisterhood leading religiously pious lives), and adopted a rigid austerity. She spoke harshly against the excesses of the church and the clergy, believing that greed was corrupting the message of the Gospel. She also believed the clergy were poorly trained and advocated for stricter requirements for the priesthood.
She began having visions and dreams, and wrote them down in a poetic work entitled The Flowing Light of the Godhead, one of the best examples of female authorship to survive the Middle Ages.
Mechtild of Hackeborn was the sister of the Baroness of Hackeborn, and in charge of the monastery school in the area. She was a fabulous instructor (and would instruct Gertrude the Great, mentioned below), who shared her spiritual insight, teachings, and experiences with her students. The work The Book of Special Grace, made public after her death, records these mystical visions as remembered by her beloved students. She loved to sing her visions, being called a “nightingale of Christ.”
Gertrude the Great was entrusted to the Cistercian foundation at Helfta a the age of five, and came under the tutelage of Mechtild of Hackeborn there. She quickly became fluent in Latin, was well educated in the liberal arts, and well read in literature and the sciences of the times. At the age of twenty-five she, too, began having mystical visions and dreams which continued throughout the whole of her life. At their onset she began to study Augustine, Bernard, and Hugh of Clairvaux (interestingly enough, our own Blessed Martin Luther favored these scholars as well). She went on to compose the Legatus Divinae Pietatis, widely considered one of the best products of Christian mysticism.
Gertrude the Great’s mystical visions almost all happened during the liturgy, and she felt that worship was the spring that fed her spirituality.
These three great mystics of the church are a reminder for me, and should be for the whole church, that sometimes the most obscure individuals hold the grandest insights. I’ve long said that the best sermons preached on any given Sunday are preached to less than fifty people.
It’s true.
-historical bits by Pfatteicher’s New Book of Festivals & Commemorations
Reluctant Xtian 