Today the church remembers a contemporary Norwegian saint who deserves to be remembered more than he is: St. Eivind Josef Berggrav, Bishop of Oslo and Gadfly of the Nazis.

St. Berggrav was born at the end of the 19th Century, the son of the Bishop of Hamar. He planned to be an engineer, but fell in love with Theology and decided that would be his life’s pursuit.

He didn’t enter the ministry immediately upon graduation, spending some time studying the psychology of religion as the editor of a prominent publication dedicated to the topic. It was clear he was wrestling with his own vocation. At the same time, he took up teaching.

Finally in 1919, he was ordained by the Church of Norway and appointed to the rural parish of Hurdal. In 1925 his ministry took a jaunt directly northward, as he was elected the Bishop of Tromso on the arctic plains of Norway, close to the land of the Lapps. These fur trappers, fishermen, and sea people taught him how to be a Bishop of the church

In 1937 he was appointed Bishop of Oslo, and soon after the President of the World Alliance for Promoting International Friendship through the churches. The world was on the brink of war at the time.

In 1940, after the Nazi invasion of Norway, St. Berggrav was named one of the negotiators assigned to assess the intentions of the Nazi occupation.

He lasted two days in the post before resigning in protest, saying that he would never compromise with them. From this stance, he led a formal opposition to Nazi interference, focusing on the independence of the clergy and the sacred rights of the Jewish people.

This, obviously, upset the powers that be. They stripped him of his bishopric and his clerical credentials, and they put him on house arrest. In protest, 797 of the 861 priests of the Church of Norway resigned on Easter Sunday, showing what resurrection-in-action truly looks like.

Feeling Berggrav was the primary instigator of this rebellion, he was imprisoned in a solitary log cabin on the outskirts of Oslo under the edict of Hitler himself.

An underground church quickly formed in Norway, continuing the life of the faithful in exile. In something out of a spy novel, Berggrav donned a disguise and escaped from his log cabin, hiding out in Oslo until the liberation of Norway in 1945.

After the war, Berggrav lobbied for greater participation by the laity of the church in ecclesial affairs. He became a leader in the World Council of Churches and the Lutheran World Federation, and served until he fell ill in 1950. He died on this day in 1959.

A prolific writer, Berggrav published half a dozen books in his distinguished career, the last entitled When the Fight Came about his disobedience to the Nazi regime.

St. Berggrav is a reminder for me, and should be for the whole church, that there are some things you can’t compromise on.

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

A 4th Century Saint is honored by the church on January 13th: St. Hilary, Bishop of Poitiers and Hymnwriter.

Hilary (think “happy” or “hilarious,” because his name is derived from the Latin for fun/cheerful) was born in Gaul to powerful pagan parents. He was not baptized until relatively later in life, at age 30, and in the year 350 he was made bishop of Poitiers by popular demand, though he was already married and had never been ordained!

Throughout history, good order has often been circumvented by the desires of the masses, for good and for ill.

St. Hilary bucked Emperor Constantinus in not going along with the Emperor’s demand that Western Bishops adhere to a compromised Nicene faith, and for this he was banished to Phrygia in Asia Minor.

There he continued his work as a theologian, writing On the Trinity while in exile, a foundational document for the early church.

In 360 he was allowed to return to his post at Poitiers to great acclaim, and he became the most respected Latin theologian of the time, and is lauded as one who brought Eastern wisdom into the Western church largely due to his time in exile and learning from those in Asia Minor.

He is also remembered as having written the first Latin hymns. Having been influenced by Greek hymns during his exile, he brought many back and created Latin versions of them while also writing new hymns altogether for the Western church. He was disappointed with the ability of the people in Gaul to carry a tune, however, and complained that they were “unteachable in sacred song.” I guess you can’t always have a win.

Hilary is remembered as being one intensely focused on Orthodoxy, but also as one who, due to his life experience, broadened and expanded the practices of the church.

Oh, and fun fact: I passed by the parish of St. Hilary weekly when I lived on the north side of Chicago.

St. Hilary is a reminder for me, and should be for the whole church, that sometimes spending some time in exile, on the outs, at the margins, can be a blessed time of learning where the gems of the wilderness can be mined and brought back into the center of life.

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

Today the church observes Aelred, Abbot of Rievaulx and Good Friend.

Born in the 12th Century, Aelred was the son and grandson of Saxon priests. He was sent to work in the home of King David of Scotland at a young age, and when he entered adulthood experienced some deep inner struggle of an unknown nature.

All we know is that he was conflicted.

To help discern his angst, he entered a Cistercian Order at Rievaulx and soon gained a reputation as kind, wise, and a good friend to all.

His greatest mark left on the world was his capacity for profound sympathy, and he went on to write Spiritual Friendship, a reflection on the goodness of having and being a true friend in life.

The good Abbot was known to create deep, meaningful friendships, and hold these up as the pinnacle of godly relationship.

“A friend praying to Christ on behalf of his friend, and for his friend’s sake desiring to be heard by Christ, directs his attention with love and longing to Christ; then it sometimes happens that quickly and imperceptibly, the one love passes over into the other, and coming as it were, into close contact with the sweetness of Christ himself, the friend begins to taste his sweetness and to experience his charm.”-Spiritual Friendship

St. Aelred is a reminder to me, and should be for everyone, that sometimes the best thing you can be in this world is a good friend.

After all, if the only thing anyone remembered us for is our deep capacity for sympathy and friendship, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world…

Be a good friend today.

Today the church remembers a simple, humble saint who dedicated his existence to prayer and presence: Brother Lawrence, Mystic and Monk.

Brother Lawrence was born in the early 17th Century in Lorraine, France. We do not know much about his childhood, other than to say that he received very little schooling. He served a stint in the army, but one day had a mystical vision that gave him a new direction.

While gazing at a stark tree in the middle of a French winter, Brother Lawrence received an overwhelming feeling of grace and a deep sense that God was present. He saw in that moment that he, like that tree, was waiting for God’s blooming in his life…which could happen at any moment.

Brother Lawrence took this experience and went off to Paris, joining the Carmelite monastery there as a lay brother.

He was given the base tasks of caring for the monastery, but in his repetitive work he found an avenue to integrate spirituality into every mop swing, every dish scrub, and every menial task given him. He began what he called the “practice of the presence of God.”

He devoted each small task to the Divine, turning every moment into an opportunity for prayer.

Brother Lawrence is a reminder for me, and can be for the whole church, that the small, simple things when done faithfully are a gift to the Divine and to the world.

In fact, I’d go further to say that small, simple communities of faith, parishes, churches, embody Brother Lawrence best when they do their small bit with great attention and devotion.

-historical bits gleaned from Claiborne and Wilson-Hartgrove’s A Liturgy for Ordinary Radicals

Today the church honors a 17th Century pioneer in equality and human dignity, St. Peter Claver, Jesuit, Servant and Reformer.

St. Claver was born in Spain, became a Jesuit priest, and was sent to Columbia and the mission fields of the new world. There he came under the wing of Fr. Alonso de Sandoval, a fellow Jesuit who was dedicating his life to the well being of the slaves being brought in massive numbers to work the Colombian fields and mines.

St. Claver worked on behalf of the slaves from the minute they were forced from their boats in the inhumane slave trade. Their physical, emotional, and spiritual well-being became his primary concern, and he felt he needed to live among them to serve them, taking a stand with them against the inhumane practices of the powerful.

He argued through the means available to him that slaves, once baptized, should be freed, an argument that seems nonsensical and colonialist to our ears, but which was probably his best means of persuasion at the time. Fellow Christians, he thought, deserved the rights all Christians deserve.

He was known for following up with slaves after their work days in the mines and fields, and faced great hatred and opposition from slave owners and the rich elite who knew his care threatened their control.

St. Claver also found himself in the jails and work camps, often coming alongside those being tortured during the Inquisition. Though Fr. Claver was sympathetic to the Inquisition’s goal, he felt that everyone left imprisoned and alone deserved a friend and advocate. In his work in the hospitals he was known for showing no racial partiality in his care for patients, which to us sounds like “not enough,” but in the 17th Century was “far too much” for the powerful padding their pockets on the backs of cheap human labor.

Often stubborn and difficult to work with, Fr. Claver had many admirers for his guts, but few friends. At the end of his life he became paralyzed and was left in a small room, neglected for four years until his death.

Ironically, in his time of need he was not offered the same care that he had offered others.

St. Claver is often called the “Saint of the Slaves,” not only because he cared so much for them, but also because he argued passionately for their legal rights.

Certainly we can say that he did not do enough. But contextually, he was a unique voice of opposition and action…a combination that was rare in the 17th Century.

He is a reminder to the church, and to me, that words without actions are just noise in a world drowning in a cacophony of noise.

Social media posts and generalized outrage are no strategy for world change, Beloved.

We must find ourselves living in and with our neighbor, advocating with them, not just for them. We must find ourselves utilizing our power to preach both to and against the powerful.

And we don’t do so as some sort of insurance policy, believing that someone will one day do the same for any of us…they may not.

We do so because it’s the right thing to do, by God.

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

Today is the feast day of a giant of theology and philosophy, Saint Augustine, Teacher.

Fun Fact: Augustine was voted by his classmates, “Most Likely Non-Disciple to Get Lutheran Churches Named After Him.”

Augustine was born in Algeria in 354 to a Christian mother (Monica) and a pagan father. He was a good student, and in his early years practiced Manichaeism, a dualistic religion of Persian origin that was very “in the now” of his day.

He fathered a child early on in his life, and he named him Adeodatus which means “Gift of God.” History is quiet on the kind of father he was, but it’s important to note that this happened because all of this early material would lay the basis for his most famous work, Confessions.

Eventually Augustine ended up in Rome where he taught rhetoric and was wooed into the Catholic faith. There he was catechized under St. Ambrose and was baptized at the Great Vigil of Easter in 387.

Shortly thereafter Augustine returned to North Africa and lived a monastic life with friends. In 391 while visiting Hippo, he was chosen by the small church there to be their pastor.

All indicators point to his reluctance to take up the role, but eventually he was ordained into the priesthood and consecrated Bishop of Hippo, a role he kept for 35 years. He traveled extensively in the ancient world, and wrote volumes while he did so.

His book The City of God contains his reflections on society and the body politic in the aftermath of Rome’s collapse. In it he also defends Christianity and sets forth a vision of an ideal Christian society.

Spoiler alert: it looks nothing like America.

He established a Rule of Life and an order, Augustinian, was begun in his name. Martin Luther would adopt this Rule and this order.

Augustine died after he came down with an intense fever in the year 430. His remains, well, remain in the Church of San Pietro in Pavia, Italy.

Augustine is the model of the “second chance” life. And, quite honestly if you read Confessions, a third and fourth chance, too.

He is one of the most human of the saints because his foibles and misadventures are documented for all to see. He remains a gift to the church, even with all his flaws, and is a constant reminder that contrition and confession enable us to be born again.

And again.

And again.

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

Today I would lobby hard that the church remember a premier storyteller who has had arguably as much cultural influence as the parables of Jesus: Hans Christian Anderson, Poet, Teller of Tales, and Social Influencer.

Hans was born in the early 19th Century in Odense, Denmark to an illiterate mother and a father who only had a basic elementary education. It is absolutely improbable that he would end up being a literary force, and yet, here we are.

Hans was originally sent to a school for the poor, and there was taught the basics of reading, writing, and arithmetic. At home, however, his father fueled his imagination by giving him Arabian Nights. After his father died, he began apprenticing as a weaver and a tailor, and then eventually went to Copenhagen to seek his fortune as an actor, a path most New York waiters and LA baristas can tell you about.

A director at the Royal Danish Theater took notice of young Hans and sent him on to further education on the Royal dime. Note: a teacher invested in him and encouraged him in his craft…we owe teachers so much, especially because they are often the first line of encouragement for young artists.

Let those with ears to hear, hear.

Unfortunately Hans often had a tough time in school, sometimes because people didn’t believe in him, and sometimes because he was just of a more morose nature and was taken advantage of by others. One of his earliest fairy tales, “The Tallow Candle,” spoke of an unappreciated wax taper, perhaps a glimpse into his own being.

Obviously these obstacles did not stop Hans from excelling at his craft, and slowly and surely through poems, travel diaries, novels, and plays, he made a considerable name for himself, particularly because his tales had direct moral overtones, often ones that echoed some of the Biblical stories he grew up with.

Interestingly enough, however, Hans had a difficult time with religion, and he wrestled with the church. One of his most famous encounters was with fellow wrestler Saint Soren Kierkegaard, who described Hans as kind of a brooding fellow. Perhaps some of this brooding came from his other big wrestling match in life, his sexuality. In many of his letters, and even in some of his tales, he speaks of a loneliness and longing for a love that was unattainable and taboo.

Your heart can’t help but break for him in this way.

He still continued to work and write, shaping the world around him through the most amazing thing that humans have produced: stories. In his old age the Danish government had started to pay him a yearly stipend simply because he breathed. He was that treasured as a person. With “The Little Mermaid,” “The Emperor’s New Clothes,” and “The Snowman” and so many others, Anderson’s tales continue to tingle the imagination and cause our hearts to stir.

At the age of 67 Hans woke up one morning with a start and fell out of bed, severely injuring himself past the point of recovery. His injury caused him to be thoroughly examined, and in the aftermath they found signs of liver cancer.

He died on this day in 1875.

Hans Christian Anderson is a reminder for me, and should be for the whole church, that stories are truly the things that pluck at the human heart and cause us to move and be moved. Indeed, stories are our best gift to humanity, Beloved.

-historical bits from public sources

-picture painted by Elle, 2005