Today the church remembers an obscure saint, St. Willibrord of Utrecht, Missionary to Frisia.
Willibrord (b. 658) was raised in Ireland where he was ordained a priest in 688.
He was heavily influenced by the Northumbrian monk, Egbert, who told fantastical stories of his travels and work. Willibrord was enamored with these tales, and wanted in on the action. At Egbert’s invitation, Willibrord dedicated himself to exploration and missionary work.
He sailed to Utrecht in Frisia (the Netherlands) where he set up the first official see of the Roman Catholic church in that land (well, the Pope founded it, but gave Willibrord permission to do what he was doing: running it). Willibrord set to work founding schools, parishes, and monasteries. He was consecrated as Bishop by Pope Sergius I in 695, and did much to plant the church in the Netherlands.
In his old age he retired to a monastery he founded in what is now Luxembourg, and died there on this day in 739.
St. Willibrord is a reminder for me, and should be for the whole church, that stories inspire. Hearing Egbert’s tales enticed him to explore the world! The faith is full of inspiring stories, and telling them in such a way that they’re heard as the wonderful tales and testimonies they are should inspire exploration, not entrench people in trite moralisms, stilted orthodoxy, or make the faithful fearful of what’s on the other side of any fence.
A lovely historical development: as one so inspired by stories, he now has so many stories about him shared throughout the Netherlands. These tales of his accomplishments are richly embellished and fantastical, ensuring that this one so moved by stories is the subject of many moving stories himself.
-historical pieces from Pfatteicher’s New Book of Festivals & Commemorations
-also, it should be noted that I will probably look like this old Irish saint when I become an old Irish saint…
Today the church remembers a more recent saint, though many have forgotten him in the cloudy cloud of witnesses: Saint William Temple, Archbishop of Canterbury and Social Reformer.
Born in 1881, Saint William was the second born of Frederick Temple, another Archbishop of Canterbury, and he had a deep love for the Church of England despite his proximity to it growing up. He is considered by many to be one of the four pillars of post-Reformation Anglican thought, joining the ranks for Richard Hooker (whom we just commemorated), Joseph Butler (see June 16th), and Frederick Denison Maurice (honored on April 1st).
Saint William was brilliant. He forgot more philosophy than most philosophers knew. He genuinely cared about people. At the age of twenty-nine he became the headmaster at Repton School, and then rector of Saint James’ Church, Piccadilly, Bishop of Manchester, and Archbishop of York in quick succession. He was keenly atuned to the needs of the working poor, and sought social reforms, educational justice, and brought all of his leanings on the betterment of humanity back to the Doctrine of the Incarnation, saying concretely that everyone, regardless of sex or gender, was created in Divine likeness.
So, Beloved, when someone tells you you’re “socialist” for wanting social programs, remind them that you want social programs because everyone is a mirror of the Divine and deserves to be cared for.
That’s the reason.
In 1917 this pastor resigned his post to devote himself to the reform of the Church of England as it attempted to modernize, and then became quite active in trying to figure out how to reorganize Britain in a post-war era. He supported labor movements, and was a big fan of ecumenical efforts and dialogue that helped people eat, work, and live well.
In April of 1942 he was elected Archbishop of Canterbury, but the ongoing war and his ongoing health struggles kind of took the wind out of his sails. He died on this day in 1944, having only served in the seat for a scant few years.
Saint William Temple is a reminder for me, and should be for the whole church, that when the Doctrine of the Incarnation is taken seriously, the health and welfare of every human must also be taken seriously.
In fact, I dare say that this characteristic might set someone who actually lives out their faith apart from those who hold up Bibles for photo ops or to garner votes…
-historical bits from Pfatteicher’s New Book of Festivals & Commemorations
Today the church honors two ancient saints of the faith, perhaps the “Patron Saints of Waiting,” St. Elizabeth and Zechariah, the Parents of St. John the Baptizer.
This feast is honored in Palestine on this date, and honoring them begins to turn our collective faces toward the season of Advent, the season of hope and patience.
Zechariah is the pious priest in the line of Abijah, noted by St. Luke in his first chapter. Elizabeth, whose namesake is the wife of Aaron (the brother of Moses), was also of priestly lineage. This makes it, at least in the ancient world, an ideal marriage: pure and priestly.
By the time of Jesus, there were so many of priestly lineage alive that the duties of the temple were afforded by lot, as not all could participate. One day this privilege fell to Zechariah, as the story goes, and he was ordered to light incense in the Temple. As he was performing his priestly duty, an angel appeared to him and announced that he and Elizabeth would, in their old age, have a child.
By the way, if your Biblical mind isn’t brought back to the aged Abram and Sarai and their son Isaac at the mention of this story, you’re not paying attention…these stories are meant to invoke one another, Beloved.
If your Biblical mind isn’t brought back to Hannah and her son Samuel in the telling of this story, you’re not paying attention, Beloved.
Luke, in writing his Gospel, knew what he was doing with these lovely saints…
Elizabeth, that dear saint, did not, for whatever reason, have any children in her young age. In this way, she followed in the footsteps of Sarah and Hannah before her.
By the way, I note “for whatever reason,” because contrary to popular belief at that time (and even today), we have no biological indicators that note that anything was amiss with Elizabeth’s ability to conceive. Indeed, Zechariah could have had an ailment that prevented him from parenting. But, as with all history written by men, for some reason the fault falls on Elizabeth.
I love Saint Elizabeth, and St. Zechariah, too, because their struggle is so relatable to so many today.
Zechariah had a hard time believing that they could have a child, and for this reason he became both deaf and mute for a time being. This is a strange biological development…much like having a child in your old age would be…but the theological development is pretty clear: some things that the Divine makes possible are hard to talk about and hard to listen to.
Zechariah and Elizabeth named their dear child John, defying tradition. At the naming of their child (Zechariah wrote it down for those present), his voice was restored, and immediately he was blessed with a song that we still sing in the church today during the season of Advent, the Benedictus Dominus Deus. It is a song about promise fulfillment and echoes the Magnificat of Mary and the Hebrew Scripture song of Hannah in 1 Samuel.
St. Elizabeth and St. Zechariah are a reminder for me, and should be for the whole church, that sometimes Diving things take a little while to happen, and that patience and hope must continually hold hands in this life.
They are also a reminder for me that the church needs to openly and honestly talk about the difficulty of conception, a topic so few want to discuss because of its delicate nature. But, Beloved, this is such an important and wide-spread issue, the church must talk about infertility with honesty, and forget with the nonsense of “in God’s time” or any such mess that can be hurtful for those who want to be parents but have difficulty for whatever reason.
Today the church remembers an Anglican priest and eloquent writer who argued for a middle way between Roman Catholicism and the rising pietistic tide in the 16th Century: Fr. Richard Hooker, Apologist for the Middle Way.
Saint Richard was born in 1554 near Exeter in Britain in a time when the nation, and the church, was mightily confused. Though the Anglican church had embraced the Reformation, it was struggling with just how it fit into the sweeping changes rolling through religion and politics.
Roman Catholicism, on the one hand, saw the Anglican Church as having abandoned the one true faith. Puritans, on the other, thought the Anglican church had abandoned the Bible (which the pietistic movement saw as the only text with any authority at all).
Into this melee Saint Hooker was born, educated at Corpus Christi College in Oxford, and ordained. He served several country parishes early on in his priesthood, attending the needs of country people. Using his experience in the parish, in 1593 the good Father penned a seminal work, Laws of Ecclesiastical Polity, a roadmap for the Anglican approach to the faith.
In stark contrast to Martin Luther, Saint Hooker’s work was charitable and eloquent, meticulously laying out how Scripture, tradition, and reason (yes: reason) could provide a way for the faithful to organize themselves. The Puritans chaffed at the idea, thinking only the Bible provided any answers to any questions. Roman Catholicism could accept this trifecta in part, but thought that tradition trumped the other two, especially when it came to the Papacy.
Nevertheless, Saint Hooker plodded on, believing that the law of nature (reason) could help people organize themselves within a religious construct. His scaffolding became an overarching philosophical defense of Anglican practices where reason, scripture, and tradition all had a pillar in presenting a platform for encountering the Divine and interacting with one another.
Saint Hooker died in the year 1600, but his legacy lives on. He is a reminder for me, and should be for the whole church, that checking your brain at the church door and deferring reason to tradition or even to scripture is too high of a price for admission.
-historical bits from Pfatteicher’s _New Book of Festivals & Commemorations)
Today the church commemorates All Soul’s Day, or “The Day of the Faithfully Departed.”
This festival day is a product of the evolution of the church and its understanding of the departed and how they play into the eschatological and cosmological understanding of all things.
If saints were those who led extraordinary lives, what about the rest of us?
All Souls Day is an answer to that question. Indeed, many people who aren’t technically “saints” in the narrow definition of the term have led wonderfully beautiful and impactful lives. All Souls attempts to honor that fact. It became common practice, for instance, to lift up particular benefactors of parishes on this day, giving a nod to those who made the physical (and spiritual) structures of the faith possible.
In a more pedestrian sense, All Souls Day is, at least for me, a day where we can all embrace the reality that, saint or not, people deserve to be remembered.
In my first parish we had these magnificent stained glass windows put in decades earlier. In them you could see glimpses of not only the artistry of the day, but you could also feel a sort of timelessness that was pervasive, connecting those who had first stared into and through those windows with me and my own children who looked at them now.
Good art does that: it creates connective tissue between the past and the ever-expanding future.
But All Souls Day is a reminder that good theology does that, too. We stand upon the beliefs of the past, hauling some of them with us, and leaving some on the path behind us as signs and markers of thoughts discarded and avenues that were dead-ends.
All Souls Day lifts up the very practical, very pious, and very pedestrian people on whose shoulders we stand. In this way it is even more meaningful than the pomp and circumstance of All Saints Day.
If All Saints Day is the fine-dining establishment in your city, All Souls Day is the little cafe you frequent where you know the owner, have a favorite booth, and don’t need to glance at the menu because you know it by heart.
In other words, All Souls Day is really where most of us will find ourselves: in the ordinary annals of a life that tried its best, did some great things, fell short quite a bit, but is remembered by a small, but faithful, group of loved ones who know our names.
Today the church celebrates All Saints Day, the day in which the formal saints of the church (those canonized) are recognized and remembered as examples of the faith.
This celebration is very old, perhaps dating back to the 4th Century, though it is clear that earlier commemorations of this feast day were held in the spring, sometime between Easter and Pentecost. It was originally intended to celebrate not just any saints, but the martyrs of the faith.
The focus and the date of the day shifted sometime just before or in the early 7th Century. In the British Isles it had already been honored on November 1st, probably in response to the pagan autumn festivals that culminated at the end of October (which many of you participated in last night with ghosts and goblins at your door!). The date stuck for the whole church within the century, and came to have a deeper connection not only with the seasonal cycle on display in the northern hemisphere, but also with pre-Christian sensibilities. One example is this Celtic idea that the arrival of mists and frosts around this time were examples of ghostly/faery visitors, so it made sense to have a day remembering them when they started to make their presence known again.
In the 7th Century the date came to commemorate non-martyrs as well, probably in response to the fact that Christianity became dominant and was less-oppressed…resulting in fewer martyrs of the faith. The faithful who died both naturally and by martyrdom were recognized on this date every year, especially if they had died in that calendar year.
Today Orthodox, Roman Catholic, and Anglican branches of liturgical Christianity still keep this day to honor those canonized saints of the church, reserving the non-canonized dead to be remembered tomorrow on All Souls Day (more on that tomorrow). Lutherans, with our penchant for comingling the idea of “sinner and saint,” usually don’t make such a distinction, and just honor all those who have died in the faith, regardless of status, on this day.
Whatever your proclivity, today is a powerful day when honored with intention, even for those of you who don’t find yourself in any faith tradition. Honoring our ancestors, learning from their stories, embracing their goodness and foibles, is an important part of the human experience in my estimation. We all are, after all, an unwilling product of those who came before us, but we continually have a choice in deciding what we’re going to carry with us from those past ancestors, and what we’re not going to let continue into the next generation.
All Saints Day is a reminder for me, and should be for the whole church, that those who came before still speak into our present, and that the Divine who seems in love with continual creation also seems in love with some measure of continual, constant, though hidden and obscure (like through a mirror darkly?) preservation.
-historical bits from Pfatteicher’s New Book of Festivals & Commemorations
Churches around the world are honoring Reformation Sunday this Sabbath, a rare treat in that the Sunday and the actual Festival Day almost align.
It’s important to note that each liturgical denomination has a day that honors a formative experience in the life of their particular vein of Christianity. The Eastern Orthodox church celebrates “The Triumph of Orthodoxy” to usher in Lent. The Roman Catholic Church has the Feast of the Chair of St. Peter (February 22nd), emphasizing the founding of the church on Peter’s shoulders. The Anglican Church honors the day the Book of Common Prayer was published, uniting the communion into one.
For Lutherans, it is Reformation Day, when we sing “A Mighty Fortress” and “Lord Keep Us Steadfast in Your Word” and dress in red, the color of both the martyrs and the fire of the Holy Spirit.
At its worst the Reformation is celebrated as a triumph. At its best it is a feast day that is simply a continuation of the perpetual change and shift that must happen in a church that is wedded to a God who is known and revealed inside of time.
Historically it does mark a time in history when a break, for better and for worse, happened in the church. This break deserves an autopsy every year in an effort to remember, reaffirm, and repair as much as a possible the schisms that arose from it.
The date of the Reformation, the 31st of October, comes from the lore that Luther nailed his 95 Theses on the Castle Church door in Wittenberg, intending for it to be widely read by everyone who attended the All Saints Sunday mass the following day. We’re not sure this is historically accurate, but because it is so much a part of the narrative around the events of autumn in 1517, we give a nod to its church-changing truth, if not its actual veracity.
A better date to honor the Reformation might actually be June 25th, the date that the Augsburg Confession was presented. Like the Anglican Church with the Book of Common Prayer, the Confession is the binding document of all the reformation churches.
Regardless, tradition compels us to keep the date, to wear red, to remember, and to continue to reform.
-historical bits from Pfatteicher’s New Book of Festivals & Commemorations
On October 26th the Church packs a bunch of saint commemorations into one. The musicians Gerhardt, Nicolai, and Heerman are technically remembered on this day, but seeing as there is not an official saint on the Lutheran calendar for October 25th, I proposed we move them to that day (see yesterday’s post).
That movement let’s them have their own moment in the musical sun, and allows a new dawn to shine on this obscure but really cool saint also commemorated today: Saint Alfred the Great, Benevolent Monarch and Defender of the Poor.
Just recently added to the Lutheran calendar in 1979, Saint Alfred the Great has long been lauded in Celtic and British circles not only for his wise rule, but also for his kind demeanor.
Born the youngest of five sons to Kin Aethelwulf in 849 CE, King Alfred assumed the throne of the West Saxons after his father and all four of his brothers died, one after another, in short order. In these days the Danish tribes were wreaking havoc on Wessex, and Saint Alfred was able to protect his people and drive the warring tribes off the island.
But here’s the thing: the remnants of Danes who remained in Briton? Saint Alfred was kind to them, offering them refuge and a place in the community. He reached deep into his faith and opened schools for both lay people and clergy, reviving education in the land that became famous throughout northern Europe. He had important theological texts translated into English for his people, and he protected the poor from unfair labor and usury practices.
Saint Alfred was also a lover of the arts, and encouraged creativity and artistry, helping it to flourish in these otherwise kind of shadowy times.
Because Saint Alfred encouraged learning, was kind to his enemies, protected the poor, and inspired creativity in his people, it is he alone out of all the English soveriegns who is called “the Great.”
He died on this day in 899 CE and his grave can still be found in Winchester.
Saint Alfred the Great is a reminder for me, and should be for the whole church, that it is not dogma or rigidity, but rather creativity, education, and kindness are what make a person (or institution?) “great.”
Let those with ears to hear, hear.
-historical bits from Pfatteicher’s New Book of Festivals & Commemorations
Today the church honors three 17th Century musicians for the ages: Philipp Nicolai, Johan Heermann, and Paul Gerhardt.
This year I’m going to focus just a bit on Paul Gerhardt because he is, in my estimation, not only the best Lutheran hymnwriter to date, but a superb theologian.
St. Gerhardt was born in 1607 near Wittenberg, and he studied theology there in the mid 17th Century even while the Thirty Year’s War was a plague upon the land. He got work out of University as a tutor, and ended up marrying one of the daughters of the family he taught (kind of a no-no today, but back then was not unheard of).
Being of great skill both in writing and composing, St. Paul’s hymns appeared in a music publication of the day compiled by the cantor at St. Nicholas’ Church in Berlin, one Johann Cruger.
At the ripe old age of forty-five, Gerhardt finally formally used that theology degree, was ordained, and entered the pulpit as the Senior Pastor at Middenwalde, near Berlin. From there he moved on to St. Nicholas in Berlin as an associate pastor, but quickly became the congregational favorite because his sermons were wise, witty, and relatively short.
Pastors: take note.
Unfortunately Reformation strife was continuing throughout Germany, and in-fighting and back-biting were common as the theologians tried to figure out what was, and wasn’t, orthodox from the Lutheran lens. To his credit, Paul refused to sign a pledge not to discuss controversial things from the pulpit.
The Gospel is often controversial. Congregation members: take note!
Because he refused to promise not to say tough things from the pulpit or bring up doctrinal issues, he was removed from St. Nicholas and went without a parish for some years.
Side note: lots of pastors find themselves in a similar situation today, no?
To add tragedy to tragedy, during this tough period his wife and a son died (three previous children had already died). He only had one son left.
In May of 1669 he was appointed as archdeacon of Lubben, a really harsh parish who didn’t really care for how wonderful he was, and he lived there with his only remaining son for a few years until he died in 1676.
Saint Paul Gerhardt wrote 113 hymns in his day, translating difficult doctrines for the modern ear with modern (for his day) melody.
Finally, I want to reinforce what I said in that first thought: that all three were not just hymnwriters, they were theologians. The theology we sing affects the theology we trust, Beloved. The tune is the hook, but the words are the bait, the thing we swallow, the thing we start to subconsciously believe.
In other words: be careful what you sing because it will become what you say you believe.
Out of the three of these hymnwriters, Paul Gerhardt is the one you’ll know the best if you grew up in a Lutheran church. While we sing the works of all three of these giants of the hymnic faith, Gerhardt is no doubt the greatest Lutheran hymnwriter.
He also, no doubt, had the most unusual facial hair.
Want to look up some of their tunes?
In your Evangelical Lutheran Worship you’ll find Nicolai on hymn 308 (“O Morning Star, How Fair and Bright!” sung at Epiphany), 436 (“Wake, Awake, for Night is Flying” sung at Advent), and 786 (“O Holy Spirit, Enter In” Nicolai only wrote the tune for this one, and I’ve rarely sung it).
Heeraman’s work can be found on 349 (“Ah, Holy Jesus” sung every Lent), 675 (“O Christ, Our Light, O Radiance True” sung in Ordinary Time), and 806 (“O God, My Faithful God” sung in times of crisis).
And the seminal Gerhardt tunes can be enjoyed on 241 (“O Lord, How Shall I Meet You” sung at Advent), 273 (“All My Heart Again Rejoices” sung at Christmas), 340 (“A Lamb Goes Uncomplaining Forth” sung during Lent), 351 and 352 (“O Sacred Head, Now Wounded” sung during Holy Week…a favorite of mine!), 378 (“Awake, My Heart, with Gladness” an underappreciated Easter hymn), 568 (“Now Rest Beneath Night’s Shadows” a very sweet evening hymn), 761 (“Evening and Morning” a lovely song on trust), and 788 (“If God My Lord Be for Me”…sung in times of trial).
-historical bits from Pfatteicher’s New Book of Festivals & Commemorations
Today I would lobby hard for the church to remember and honor a modern saint who was able to stand tall while still being seated: Rosa Parks, Activist and Inspiration.
Rosa Parks was born in 1913 in Tuskegee, Alabama to a teacher and a carpenter, and at a young age learned how to work well with her hands, making quilts and dresses on her own. She attended some secondary school, but primarily worked to help care for ill family members. One of her earliest memories was having to walk to school, because the school bus was reserved for white children, and how when the KKK marched down her street in front of her house, her grandfather took up post at the front door with a shotgun.
These memories left a mark.
Rosa married Raymond, a barber and NAACP member in 1932. At her husband’s urging, she finished her High School studies, and in 1943 was elected secretary of their local NAACP chapter, having become an active member herself. Even within the NAACP chapter in Alabama she was a trailblazer, being the only woman in active leadership. In her work there she aided investigations on rape, unlawful incarceration, and discrimination. She eventually was trained at the famous Highlander Folk School on Monteagle, Tennessee, and was able to successfully register to vote on her third attempt.
Her third attempt.
Louder for folx in the back because we continue to see voter intimidation and racially-tinged roadblocks put in place still today…the issue has morphed, it hasn’t disappeared.
To get around Montgomery, Parks walked or took the bus. Now, in 1900 Alabama had passed a law that bus segregation was up to the discretion of the driver. They could assign certain rows as “colored” rows, and increase or decrease the rows depending on their whims.
They could even just remove the sign altogether, making the whole bus for white people only.
Rosa boarded a bus one day, paid the same as the rest of the passengers, but was told by the driver, a James F. Blake, that she had to exit and enter from the rear door. When she exited to enter from the rear door, Blake put the bus in gear and took off before she could board, robbing her of her fare and leaving her in a downpour.
He could take her fare, but she vowed that he would never again rob her of her dignity.
On December 1st in 1955 after working a full day, Rosa Parks got on a bus at 6pm and sat in the first row reserved for people of color. It was the 11th row in a long bus, the first ten rows being reserved for white passengers. As the bus went on its route, the first ten rows began to fill. The driver that day was familiar to Rosa…it was James F. Blake, and at the third stop he moved the segregation sign three rows back, telling a number of passengers that they had to give up their seats for white patrons.
Three of her fellow passengers moved, but Rosa just scooted toward the window, freeing up space but refusing to relocate toward the back of the bus. Blake noticed Rosa refused to stand and relocate and said that, if she did not, he would call the authorities to have her arrested.
“You may do that,” Rosa said plainly.
Now, some try to soften this story by saying that Rosa was “tired,” and didn’t want to give up her seat due to fatigue. But in her own account she refutes that softening noting that she wasn’t physically tired, but rather that she was tired of being treated as a second class citizen, and tired of having her humanity stripped away.
“I was tired of giving in,” she said.
Parks was arrested, and the incident effectively kicked off the Montgomery bus boycott. In rain or shine, the black community banded together and refused to give a nickel to the unjust system for 381 days as the official case slowly worked through a cumbersome courts system. It was eventually deemed unconstitutional to segregate the buses in this way.
Parks became an icon in the Civil Rights movement working to elect black leaders (John Conyers), fought for women’s rights (serving on the board of Planned Parenthood), and lobbying for those unjustly incarcerated. All the while she received death threats and continual persecution, even having to leave Montgomery directly after her arrest because she could not find work due to her national standing.
Yet, she persisted.
In 1987 she co-founded the Rosa and Raymond Parks Institute for Self Development (note the name order!) which helps to teach young people about the importance of Black history and the Civil Rights movement (which continues on).
She died on this day in 2005 at the age of 92.
Rosa Parks is a reminder for me, and should be for everyone, that the fact that something is legal does not make it just, and sometimes you have to stand tall in a situation even if it means keeping your seat.
-historical bits from public sources
-icon “Rosa Parks Iron Man” written by Bart Cooper, an ode to her fortitude
Reluctant Xtian 