Today the church honors an important leader in the church that most church-goers have never even heard of, St. Leo the Great, Bishop of Rome and Mediator of the Church.
Long before the church was arguing about the nature of humans and their race and sexuality, the church set about arguing about the nature of Jesus. In the 5th Century, when Pope Leo was consecrated as the Bishop of Rome, the Catholic faith was being torn asunder by schisms over who Jesus was and how Jesus was.
Yes, you read that correctly: how Jesus was.
How was Jesus both Divine and human?
Pope Leo refocused the question on faith rather than nitty-gritty explanation. He affirmed the idea that Christ had two natures and, as he was enlarging the influence of the Papacy around the known world, issued his famous (at least to churchy-people) Tome to Flavian, the Patriarch of Constantinople that had the clearest articulation of Christ as human and yet Divine.
You still talk about this idea, by the way, every time you say the Nicene Creed.
At the time all sorts of schisms were going on inside the church, there were tons of wars being fought in real-time, too. St. Leo kept Rome safe from Attila the Hun in 452, and a legion of Vandals, whom he persuaded not to destroy Rome, in 455. He put restrictions on who (under what training) could enter the priesthood, and affirmed the goodness of “all matter,” rejecting the idea that the created world is evil and we need only wait for some heaven, lightyears away.
He was a devoted liturgist, and further developed the words of the Mass, shaping the words we say yet today.
St. Leo was wise, if not particularly brilliant. He understood how to use power effectively and for twenty-two years led with theological ability and personal resolve.
St. Leo is a reminder for me that wisdom and brilliance don’t always hold hands, and you can certainly be one without the other.
But of all the things that Pope Leo the Great is remembered for, the thing that struck me is how he looked at creation and without hesitation affirmed what Genesis had already said: “this is good.”
Why does it matter?
Because, Beloved, it articulates clearly that everything that is created, matters, and therefore we can’t just do what we want with it…
-historical bits from Pfatteicher’s New Book of Festivals & Commemorations
Today the church remembers an Irish saint said to have been baptized by Saint Patrick himself: Saint Benen the Gentle, Psalm-Singer and Friend of the Emerald Isle.
St. Benen was the son of clan chief, born in the early 5th Century. When Saint Patrick visited his clan with Celtic Christian teachings, young Benen was baptized and tutored by Patrick in language and theology.
As St. Benen grew he went on trips with Patrick and, while on the road with him, became known for his musical acumen and compositions, making him part of the Irish bardic tradition with Celtic-Christian flavor.
In adulthood St. Benen took a leadership position within the growing Celtic-Christian church, becoming the first rector at the Cathedral School of Armagh.
As it is with all Irish saints, St. Benen has some fun tales surrounding his life. One such tale was that, when tested by a clan chief arguing over religion, St. Benen was put in a flaming house and, like something out of the Hebrew scriptures, was able to sit in that “blazing furnace” with no problem (and he was probably singing).
He died in the year 467, having resigned his rectorship so that a younger generation could take the mantle.
St. Benen is a reminder to me, especially in these lingering pandemic days, of how central song, music, and the arts are to human spirituality. The church is one of the local conservatories of these things. The only place you sing in public is the church and the local bar (unless you’re in a choir).
If public singing is lost, we will be less whole.
-stained glass icon written for Kilbennan St. Benin’s Church Window
(This is a sermon I gave at Lutheran Church of the Redeemer in Atlanta, Georgia on Reformation Sunday, 2022)
John 8:31-36
31Jesus said to the Jews who had believed in him, “If you continue in my word, you are truly my disciples; 32and you will know the truth, and the truth will make you free.” 33They answered him, “We are descendants of Abraham and have never been slaves to anyone. What do you mean by saying, ‘You will be made free’?” 34Jesus answered them, “Very truly, I tell you, everyone who commits sin is a slave to sin. 35The slave does not have a permanent place in the household; the son has a place there forever. 36So if the Son makes you free, you will be free indeed.”
Ordinary Saints and Re-Forming Truths
Greetings, Beloved!
My name is Pastor Tim Brown, and I serve the ELCA as the Director of Congregational Stewardship, though I live just up the road from you all in Raleigh, North Carolina with my wife and two crazy boys. It’s my honor to bring you blessings and greetings from Presiding Bishop Elizabeth Eaton, and all the churchwide staff. In my work in congregations, Lutheran Disaster Relief, Lutheran World Hunger, and the many missions that you all support here with your good work I have seen lives changed.
You’d helped make that happen. You make that happen. Thank you.
Before I was the Director of Congregational Stewardship, though, I was a parish pastor both in Raleigh and before that in Chicago, where I had a couple opportunities to meet your Mark, back when we were young and full of dreams. And Pr. Jenny and I served together for a while on the ELCA coaching board.
That’s all to say, though it’s my first time in worship here at Redeemer, I know parts of you.
And I wonder if some of you might know a bit about me, not through my work at churchwide, but rather through some of my writing. In the past few years, I’ve come upon this habit of researching and writing a bit about the saints of the church, both formal and informal, and have put my findings in a few places on the interwebs, and I know Mark sometimes shares those posts on the Book of Face, which is always kind of fun for a writer.
And I love that I’m here both on Reformation Sunday and on your Consecration Sunday because it kind of brings two of my passions together, that of stewardship and the saints, because Reformation is nothing if not a moment in time when some rag tag saints of the church tried to steward their life and words and treasures and gifts a bit differently in response to the Gospel of Jesus Christ.
Afterall, what is saint other than someone who tried to steward their life in a memorable way?
You know, every year on Reformation Sunday we get this text from Saint John, the most spiritual of the Gospel writers which is why when he is depicted, he’s often shown as having an eagle hovering over him, indicating “high spiritual flight.” His Jesus is philosophical, cerebral, and so it’s no wonder that Jesus offers this thought-provoking little tidbit for our Reformation Sunday talking about the Christ making us free.
What does it mean to be free in Christ? What kind of knowledge can make you free, what kind of truth can make you free?
Saint Janis of the Joplins reminds us that, “Freedom’s just another word for, nothing left to lose…”
She might be right about that, Beloved.
But what’s the truth behind that freedom?
Our own Blessed Martin Luther might suggest that freedom comes from trusting in the word alone, by grace alone, through faith alone. His Reformation movement was founded upon this idea. But what word, what faith? And grace?
Beloved, let me tell you a deep truth I’ve learned from my life: the only way I understand grace is by having experienced it, otherwise it just confuses me to have such overwhelming love envelope all my blessings and my faults…
And here’s the thing, something that we often forget: things after the Reformation were not suddenly better and peaceful. The Peasant’s Revolt, the Thirty Years War, the Reformers themselves fought amongst each other and argued and bickered…they may have been free from Papal authority, but they certainly didn’t always behave in a way that embodied the grace to which they clung.
You know, that’s one of the things I like the most about studying the saints and their beautiful attempts to steward their lives: the deeper you dive the more you find out that they are nowhere near perfect.
Saint Francis of Assisi actually tried to have himself martyred in the Crusades, having a bit of a death wish because he thought it would bring him glory.
Saint Mother Teresa had faith-crippling doubt where she wondered if God was real at all even as she served God in the poorest of the poor places.
And our own Blessed Martin Luther got so crabby and crotchety in his old age that he turned to prejudice rather than performative grace in some of his writings, writings that the Lutheran Church has disavowed forcefully.
Saints are not perfect. They live their faith in their best moments, and when they fail, they rely on the same grace everyone does…this is no more evident in Blessed Luther’s dying words where he uttered, “We are beggars; this is true.”
May none of us be remembered for our worst deeds, Beloved…
But back to that original question I posed, that one at the very beginning where I wondered where these saints gained the gumption to live into the freedom of Christ; what is this great truth they leaned upon? A truth worthy of lifting up on a Reformation Sunday?
In thinking about this I want to mention another saint, a lesser-known saint, but one I know deeply and dearly, Saint Ladye of the Brown’s, or as I called her, “Grandma.”
My grandmother, whose actual name was Ladye…a strong southern name, having been born and raised in Florida, was the first person who truly taught me stewardship.
By the way, a bit about this saint, and lest you think I have some rosy view of her: she was not perfect. She was delightful and fun at parties and she shortened her life in many deliciously ill-advised ways, having a love for Manhattans and a 2-pack a day habit since she was 16 that she never abandoned until a year before her death when she cut it back to 1 pack a day as a kind of experiment in longevity.
She lived to 83, and relished her moments, especially serving as the church secretary where she never met a bit of gossip she didn’t relish.
She was not perfect…
When I came home from college with a tattoo I said, “Grandma, you want to see my tattoo?!” and with a cigarette in one hand and a Manhattan in the other she took a drag and said, “I don’t know why anyone would do that to their body…”
But when she died.
When she died and we were cleaning out the house that she and my grandfather had bought in 1948 for $10,000 in Miami Springs, Florida with the help of a GI Loan, I found her writing desk in her room, a desk that now sits in my parent’s spare bedroom.
And on that desk, I found her checkbook, and thumbing through those pages I found that she had pre-written, for months, checks to the many people and charities that she loved dearly: her church, Lutheran World Hunger, Smile Train, and yes, her children and grandchildren…just a little to us.
But she had pre-written these things because, Beloved, where her treasure was…well, it was also where her heart was.
And I remember a truth about her, something she told me and my brothers every time she saw us: “I love you for who you are.” And she said this to me without fail, even in those times when I didn’t really love myself, those times in middle school where I would find pictures of myself and literally burn them in the bathroom because I didn’t like what I looked like, and I was sure I liked who I was.
And she said the same to my brothers, and most everyone she met and knew. She was not perfect, but she knew that she was perfectly loved, and loved others with that perfection. That gave her the gumption to be free, to live freely in that love and grace.
And that’s no small thing, Beloved. How many of us walk around with guarded hearts? Guarded heads? Guarded feelings? Guarded gifts?
The Gospel of the God known in Jesus Christ makes us free, friends. And not free because of military might, and not free because of supreme power, but free because, well, as the now sainted bald and beautiful…and there is no other way than bald and beautiful…the Reverend William Sloane Coffin, pastor of Riverside Church in New York City said, free because in Christ we live in the shadow of “powerless love rather than loveless power.”
And at the heart of it, that is what I think I take most when thinking about the Reformation, a movement which continues today as Blessed Martin Luther found a perfect love in the scriptures that took his breath away to the extent that he thought there was nothing else more wonderful in the world.
And it is this truth, Beloved, this truth that I think makes us free. As one of my Theology professors at Valparaiso University put it, and this is I think the freeing truth:
“God loves you, for Christ’s sake, and will not let you go.”
In fact, I think God would rather die, very literally as we see in Jesus, than have you believe otherwise.
Which is why we sing, “I love to tell the story of unseen things above, of Jesus and his glory, of Jesus and his love, I love to tell the story because I know it’s true, it satisfies my longing as nothing else will do…”
And it is that love, that grace that can only be known by being felt, Beloved, that freeing truth that keeps forming me, and re-forming me, and re-forming me.
That is a word. That is a grace. That is a re-forming faith worth clinging to, by God, on the Reformation and every single reforming day afterward.
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 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 is a special day in the church that deserves a nod: The Feast of St. Martin de Porres, Defender of the Poor and Renewer of Society.
St. Martin was born in the late 16th Century in Lima, Peru. His mother was an herbal healer, and his father was a Spanish knight (Don Juan de Porres…I kid you not). Since Don Juan had not married Martin’s mother, Ana, he refused to acknowledge that Martin was his son.
St. Martin, raised by his mother, became well versed in both herbal healing and the teachings of the spreading Catholic faith in Peru. He married the two together in his head, heart, and practice, and became a physician-monk, continuing to heal people using herbal remedies and folk-magic while living in the Dominican friary (he entered the order at 15).
He was known for caring for the poor and the sick who came seeking him at the friary gates, especially those who were refused medical help because they were black, too poor to pay, or seriously ill. He became known as a friend of those everyone else forgot and laughed at.
He also became known for his delicate care for animals, both domesticated and wild. There are many wild tales of how he befriended rats and rodents, much to the dismay of those around him.
Finally, St. Martin was a congenial and wise mediator, helping to solve marriage problems, finding ways to help the poor pay dowries, and coming to the defense of those without anyone to defend them.
Many say he had magical powers, but in reading about him, I’d suggest that his real magic was being the embodied Divine for people and animals the world tried to throw away.
He once wrote, “Compassion, my dear Brothers, is preferable to cleanliness. Reflect that with a little soap I can easily clean my bed covers, but even with a torrent of tears I would never wash from my soul the stain that my harshness toward the unfortunate would create.”
He was canonized in 1962 as the patron saint of racial justice and harmony, and good grief if that doesn’t speak loudly on this day, this year.
St. Martin is a reminder to me, and should be for the church, that healing comes in many forms and through many people, and that the ailments of the physical body and the body politic both need attending to by people of faith.
-historical notes from Pfatteicher’s New Book of Festivals & Commemorations
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
Today the church honors two unsung, and largely unknown, first Apostles: St. Simon and St. Jude, Companions of Jesus.
St. Simon the Zealot (sometimes called “Simon the Less” to distinguish him from Simon-Peter) and St. Jude (sometimes called “Jude the Obscure” because he is largely known for not being Judas Iscariot) were numbered in those first twelve apostles, saw Jesus post-resurrection, ate with him, and were sent out to preach the Gospel.
But that’s all we really know about them.
Luke is the writer who calls Simon a “Zealot,” which could mean that he was a member of the Zealot party in ancient Palestine, a radically “anti-Roman rule” faction. It’s worth highlighting that, if Simon was a Zealot, then it meant he walked with Matthew the Tax Collector in shared mission…an anti-Roman activist and pro-Roman bureaucrat working together in Jesus’ inner-circle.
Let that sink in…Jesus’ inner circle had people with diametrically opposing viewpoints…
St. Jude (who some think wrote the epistle of Jude) is sometimes called Thaddaeus or Lebbaeus in Matthew, perhaps to distinguish him from Judas Iscariot.
There is a little-known apocryphal book called “The Passion of Simon and Jude” that says that St. Jude preached for a decade in Mesopotamia and that he and Simon labored in Persia together where they were martyred in tandem (hence why they are commemorated together today).
St. Simon is rumored to have been sawn in half…which is why he’s often depicted with a saw. St. Jude is often depicted with an ax because…well…you get the picture.
There is also a little fun legend about St. Jude healing the King of Edessa, and other stories about them fighting against Zoroastrianism in the ancient world.
Today, St. Jude is probably best known as being the namesake of hospitals and organizations that provide care to the most critical causes. In fact, in Roman Catholicism St. Jude is the patron saint of “hopeless causes.”
Why, you might ask?
Well, because St. Jude is so obscure and had no cultic following, Roman Catholic theologians thought that perhaps he might welcome and be attentive to the most desperate prayers.
St. Simon the Zealot is a reminder for me that the church has always had radicals within its walls, and was political from its very inception.
St. Jude is a reminder for me that sometimes the people who seem forgettable and least important become the ones we lean on the most in our most desperate hours.
-Pfatteicher’s New Book of Festivals & Commemorations helped with the historical pieces of the saints
Reluctant Xtian 