Today, March 2nd, the church remembers brothers John and Charles Wesley, renewers of the church.
John was the 15th child of Susanna and Samuel Wesley, and Charles was the 18th, born in England. Both were ordained as Anglican priests in the early 18th Century, in the midst of a serious decline in the Church of England, both in influence and conversion.
John and Charles grew dissatisfied with the religious life they were instructed in, and Charles started the “Holy Society” at Oxford comprised of those intent on finding a deeper and more meaningful way of spiritual living. They focused on frequent communion, prayer, spiritual practices like fasting, and service to the poor and disenfranchised.
This methodological way of doing things led others to disparagingly call them “methodists.”
The name stuck.
Charles and John were sent to evangelize in Georgia in the 1730’s, primarily to the colonists and the Indigenous Peoples. Their insistence on denouncing both slavery and gin, however, didn’t sit well with the colonists.
Both joined the Moravian church, having experienced an inner conversion. This sparked the 18th Century Evangelical revival, and the brothers eventually began their own order of Christianity, a “Methodist” way of being in the world.
Charles became an accomplished hymn writer; John an antagonistic writer and theologian, not unlike Martin Luther before him, pushing the church onward. Both were often met with hostility and derision for their thinking and work, which bucked the status quo of the church of the day.
They are a reminder to the church that what at first might seem unorthodox and detrimental may, at length, be just what the church needs for revitalization, renewal and, yes, reform.
-historical notes gleaned from Pfatteicher’s New Book of Festivals & Commemorations
On March 1st the Church remembers a saint who is notable for nothing spectacular…and in that, he is worth remember: Saint George Herbert, Parish Priest and Poet.
George Herbert was born at the end of the 16th Century in Montgomery Castle. Raised by his mother (who was friends with the influential John Donne), he was handsome, witty and a wonderful scholar.
Befitting his skills, he entered Parliament but found political life to be, well, unsatisfying. Having befriended Nicholas Ferrar and the Little Gidding community, he took up studying Divinity and became a deacon of the church in short order.
In April of 1630 St. Herbert was instituted as the rector of the (very British-ly named) St. Peter’s Fugglestone, and also St. Andrew, Bemerton. These yoked parishes were small and full of salt-of-the-earth folks who not only loved “holy Mr. Herbert,” but received his tender care and attention, too.
Though his congregations were largely illiterate, he took to teaching them with fervor. The Mass, the Catechism, hymns, and spiritual songs, St. Herbert relished these people and they, him, often putting down their work tools at morning and evening when the bells tolled, knowing that St. Herbert would be in prayer (and they joined him from the blacksmith shop, the field, and the wash basin).
Unfortunately St. George was plagued with ill health his whole life, and on March 1st in 1633 he died of consumption and was buried under the altar at St. Andrew parish.
His poetry was published shortly after his death by his friend, Ferrar, under the instructions to publish them if they were any good, but burn them if they were lacking.
They were published standard works of 17th Century British works of art.
St. George Herbert is a reminder for me, and should be for the whole church, that sometimes just doing your work with care and attention is laudable enough. I still contend that the best sermons on a Sunday morning are heard by less than fifty people.
-historical bits from Pfatteicher’s New Book of Festivals & Commemorations
Today the church remembers a saint who was a victor (or victim?) of chance: Saint Matthias, Apostle and Patron Saint of One-Hit Wonders.
We know absolutely nothing about St. Matthias except for the brief account in Luke’s Acts of the Apostles where he is chosen by throwing dice as a replacement for Judas in the pantheon of Apostles. The early church felt it was necessary to restore the ranks to twelve, mirroring the tribes of ancient Israel. One wonders why they didn’t just incorporate Mary Magdalene into that position, as she was already performing the duties and fulfilled Peter’s qualifications for the role as a “witness to the resurrection,” but whatever. Patriarchy wins again, I guess.
When considering who should replace Judas, two disciples were put forth that supposedly fit the bill: Joseph Barsabbas and Matthias, both who were supposedly part of the seventy sent out by Jesus when he was alive. The dice landed on Matthias.
And that, Beloved, is all we know about him.
There is apocryphal lore regarding Matthias, though there is some confusion as to whether the authors of these stories meant to reference the Apostle Matthew instead. St. Clement quotes a second-century Gospel of Matthias, though we have no text of this Gospel book. Other works from the 6th Century and later expand upon the lore, often pairing Matthias (or is it Matthew?) with the Apostle Andrew in spreading the Gospel in hostile lands.
The one thing all the tales do agree on is that he was a martyr for the faith in the end. His crest exemplifies this thought, often depicting a double-headed axe resting on the scriptures.
It’s unknown why today was chosen as his feast day back in the eleventh century. Rome has him commemorated on May 14th to avoid the feast falling in the season of Lent, but Lutherans have no qualms lifting up a martyr in the penitential season. After all, though he witnessed the resurrection, he did so with his life on the line, which seems to fit both Lent and Easter sensibilities.
St. Matthias is a reminder for me, and should be for the whole church, that sometimes things just happen and they don’t need a Divine reason behind it to be significant. I’m not one to say the Holy Spirit plays dice, and in all honesty I’d rather have had Mary rightfully acknowledged as the true Apostle she was, but I’m happy to give Matthias a nod today because, whether he wanted it or not, the lot fell to him.
-historical bits from Pfatteicher’s New Book of Festivals & Commemorations
Today the church remembers one of the most direct links to the first Apostles (if the lore is true), constituting a bridge between those first followers and the emerging church to come: St. Polycarp, Disciple of St. John, Bishop of Smyrna, and Martyr.
Born just as the Gospels were being penned by Matthew and Luke (70 AD), St. Polycarp was appointed by St. John the Apostle as Bishop of Smyrna (preceding my favorite Saint, Nicholas, in that role). Polycarp kept good company with both Ignatius of Antioch and Irenaeus, making him the third in that Trinity of first-generation theologians.
St. Polycarp supported the early church through words of love, encouragement, and discipline (as all good parents do), and his Epistle to the Philippians remains to this day as a pastoral letter against the growing Marcionite heresy that saw the Hebrew scriptures as irrelevant. Though this letter didn’t make it into the canon of scripture (though it was close!), it was still read and disseminated throughout the early church during worship.
Polycarp was largely the leading figure in Asia Minor where the early church is concerned. In his old age he went to Rome to argue over the dating of the resurrection (long story there!) and, upon returning to Smyrna, was captured and killed by authorities at the age of eighty-six. The story goes that he was captured, brought before the proconsul and, when he refused to give oblations to the Emperor (what is it with tough guys in power always needing their egos stroked?), he was burned alive on this date in the year 156 AD.
He is unique in that his martyrdom was captured by eyewitnesses and published to embolden the church, and the Martyrdom of Polycarp can still be found at your local library (or wherever books are sold).
St. Polycarp is a reminder to me, and should be for the whole church, that when people in power invite you to stroke their egos, the faithful response is, “No thank you.”
Let those with ears to hear, hear.
-historical bits from Pfatteicher’s New Book of Festivals & Commemorations
Today the church remembers a relatively obscure 13th Century saint, St. Margaret of Cortona, Mother and Friend of Those Who Self-Harm.
St. Margaret lived an unconventional life in many ways, at least for one who is considered a saint of the church…which makes her so relatable. Her father was a Tuscan farmer and her mother died while she was quite young. In the hustle and bustle of all her siblings, Margaret was neglected and largely forgotten, which caused her to run off early in life with a local man and have his child out of wedlock.
Though her child was this man’s, she was not his wife, and remained his mistress for nine years. One day the man’s dog came bounding toward her without her lover, and following the canine, she found him murdered under a nearby tree with no explanation.
With her young son, St. Margaret attempted to be reconciled to her father, but he rejected her and his grandson. Having no where else to go, she turned to the Friars Minor of Cortona to take sanctuary.
She was so tormented by her life which she assumed was a failure, that she tried to harm herself a number of times. Our past can be difficult to carry, especially when we feel like we are rejected by those we most love. The systems we find ourselves in can trap us in cycles of pain; this is most certainly true.
The kind Friars she found herself with, though, would not let her hurt herself. Gently and honestly they walked with her, and because she knew intimately the pain of rejection, she made a wonderful nurse in their sick ward, and spent her days tending those others refused to touch.
She eventually joined the Third Order of St. Francis, and her son became a Franciscan as well. She deepened her spiritual practices, and was granted permission by the church to dedicate herself to the care of the outcast, the poor, and the sick as her life’s work. She gathered her small group of followers and eventually became known as “The Poor Ones,” standing in solidarity with those who felt rejected and hurt in life.
She died on this day in 1297.
St. Margaret of Cortona is a reminder for me, and should be for the whole church, that sometimes people harm themselves not because they are selfish, but because they feel unseen, forgotten, and guilt-laden by a world that does a poor job at teaching us to transform pain rather than transmit it.
-historical bits gleaned from public source material
Today the church rightly remembers an icon of the rights of humanity: Saint Frederick Douglass, Abolitionist, Author, and Activist.
Saint Frederick was born into slavery in Maryland, a state many people forget was actually part of the historic South. His mother died when he was a young boy, and he was raised by his grandparents. It was rumored that his birth father was the plantation owner, though Saint Frederick himself never truly knew. He also barely knew his mother, as the barbaric practice of separating children from parents was common practice on plantations across the states where slavery was legal.
He was extremely bright and savvy, he learned to read and write by bartering food for lessons from neighborhood children. He went on, then, to teach other slaves to read using the Bible and the Sunday School hour as the classroom.
He escaped from slavery by pretending to be a sailor, aided by a uniform given him by his love, Anna Murray, and successfully hopped a train that aided him in getting to the free commonwealth of Pennsylvania. From there he went to New York City, sending for Anna Murray to meet him there, eventually marrying her in 1838. The couple eventually settled in Massachusetts and Douglass became a licensed preacher.
A fantastic orator and writer, Saint Frederick would spend his days making connections with other stakeholders in the area, and writing for the “Liberator” magazine. He attended protests and organized boycotts of local transportation (he refused to sit in segregated areas), lobbying for the equal treatment of African-Descent citizens as well as women.
As his fame grew, especially after the publication of his autobiography, he traveled to the British Isles as both a touring opportunity as well as a safe-guard against his former owners hearing about him and trying to take him back. For two years he toured the isles, even meeting with Thomas Clarkson, the famous British abolitionist who had persuaded Parliament to outlaw slavery.
This meeting gave him infinite hope that the same could be true of America, an America that he lamented “didn’t recognize him as even a man.”
Saint Frederick returned to the states and began publishing his first magazine, “North Star,” writing against slavery and butting heads with politicians and leaders who suggested anything other than total freedom for slaves, and he lobbied hard for school desegregation.
By the time the Civil War was underway, the famous St. Frederick met with President Lincoln to discuss a future free from slavery. He argued that willing men of all races should be allowed to fight for the Union, and post-war was disappointed that President Lincoln didn’t have the decency to publicly advocated for suffrage for free Black citizens who had so faithfully defended the Union.
During Reconstruction Douglass worked hard through political and social avenues to ensure the newly-granted rights of Black citizens were respected. He supported the election of President Grant, and became the first Black citizen to be nominated on the Vice Presidential ticket of the Equal Rights Party (though he didn’t even know he had been nominated).
That year his house burned down. Arson is suspected. But he continued on his speaking circuit, writing and lobbying for equal rights.
President Hayes appointed Douglass as the Marshal of the District of Columbia, the first person of color so named.
In 1881 he published his seminal work, The Life and Times of Frederick Douglass, and in 1888 received a vote for the Presidential nomination at the Republican National Convention.
On February 20th, 1895 Saint Frederick, having attended a meeting of the National Council of Women, returned home and suffered a massive heart-attack. He was 77 years old. Thousands attended his funeral out of respect to his legacy of fighting for equality.
Saint Frederick is an inspiration and an icon. He worked with anyone as long as they were trying to “do good,” and this fact got him much criticism from radicals who thought no one should ever work with someone of a differing ideology, ever. But St. Frederick was fond of saying, “I would unite with anybody to do right, and with nobody to do wrong.”
Saint Frederick is a reminder for me, and should be for the whole church, of many things, but primarily it is simply this: laws that are unjust are worth disobeying.
Let those with ears to hear, hear.
-history gleaned from Claiborne and Wilson-Hartgrove’s Common Prayer: A Liturgy for Ordinary Radicals as well as public source material
Today the church remembers the reformer and cranky theologian, Martin Luther. He’d wince at being called a saint, but welcomed the title of “baptized.”
Luther was as imperfect as he was ingenious. As the most prolific and public author of his day, his opinions on matters mundane (a homemade remedy for skin rashes) to mighty (Freedom of a Christian) are well-documented and well known by all students of history. He wrote beautiful theological treatises and stirring hymnody. He was a pioneer for women and children in his day.
Yet, he was a person of his era in many ways, and lamentably was unable to rightfully wrestle with his own prejudices, especially toward those of the Jewish faith.
His anti-Semitic writings have been totally and fully condemned by the Lutheran church.
With both his flaws and his fortitude he embodies one of his central theological discoveries: that we are all both sinner and saint, simultaneously. We are both perfectly imperfect, and perfectly loved by a God who has a tender spot for broken things.
One of his more poetic thoughts about the “now-and-not-yetness” of our human existence:
“This life therefore is not righteousness, but growth in righteousness, not health, but healing, not being but becoming, not rest but exercise. We are not yet what we shall be, but we are growing toward it, the process is not yet finished, but it is going on, this is not the end, but it is the road.“
Today the world honors St. Valentine, but the church kind of shrugs toward that saint, and instead dedicates the day to two Greek biological brothers: St. Cyril and St. Methodius, both 9th Century missionaries to the Slavs.
Cyril, in an effort to translate the Gospels and the liturgy into the Slavonic language, created a whole new alphabet. Modern Russian is based on this Cyrillic alphabet.
After Cyril’s death, Methodius took up the missionary mantle and continued the work. Cyril and Methodius met great opposition within the church for their novel way of using the common vernacular to spread the Gospel. Their followers likewise faced oppression, and found themselves scattered…which actually helped the language, and the mission, spread throughout Eastern Europe. The Slavic tradition in Lutheranism is still very strong, with a whole non-geographical Synod (Slovak-Zion Synod) representing the tradition in the ELCA yet today.
The brothers believed in a deeply contextual approach to engagement with those they were living with, even deconstructing and reconstructing their own systems (alphabet and liturgy) in order to communicate with clarity. They were transformed in the process, even as they transformed the information, and are still deeply revered in Slovak, Czech, Croat, Serb, and Bulgar traditions. Those with ears let them hear.
-historical bits adapted from Pfatteicher’s _New Book of Festivals and Commemorations
Today the church remembers an often overshadowed 5th Century saint who dared to dare: Saint Scholastica, Monastic and Patron Saint of Overlooked Twin Sisters.
Saint Scholastica is the twin sister of Saint Benedict, born to noble Romans around the year 480 CE. Her mother died in childbirth, and Saint Scholastica was known, literally from her birth, to be both a blessing from the Divine and wholeheartedly dedicated to the Divine.
Her brother noted this often. He was in awe of his sister. So often we find this when one sibling overshadows the other: the one with the long shadow greatly admires the other one.
When Saint Benedict left to enter the ministry, Saint Scholastica stayed with the family home and business, tending to the practical needs of the moment. Yet, her heart called her to a monastic life, and she eventually heeded that call.
Saint Scholastica founded a community of sisters about five miles from her brother’s hermitage. Following the Benedictine rule of life, they gathered around prayer, contemplation, and service. She visited her brother once a year, meeting in a half-way house between the two communities, discussing spiritual matters and praying together.
On February 10th in 543 Saint Scholastica breathed her last. That night, long before he had heard of his sister’s passing, Saint Benedict had a vision where his sister’s soul, in the form of a dove, visited him and flew into the heavens.
Perhaps there is something to that idea that twins are connected in special ways, no?
The details of most of Saint Scholastica’s life are lost to memory, blotted out by the eclipse of her brother. Yet we know a few important things: Saint Benedict revered her, respected her, listened to her, and sought her spiritual guidance.
That’s a pretty good endorsement if you ask me.
Saint Scholastica is a reminder for me, and should be for the whole church, that often the brightest sun is hiding a wise planet in another orbit. The pastors with the most prestigious pulpits aren’t always the stars they appear to be. Indeed: the best sermons on any given Sunday are preached to fewer than fifty people, in my opinion.
Let those with ears to hear, hear.
-historical bits gleaned from public access information
Today the church remembers a 20th Century Sudanese saint remembered for her fierce bravery and gentleness: Saint Josephine Bakhita, Patron Saint of Those Caught in Human Trafficking.
Saint Bakhita (not her given name at birth…the trauma of her story prevented her from remembering her birth name) was raised in Darfur by her loving family until the age of eight. At this young age, she and her sisters were captured and forced into slavery, sold a number of times throughout Africa and the Middle East. It was then that she was given the name Bakhita, which means “fortunate.”
In slavery she was tortured, whipped, scarred and tattooed, and forced to care for children though she herself was still only a child.
When the Suakin region of Sudan, where her captors were living, was besieged by war, Saint Bakhita and her charges were placed under the care of Italian Canossian Sisters in Venice, Italy (because she had recently been “bought” by an Italian diplomat). When it came time to return to Suakin, St. Bakhita refused to leave the convent. Her captors appealed to the Italian courts, but so did the Sisters.
The courts ruled that, since slavery was not a legal thing in Italy, her captors had no rights to her whatsoever. In their eyes she had never been a slave.
It’s nice to hear a legal case where justice prevailed, no?
St. Bakhita, who claimed that the Sisters had exposed her “to the God she had known in her heart since her birth,” entered the process to become a Canossian Sister. She was assigned a place at the convent in Schio, and remained there the rest of her life as the chef, sacristan, and doorkeeper of the convent, putting her in direct contact with the people of her city.
She was remembered for being gentle, kind, and for “having her mind on God, and her heart in Africa.”
She died on February 8th in 1947. Her body lay in repose, and thousands from the city and across the church came to honor her legacy and memory.
Saint Bakhita is a reminder for me, and should be for the whole church, that the church is a place of sanctuary and, in the face of systems that seek to chip away at the dignity of humanity, must speak out forcefully with both our words and our actions.
Reluctant Xtian 