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 is a feast day that, while not honored throughout the church, is especially reverent in African communities throughout Argentina, Paraguay, and Uruguay: Saint Balthazar, King of Macedonia and one of the Magi who sought out the infant Christ.

Saint Matthew’s Gospel does not name the Magi, nor does the writer even number them. The names, and their numbering, are all part of lore. So, where did we get the names of the Magi?

I’m glad you asked!

The names of the Magi are derived from a 6th Century Greek manuscript that was translated into Latin and widely distributed. There we read that the Magi who visited the Christ after following astrological signs were named Caspar, Melchior, and Balthazar. Of the three, Balthazar developed a particularly powerful following, mostly because it was purported that he was the Magi who carried the myrrh, the most mysterious and tragic of the “gifts” given to the infant Jesus.

The Venerable St. Bede describes him as being a black man with a long beard which, while surely conjecture, struck a tone with many parts of the church that were under represented in depictions of the scriptures, especially as the whitewashing of the Bible had largely been completed by then.

In short: Saint Balthazar provided an opportunity for much of Christendom to see themselves in the story when they had largely been erased and replaced.

Today in many parts of South America, in non-Covid days, you’d find festivals and street parades honoring St. Balthazar and his elegantly morbid gift of myrrh. He is the patron saint of those who work with saws, thunder, those with epilepsy, and those manufacture playing cards (I have no idea why), and of the three kings of lore, is the most popular.

Tradition has him being entombed at Cologne Cathedral in Germany, having been moved there from the original resting place of Constantinople (or is it Istanbul?). There the legend says his remains are kept with his other two companions at the Shrine of the Three Kings.

Now, all of this is legend and lore, from the top to the bottom. So why bother noting this feast day at all?

We must remember that while religion is Divinely inspired is is held in cracked clay jars of the human imagination. This feast day speaks to a wide swath of humanity and, in the Biblical narrative, plays an important part in Matthew’s Gospel. The gift of myrrh to the infant Jesus is a foreshadowing of his death, a little “flash forward” the Gospel writer provides for the ending of the story.

Indeed: the Jesus story is no story at all without the myrrh-y part.

So Saint Balthazar is a reminder for me, and should be for the whole church, of at least two things:

First: the whitewashing of the Bible (making all the characters European) is a disgrace and should absolutely be repudiated as a practice.

And secondly: the legends and lore of the faith still speak, and are still worth remembering and honoring as long as that remains true.

-Icon written by Hieronymous Bosch

Today the church remembers a chatty 4th Century saint who, despite his best efforts, was terrible at living alone: St. Basil the Great, Bishop and Patron Saint of Extroverts.

St. Basil was born into a wealthy Greek family around the year 330AD. He was raised by his grandmother and pious parents, was well educated, and was influenced in early adulthood by a charismatic Bishop of the church, Eustathius of Sebaste. This influence compelled him to be baptized and spurred a spiritual awaking.

Feeling a call to the ministry, he left his practice of law and education to go where the monastics roam. Traveling to Palestine, Egypt, and Syria, studying the ascetics and the monastic life, he mindfully distributed his wealth to the poor and tried his hand at living the life of a hermit.

He was terrible at it.

He missed talking to people, and found his brain to be a poor conversationalist.
So, he decided to gather around himself a group of like-minded people, thereby effectively creating the first intentional monastic community of the church. His writings and reflections of this time became formative for Eastern Monasticism, and he’s generally thought of as the founder of the first monastic settlement.

As his stature and practice grew, and as his writings were circulated, St. Basil became a respected theologian and practitioner of the faith. He attended the Council of Nicaea and was a strong voice for Orthodoxy.

In 362AD St. Basil was ordained a Deacon in the church, and then a presbyter as his influence grew. He joined with St. Gregory in full-throated repudiation of Arianism (an ancient heresy), and eventually became the administrator of the Diocese of Caesarea.

In 370AD he succeeded Eusebius as Bishop of Caesarea. Though he had some bad blood with a few neighboring priests and bishops (if you think we have theological squabbles today, read some of the stuff coming out of the 4th Century church!), St. Basil was also known to see the best in people, even his opponents. He was also exceedingly generous with his money (he barely kept any) and his time, known for being on the front lines of the local soup kitchen in times of famine.

St. Basil’s writings an example, especially those regarding care for the poor and the sick, continue to confront Christians today. He did not mince words.

My favorite Basil line has him writing in a pastoral missal, “The shoes left unworn and rotting in your closet are meant for those without shoes, as is the food in your pantry and the unused coat.” And he was known for living this out, not just preaching about it.

The date of his death is unknown, probably sometime in the late 4th Century of liver disease and poor health probably brought on by leading an extremely ascetic lifestyle, but his memory lives on.

St. Basil the Great (as he is now known) is a reminder for me, and should be for the whole church, that proximity is primary. You must be around the people you serve to know them, and you must engage with others, even if you disagree with them.

-icon written by Kreg Yingst

Today the church remembers not one person, but rather a family: The Holy Family, Vessels of Divine Communion.

Typical depictions of the Holy Family usually include Joseph, Mary, and the infant Jesus. We understand through scriptural accounts as well as the conventions of the day, that Jesus had siblings as well, which should not be forgotten.

It should also not be assumed that the Holy Family is somehow a prescription for how nuclear families should look. It is, instead, descriptive of the times…and even then, not so much, as Mary’s pregnancy out of wedlock certainly chaffed against the societal norms of the day.

But even with these qualifiers, the Holy Family as a unit is instructive for the kind of love that people can, and should, share within the family (biological or chosen). Joseph, the step-father of Jesus, is tenderly concerned when he cannot find his son on their pilgrimage, and is, by all accounts, kind and stalwart with Mary, keeping their engagement despite the pregnancy surprise.

Mary is a wise and protecting mother, accompanying Jesus on his travels, and sticking with him until the very end, even the cross. Truly, Beloveds, we are not meant to bury our babies, and yet she does so, not shying away from the heartache.

And though we don’t get much of a glimpse of the child Jesus, we find him appropriately rebelling against his parents, kindly watching out for his mother, and including his brother in his ministry.

Certainly it was not an idyllic family. No flesh-and-blood family, chosen or biological, is idyllic (despite what social media might portray). There were even a few arguments recorded (John 2, Matthew 12, Mark 3) that showed not everything was “Leave It to Beaver.”

And yet, they loved one another through it all.

This is why they are lifted up today: not because they were perfect, but because they loved one another in and through the imperfections.

Which, to me, sounds pretty Divine.

-icon written by Br. Mickey McGrath

Today the church remembers the slaughter of the Holy Innocents, the children King Herod killed when searching in fear for the Christ child.

We sing of this in the carol “Lully Lullay,” which is meant to mimic the lullaby the mothers of Bethlehem sang to their children to keep them quiet as soldiers searched for them.

“Herod the king, in his raging…”

This still happens today. Children are still our most vulnerable population, especially when the powerful become fearful.

Children are the first to die in times of famine and disease, when food and medicine are hoarded by the powerful.

Children are still the first to die in the wars their parents wage.

Children are the first to feel it when social services are cut by the powerful.

Children are the first to feel it when we pass laws of convenience instead of laws of conviction.

Remember our Holy Innocents today:
-The children of Oxford, Michigan, of Newtown, of Columbine, of every situation where we fail to act to protect them and instead protect guns
-The children of Syria, Afghanistan, and all places torn by perpetual war.
-The children of the rural poor.
-The children of the urban homeless.
-The children of undocumented immigrants.
-The children born addicted.
-The children who fall into addiction because their futures are bleak.
-The children who have every privilege but are not loved.
-The children who are greatly loved but have no privilege and suffer in a world of status games.
-The children of Papua New Guinea tortured for being accused of witchcraft.
-The children sold into slavery around the world for the powerful to abuse.
-The children who are left without parents or grandparents in this pandemic because we are selfish.

On December 27th the church remembers St. John, the only apostle said to have died of natural causes.

St. John played a prominent role in the Gospels, and some believe he is even depicted in the Gospel of John as the “Beloved Disciple” (though, I would contend that the Beloved Disciple in that Gospel is actually the one reading the Gospel…but more on that in a different piece of writing).

After the Ascension, John traveled far and wide as an evangelist. He is said to have ended up in Ephesus, where he died of advanced age. Lore has it that in his last years faithful congregants would carry him into the church at Ephesus where he’d bless the gathered people saying, “Love one another, my little children,” a theme of the Epistles of John.

It’s an appropriate day to have a glass of wine or grape juice. Legend has it that John was challenged to drink a cup of poisoned wine, and as he held the cup, he blessed it, and the poison became a snake and slithered out, rendering it harmless. This is why John is sometimes depicted as holding a snake in a chalice.

These saint days following Christmas highlight the “Comites Christi,” or “Companions of Christ.”

St. Stephen died tragically, St. John supposedly died peacefully, and tomorrow the Holy Innocents of Bethlehem who died tragically are meant to highlight how Christ entered a world full of blessing and brokenness, sadness and joy.

God’s incarnation did not solve the problems of humanity, but showed that humanity is worth saving, by God…even broken as it is.

Today the church celebrates one of the great mystics of history, St. Juan de Yepes y Alvarez, but you know him better as St. John of the Cross, Renewer of the Church and Visionary.

St. Juan was born in Fontiveros Spain, the third son of a Jewish silk merchant. His father died shortly after he was born, and his family placed little Juan in an institution for the poor.

St. Juan was extremely short of stature, even for his day, but showed great skill in craftsmanship from early on, and apprenticed at many places. He enrolled in college and worked his way through school striving to become an exemplary monk.

He was entranced in the Order of the Blessed Virgin (Carmelites), and was ordained. Soon after met St. Teresa of Avila, his spiritual cousin. She had begun to implement her reforms of the Carmelite order, and St. John promised himself to these reforms, adopting the name St. John of the Cross to embody his minimalist and mystic piety.

St. Teresa eventually helped get St. John appointed as Confessor to the Convent of the Incarnation, where she was a sister.

St. Teresa’s reforms were causing division within the Carmelite Order, and some monastics came and seized St. John, imprisoned him in a six foot by ten foot cell, beat him, and attempted to force him to renounce the austere reforms.

St. John refused and after nine months was able to escape, fleeing to a safe monastery in southern Spain.

This is where he began writing down his mystical visions and dreams, having had them in the confinement of his prison cell. His deeply spiritual writings often took the form of poetry. Most notable are The Ascent of Mt. Carmel-the Dark Night, and Living Flame of Love (which is more song than pure poetry).

In 1591 the controversy over the austere reforms rose again, and St. John was banished further south in Spain. It was there that he caught a fever and, though he sought medical care, was poorly treated because the prior of the monastery didn’t want the burden of another monk.

He died uttering the Psalms, saying, “Into your hands, O Lord, I commend my Spirit.” He was deeply beloved by the people, though he was rejected by much of the Church at the time, and was immediately heralded as a Saint.

You may not be too familiar with St. John of the Cross, but you’re certainly familiar with art that is based off of his mystical visions. Salvador Dali’s unique painting of the crucifixion was based on one of St. John’s poems.

St. John of the Cross is a reminder to me, and should be for the whole church, that sometimes the most despised in our midst are the wisest.

Let those with ears to hear, hear.

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

-icon written by Br. Robert Lentz