It’s worth noting that today the church remembers a contemporary saint who took wrestling with demons, both in his heart and in his country, seriously: St. Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Teacher, Martyr, Gadfly of the Nazis.

Born at the turn of the 20th Century in Breslau, St. Dietrich grew up in the intellectual circles of Germany. He studied hard, was trained as a scholar and theologian, and as a young pastor he moved to both Barcelona (where he was assistant pastor at a German-speaking congregation) and then to New York City where he was a visiting lecturer at Union Seminary.

It was during his time in New York that he felt his guts calling him to return home to Europe, the belly of a waking beast, and fight for the soul of his people from the inside. As the Nazi party ascended in 1933, the growing anti-Semitism was alarming to him as a person of faith. From 1933-1935 he served as the pastor of two small German congregations in London, but became the voice of the Confessing Church, the Protestant resistance to the Nazi party’s coopting of the national church. He made his way back to his homeland with both conviction and trepidation.

In 1935 St. Bonhoeffer organized a new underground seminary to train theologians in the art of subversive resistance (because the Divine is subversive!), and he began publishing the thoughts flowing from his heart in this difficult, hidden work. Life Together and The Cost of Discipleship describe the role a Christian is called to play in times of turmoil, and he encouraged his fellow believers to reject the “cheap grace” that smacked of moral laxity.

In 1939 St. Dietrich was introduced to a cadre of political exiles who sought to overthrow Hitler. Working with other church leaders throughout the world, including the Bishop of Chichester, St. Bonhoeffer tried to broker peace deals, but to no avail. Hitler could not be trusted to keep his word, and so the Allies would only accept unconditional surrender.

Bonhoeffer was arrested on April 5th, 1943, shortly after proposing to the love of his life. An attempt on Hitler’s life had failed the previous year, and documents were discovered linking St. Dietrich to the plot.

After a short stay in the Berlin jail, Bonhoeffer was taken to Buchenwald concentration camp, and then on to Schonberg prison. There he wrote letters to his best friend and his fiance, and conducted pastoral duties for the prisoners there.

On Sunday, April 8th, 1945, just after he concluded church services, two men with weapons emerged from the forest, not unlike the soldiers in the Garden of Gethsemane. They said, “Prisoner Bonhoeffer, come with us!”

Bonhoeffer, putting up no fight, said to his fellow prisoner, “This is the end. For me, the beginning of life.”

He was hanged in Flossenburg prison on April 9, 1945.

St. Bonhoeffer wrestled deeply with evil in the world. He was a pacifist theologian, and yet he involved himself in the plot to destroy Hitler because he felt that to not do so would be a greater evil than the man’s death.

St. Dietrich Bonhoeffer is a reminder for me, and should be for the whole church (everyone?!), that wrestling with evil must be something everyone does with honesty and conviction, and that sometimes it comes at a price that can be quite high.

Grace is free, but not cheap.

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

-note that sometimes I use the phrase “saint” in the Protestant definition of the word: someone who has died in the faith. Bonhoeffer is not canonized by any official means, just within the hearts of those of us who trust subversion to be the ways of the Divine

-icon written by Kelly Latimore. You can buy his amazing work at https://kellylatimoreicons.com/

Today the church remembers a 16th Century saint who deserves more nods than he typically receives: St. Benedict the African, Friar, Friend of the Blue Collar, and Champion of Humility.

note: St. Benedict shares a feast day with St. Martin Luther King, Jr. on April 4th but, because it is shared, is usually transposed to the 5th to stand alone

St. Benedict the African was born in 1526 in Messina, Italy as the son of slaves who were converted to Christianity. He was under forced servitude until he was eighteen and, once granted his freedom, made his living as a day laborer. Though he made little money at his work, he shared most of his wages with those who made less than him, and he devoted much of his off time to caring for the sick and infirm.

His race and status in Italy made him the focus of much ridicule and scorn, but his reputation for handling the derision with fortitude and undeserved grace spread. He attracted the attention of Jerome Lanzi, a devotee of St. Francis of Assisi, and St. Benedict was encouraged to join Lanzi’s group of hermits, living a life of piety.

Lanzi died not long afterward, and St. Benedict reluctantly took the helm of the lay order, leading his fellow hermits as they served those who had no one to help them. When Pope Pius IV directed all informal monastic groups to identify with established orders, St. Benedict linked the hermitage with the Franciscans, and he was assigned to serve in the kitchen.

Doing his duties with careful attention and pride, St. Benedict found small ways to enliven the lives of his fellow brothers, and he shunned the lime-light. St. Benedict, throughout his life, wanted to embody the meek way.

In 1578 this brother without formal education (he was unable to read) was appointed as guardian of his Friary. Every account notes that he was the ideal superior: quick witted, theologically profound, gentle, and attuned to the sacredness of life. He often chose to travel in humble ways, at night or with his face covered, not wanting too much attention for his work. He had the scriptures memorized, and he was known for teaching the teachers in many ways.

Toward the end of his life, St. Benedict asked to be removed from his position as guardian of the Friary, and wanted to be reassigned to the kitchen. He died in 1589, and is enshrined still today as a saint worth emulating.

St. Benedict the African is a reminder for me, and should be for the whole church, that education, family, and status are poor indicators of leadership in many ways. Resumes are ego documents that don’t reflect the spiritual sensibilities of an applicant.

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

Today the church remembers a martyr and visionary, Saint Martin Luther King, Jr., Dreamer of Dreams and Movement Maker.

Born in Atlanta, Georgia in 1929, Saint Martin was a brilliant young scholar who could have studied anything, literally anything, and chose the ministry as his life’s pursuit. At Crozer Theological Seminary he studied Gandhi’s philosophy of non-violence, and was greatly moved and impacted by the thought that social change could happen through determination and will, not force.

He received his Ph.D from Boston University in 1955, and started his ministry at Dexter Avenue Baptist Church in Montgomery, Alabama. From there he organized his first social action: a challenge to the racial segregation of public busses, a continuation of the defiance of Rosa Parks and her refusal to give up her seat, and her dignity, to white privilege.

Within a year, due to the organizing efforts of the Montgomery Improvement Association, the busses were desegregated. But not before Saint King’s home was bombed and family was threatened.

In 1960 Saint Martin brought his family to Atlanta where he became co-pastor of Ebenezer Baptist Church, sharing the pulpit with his father. In October of that year he was arrested for protesting the segregation of a lunch counter in Atlanta, and in spring of 1963 he was once again arrested in a campaign to end similar segregation in Birmingham, Alabama. The movement withstood dog attacks, fire hoses, police brutality, political sabotage, and a deafening quiet from “respectable religious circles.”

It was from this vantage that he assumed the mantle of the Apostle Paul and wrote from prison what I believe to be his seminal work, Letter from Birmingham Jail, a piece of inspired literature that should be read in communities of faith every year alongside Corinthians, Thessalonians, and Colossians.

Quietism has no place in the church.

On August 28th, 1963 two hundred thousand people marched on Washington in support of The Civil Rights act. It was here that Saint Martin joined Saint Joseph of Egypt and Saint Joseph of Nazareth, all dreamers, telling of his dream that all people will be judged by the content of their character, and not the color of their skin.

In 1964 he was awarded the Nobel Prize for Peace.

King went on to speak out against the war in Vietnam, and took on the case of the poor and the working class in America.

In 1968 he traveled to Tennessee to support striking sanitation workers and, on this day that year, was shot dead by a sniper outside his motel balcony.

Saint Martin’s birthday is honored every year in America, but the church reserves the right to commemorate his feast day alongside the other great martyrs of the church: on the day of his death. We do this not to be morbid or to glorify death, but to rightly honor that often speaking truth to power has consequences.

And yet, speak we must.

Saint Martin Luther King, Jr is a reminder for me, and should be for all people, that non-violent resistance has been so threatening to the powers of the world that they would use violence to snuff it out. And yet the movement continues…you cannot stop a movement based in love and justice.

It lives.

Let those with ears to hear, hear.

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

-icon written by Kelly Latimore Icons

Today, on Trans Visibility Day here in the states I would lobby hard for the church to remember the stalwart of Stonewall, St. Marsha P. Johnson, Activist and Trailblazer.

Born with the name Malcolm Michaels Jr in Elizabeth, New Jersey, Marsha lived her early years in a town with little acceptance for those who identified as LGBTQ. She remained closeted, was the victim of bullying and sexual harassment through school, and mercifully graduated and headed for New York City to live and work at the age of 17.

In her early days in New York she came out of the closet, and took on the persona Black Marsha, which eventually morphed into Marsha P. Johnson (the “Johnson” taken from Howard Johnson Motels and the “P” standing for “pay it no mind” in reference to questions about her gender). In the 60’s and 70’s Marsha used many labels to identify herself, often utilizing the term “transvestite,” an attempt to reclaim the moniker from contemptuous slurring. But many queer studies experts agree that, had the term been accepted and more widely used, Marsha would have identified herself as transsexual (mostly indicated by her preferred pronouns she/her…this is why pronouns matter).

Though St. Johnson was often portrayed as a drag queen, she described herself as “low drag” because she couldn’t afford the fancy clothes and makeup that professional queens utilized. She was just being herself…it was not an act or a performance. In her dress and personality she embodied the intersection of the masculine and feminine, inviting an analysis of assumptions and stereotypes.

Johnson was one of the first drag queens to cross the Stonewall threshold when they first began to allow drag queens to enter without interruption (it had primarily been a gay men’s bar). We often forget (and may our children always ask “why?!” when this bit of history is unveiled), but homosexual activity, cross-dressing, and same-sex pda was illegal in many states in the USA, even in 1969.

Right. We forget that. And in the age of “Don’t Say Gay” bills and “ban Drag Queen” bills, it appears we’re trying to actively move back that way…

On June 28th, 1969 Stonewall Inn was raided by New York City police, and many were arrested sparking an uprising that lasted for days. The gay rights movement surged in the days following, with Marsha P Johnson on the front lines, pushing back against police brutality, claiming, “I got my civil rights!”

Marsha joined the Gay Liberation Front, and in coordination with other movements across the United States, helped to push both public opinion and political legislation to include protections of sexual minority rights in courtrooms and classrooms.

Toward the end of her life St. Marsha, living with HIV herself, took care of her good friend dying of AIDS during the AIDS pandemic. She became a vocal advocate for better care and conversation of AIDS victims, and sat at the bedside of many who were dying of the disease as a comforter.

Despite not being accepted in many religious circles, Saint Marsha was a practicing Catholic, often praying and lighting candles for those she loved. She felt that Christ unified all living people, across the spectrums and diverse personhoods in which we live.

Tragically, directly following a Pride Parade in 1992, Saint Marsha P Johnson was found dead in the Hudson River under mysterious circumstances. Her legacy of love and activism and self-acceptance lives on in a movement that will not be stopped.

Saint Marsha P Johnson is a reminder for me, and should be for the whole church, that loving yourself is holy, by God.

-historical bits from publicly available sources

-icon written by Kelly Latimore

Today the church remembers a prophet-farmer who spoke from the margins for the margins: St. Amos of Judah, Critic of the Monarchy and Firebrand Defender of the Poor.

St. Amos was active between 8th century BC, and is considered one of the twelve minor prophets in the Hebrew Scriptures (Hosea, Joel, Jonah…they round out the rest). The book of Amos is attributed to him, and though he was from the Southern Kingdom (Judah), he preached in the Northern Kingdom (Israel).

Having felt the call of the Divine upon his heart from the rural outskirts of the kingdom (and of society), Amos is a farmer-turned-prophet who pointed the monarchy toward the margins and asked, “Do you see who you are neglecting?! You claim to be working on behalf of God, but the growing wealth and opportunity gap between the elites and the working poor exposes your talk as just lies!”

Seriously, that’s the gist of his argument.

He said, “I am not a prophet, nor the son of a prophet!”(Amos 7:14) are his attempts to get the elites to listen to him. In essence he said, “I’m not doing this for show, y’all! This is real life.”

He warned that not watching out for the welfare of the weakest would lead to the Northern Kingdom’s fall. And, well, the Northern Kingdom fell in time…

As the wealthy continued to amass lands that did not belong to them, and on which they did not work, Amos reminded the circles of power that their goal was to honor God by protecting and elevating the laborer, not to get the “best deal” and take advantage of them.

Justice. Egalitarianism. A preference for the poor and the margins. This was the cry of the prophet Amos.

At his core Amos sought to do something that, throughout history, has been the hardest thing to do: convert the wealthy and the comfortable.

The feast day for this Biblical prophet varies depending on tradition. The Armenian and Orthodox calendars place the day in the summer months (June 15th or July 31st), while the Roman branch waits until March 31st.

Today, though, is an excellent day to honor the firebrand of a saint as March 28th often lands in the season of Lent, a season where we attune our spiritual hearts toward repentance.

St. Amos is a reminder for me, and should be for the whole church, that in times of prosperity conversion is still necessary…and often it has little to do with “giving your heart to Jesus,” but rather offering up your life and gifts for the sake of your neighbor.

Let those with ears to hear, hear.

-historical bits gleaned from publicly accessed information, the Harper Collins Study Bible, and Claiborne and Hartgrove’s Common Prayer: A Liturgy for Ordinary Radicals

-icon is a Russian Orthodox depiction of the prophet making their appeal.

Today the church remembers a different carpenter from the ancient days: Saint John of Egypt, Wood Worker, Hermit, and Mystic.

Saint John of Egypt was born into a very poor family, not unlike the Jesus he so sought to emulate. He was trained as a wood worker (perhaps another connection to that wandering wonder in ancient Palestine), and at the age of twenty-five officially became a hermit after being trained by an unnamed ancient mystic who was following The Way.

The story goes that this ancient unnamed hermit ordered Saint John of Egypt to douse a wooden stick in water every day for a year, without explanation. One imagines this to be a test in obedience, not unlike Mr. Miagi and young Daniel from “The Karate Kid” (an underrated mystical movie). Would Saint John of Egypt keep up the task without explanation? What would happen at the end of the year?!

Well, at the end of the year this hermit took the stick Saint John had diligently wetted every day for a year and threw it away.

One hears this and recalls the words of that other ancient mystic Qoheleth who penned Ecclesiastes, “Vanity, vanity! Everything is vanity!”

Yet still, even when confronted with the futility of life, Saint John of Egypt chose the hermit’s life in the desert as the way to eek out his existence in the world. In fact, he mirrored his mentor’s seemingly odd acts in life and took them on as his own. He was known for carefully tending dead trees and for randomly moving large rocks from one location to another for no reason.

In the hills outside of Lycopolis, Egypt he created three caves: one for sleeping, one for working, and one for praying, and then walled himself into these adjoining caves, only allowing a small window to connect him to the outside world. Through this window he would receive food (only dried veggies and dried fruits, thank you) and would regularly preach to crowds and crowds of people.

From his small hermitage Saint John was said to do amazing things. He was said to be able to see into the future, seeing events that had yet to unfold (he foretold the victories of Theodosius the Great), and could heal people he had never met, appearing to them in visions and dreams. For this reason he was sometimes called, Saint John the Clairvoyant of Egypt.

Saint John of Egypt lived in this way, cut off from the outside world, for over fifty years, well into his 90’s. The last three days of his life were spent in prayer, and he was found by his devotees on this day in the late 4th Century in a prayerful position, having breathed his last.

Saint John of Egypt is kind of an odd duck, following in the footsteps of Saint John the Baptizer and the other desert mothers and fathers. These esthetes can sometimes cause people to pause and scratch their heads, which is kind of their point. They lived in such a way that people took notice, for better or for worse, and we must remember that they considered this way of life a voluntary calling.

Saint John of Egypt is a reminder for me, and should be for the whole church, that sometimes it’s important to live in such a way that people stop and take notice. It doesn’t have to be as extreme as Saint John here…but if your beliefs don’t change the way you live, the way you treat people, the way you extend your love, your hope, and your advocacy, well…

Why bother?

-historical bits from publicly accessed information

-icon written in traditional Orthodox style

Today I would lobby hard that the church remember one who held a golden pen and touched the essence of what it means to be human in this existence: Brother Walt Whitman, Poet and Deamer of Dreams.

Born in the early days of the 19th Century on Long Island, Whitman left schooling early on (at the tender age of 11!) to embrace the life of quill-bearer, teaching, working as a journalist, and eking out an existence as a poet and writer. He was intensely curious about the underlying emotions of what it means to be alive, feeling the vibration of the mortal coil with every ounce of his being. This became a central theme in his writing: an analysis of living, specifically living in an America trying to find itself.

Brother Walt took to the hospital room once the American Civil war was underway, and many of his essays and poems touched on healing and hurt, influenced by the care he gave to soldiers in the field. When Abraham Lincoln was assassinated, the grief-stricken Whitman penned, “O Captain, My Captain,” an ode to the fallen forlorn leader (and darling of a poem for those who loved “Dead Poets Society”). He bled his heart on every page.

America loved this homegrown writer who was influenced by the art of the opera, the art of the operating room, and the art of existence. He wrote journal essays and serialized novels (some b tree than others, IMHO) before becoming enamored with the idea of poetry that might capture all of these feelings into one. This he birthed ingenious forms of poetry, and the epic “Leaves of Grass” emerged from his soul, and the study of American humanities has never been the same.

In “Leaves of Grass” Whitman’s sexual energies (he is thought to have been pretty openly bisexual in orientation) mixed with his emotional vulnerability to create a sweeping romp touching on the transcendent, the primal, and the political. He used free verse and symbolism in inventive ways, creating what some consider to be a uniquely American way of articulating the best of what it means to be alive. It truly is a wonder, and my Junior year High School teacher might delight in my memory of him reading pieces of it to his gathered, rapturous students from the perch of his stool.

Any mention of Brother Whitman would be remiss if it also didn’t note perhaps his most popular work, “Song of Myself,” a winding exploration on self-discovery. It is certainly his hit single.

On the spiritual front, Walt considered himself a practitioner of every faith, and sometimes none at all. He thought the Divine to be utterly ineffable and yet immediately accessible, a lovely combination of religious question marks and exclamation points if you ask me.

He wrote and explored and loved.

In his later years Whitman suffered declining health, and after a stroke resigned himself to a quiet life in New Jersey.

He died on this day in 1892 at the age of 72, revising “Leaves of Grass” until the very end.

Many consider him the very first, true, poet of the American experiment…which is kind of lovely to imagine that such a true American was a bisexual wordsmith who loved symbolism more than literalism, good questions more than trite answers.

Would the America (and the church!) take this to heart today.

Brother Walt Whitman is a reminder to me, and should be for the whole church (and everyone), that being alive is a wonderful playground for minds daring and curious enough to explore what it means.

-historical bits from public sources.

-drawing by Michele Rosenthal, and can be purchased at Queer Portraits in History (queerportraits.com)

Today the church celebrates the Feast of the Annunciation, honoring the moment when the angel Gabriel visits young Mary to announce that she is highly favored by God and will carry the Christ into the world (naming Mary the “Theotokos” or “God-bearer”).

My favorite thought associated with this feast day is offered by Sojourner Truth, 19th Century prophet and activist.

She says:

“That man say we can’t have as much rights as a man ’cause Christ wasn’t a woman. Where did your Christ come from? From God and a woman.

Man had nothing to do with it…”