Today the church remembers Bishop Oscar Romero of San Salvador.

Bishop Romero was born in the mountains of El Salvador, and was originally trained in the arts of carpentry. At a young age he entered seminary, and eventually completed his schooling in Rome.

He served as a parish priest in El Salvador, and then as the rector of the seminary in San Salvador. He was consecrated bishop in 1970, and then Archbishop of San Salvador in 1977.

He is remembered for being a defender of the poor and the underclass, especially in the conflicts in El Salvador. He used his status as bishop, and then Archbishop, to call the powers to account for their greed and atrocities.

But we forget that he wasn’t always so vocal. He was timid at the start of his bishopric, worried that speaking out too forcefully would be too divisive, even if it was the just thing to do.

A peace brought about by silence, though, is no peace at all…and he eventually felt the weight of this deep truth.

During Mass on the 24th of March in 1980, Archbishop Romero was shot through the heart just as he was elevating the host, killed for his work for justice on behalf of the poor and oppressed.

“The church’s good name,” he once wrote, “is not a matter of being on good terms with the powerful. The church’s good name is a matter of knowing that the poor regard the church as their own, of knowing that the church’s life on earth is to call on all, on the rich as well, to be converted and be saved alongside the poor, for they are the only ones called blessed.”

(excerpt from The Violence of Love, by Romero)

-icon written by Br. Robert Lentz and can be purchased at Trinity Icons

-biographical information from Pfatteicher’s New Book of Festivals and Commemorations

Today the church remembers an obscure (to Westerners) Armenian saint with a cool name: Gregory the Illuminator, Bishop of Armenia and Trailblazer.

We don’t know much that is verifiable about St. Gregory’s early years. Lore and legend have crept up around his historical life so much so that he is a giant standing upon the stories others tell of him.

Nevertheless, we know he was born around the mid-3rd Century, and was baptized as a child while in hiding (perhaps his father was the assassin of the Persian King Khrosrov I?), and a married St. Gregory returns to Armenia in the late 3rd Century and converted King Tiridates III to Christianity.

Around the year 300 St. Gregory was consecrated Bishop of Armenia, and under his leadership Armenia was the first country to officially adopt Christianity as the national religion, paving the way (for better or for worse) for Constantine to do the same.

The Armenian Church continues to have a strong Christian presence, and is a companion to the Anglican Communion (though not officially part of it).

St. Gregory is called “The Illuminator” because he sought to bring Gospel light to Armenia. Toward the end of his life he appointed his son Aristages to be chief Bishop in his place, and lived out his remaining years in holy solitude.

St. Gregory the Illuminator is a reminder for me, and can be for the whole church, that a good and righteous life can be eaked out of tragic beginnings. The sins of the parents need not trickle down to the children. Though his father (probably) was a murderer, he went on to shape a whole nation for good.

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

Today the church remembers an 18th Century pastor and theologian who, though kind of a mixed bag in my view, deserves a nod: Saint Jonathan Edwards, Wunderkind and Firebrand.

Saint Jonathan was the fifth child of eleven children, and the only son, born into a preacher’s household in 1703. He was educated at home and sent off to Yale at the age of thirteen and received his Bachelor of Arts in 1720. As he continued on to seminary studies he took the pulpit of a nearby church, vacillating between practical ministry and continuing his studies in the academy.

In 1726 he came alongside his grandfather as the pastor in Northampton, the most prominent church in Massachusetts, was ordained and married a young woman, Sarah, in the following year. Jonathan and Sarah would go on to have eleven children themselves.

In time Jonathan took over the pulpit at Northampton from his grandfather, and became widely known for his brilliant intellect. His understanding of philosophy, the mathematics of logic, and human psychology were astounding, but even more interesting was the way he applied these disciplines to his theological ideas. In his left hand he held the academy, and in his right hand he held intense mystical conversion experiences, and he brought them both together as he prayed.

Armed with a profound conversion experience and a robust mind, Edwards took on Arminianism, a growing theological trend that emphasized free will and downplayed traditional notions of original sin, essentially relegating religion to the realm of trite moralism. He embraced his inner Luther and took on faith and grace as the legs of the ladder of salvation, and through conversion one might ascend that ladder toward a higher way of being in the world.

Saint Jonathan was also a victim of fortune in these days as the American landscape was ripe for a religious revival and through his preaching joining the witness of others (George Whitefield and Gilbert Tennant amongst others), the Great Awakening spread across the colonies.

But, like most rock star pastors, Saint Jonathan’s growing fame came at a vocational cost. His congregation didn’t want a rock star pastor and were a bit jealous of the fame he was gaining. That, mixed with Edwards’s very strict ideas regarding who was saved and who wasn’t (he had a habit of refusing people communion if they weren’t “clearly converted”), caused a break in their relationship. Saint Jonathan eventually left the parish to become a frontier missionary to First Nations tribes elsewhere in Massachusetts. There he was met with a significant language barrier, personal demons that still gave chase, and tribal wars, but still was able to publish what some consider his greatest works, Freedom of the Will and The Great Christian Doctrine of Original Sin Defended.

In 1757 Saint Jonathan was called from the frontier to serve as the president of the College of New Jersey (you know this college as Princeton). Princeton was experiencing an outbreak of smallpox just as he took his chair, and though Saint Jonathan had received inoculation (get vaccinated!) he suffered a secondary infection and died on this day in 1758.

His gravestone still stands in Princeton’s cemetery.

Saint Jonathan Edwards’s ghost has had a bit of a resurgence lately as the revival at Asbury College in Wilmore, Kentucky reminded corporate memory of the kind of “convincing conversion” he wrote so passionately about. Whatever you call what happened in Asbury, it is pretty clear that there is a longing for belonging that still happens in humans, and a longing to feel.

On a personal note, though I do not agree with much (most all?) of Saint Jonathan Edwards’s theological notions it cannot be denied that he influenced humanity through his brilliance and passion. He was an intense and fiery preacher, and his zeal to make those in the pew feel something is important (even if I think it is wrong-headed and theologically abusive).

For his desire that people to be moved he deserves to be remembered, if not fully revered. I do not think we are “sinners in the hands of an angry God” dangled over the pit of hell as “one holds a spider on its web.” It can’t be denied that the image, though, is powerful and evocative…even if I think it’s wrong.

Saint Jonathan Edwards is a reminder for me, and should be for the whole church, that intellect and mystical conversion can sometimes hold hands and, though we’re not often sure what to do about it, it does no good to deny it or scoff at it or decry it.

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

Today the church remembers the author of one of your favorite hymns and stalwart keeper of his word: Saint Thomas Ken, Bishop of Bath and Wells, Creator of Earworms.

Saint Thomas Ken was the son of barristers in 17th Century Britain. In these turbulent times factions between Protestants and Catholics loomed large over everything, including the crown. Saint Thomas was an Anglican priest and chaplain to King Charles II (namesake of the current King of England). Though he was the confessor of King Charles, he would not allow the king’s mistress to enter his home…and the king respected him for this. In thankfulness for both his service and with respect for his uncompromising word, King Charles II made Saint Thomas Ken the Bishop of Bath and Wells.

In 1684 King James II ascended to the throne as King Charles’s successor, and though King James II was a Roman Catholic, Saint Thomas Ken gave him his allegiance. This sworn allegiance, though, did not prevent Saint Thomas from speaking up when King James II attempted to undermine the authority of the Church of England, and this political stand had a political price.

Saint Thomas was thrown in the Tower of London for refusing to do as King James II decreed.

King James II was deposed only four years later shortly after Saint Thomas was acquitted, but though William of Orange took the throne, Saint Thomas had sworn his oath to King James II and felt he couldn’t betray that word (even though King James had thrown him in the stocks).

Saint Thomas Ken was removed from his bishopric and died on this day in 1711.

Despite the political and ecclesial turmoil of the time, Saint Thomas Ken was able to do some majestic penmanship behind his ecclesial desk. He is remembered and celebrated even today when the church sings the melodious morning hymn, “Awake, my soul, and with the sun” (ELW 557), and the contemplative, beautiful, and tear-inducing evening hymn, “All praise to thee, my God this night” (ELW 565).

It’s that last one that most probably know him for.

Saint Thomas Ken is a reminder for me, and should be for the whole church, that sometimes turbulent times can produce wonderful moments of beauty.

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

Today the church remembers a visionary 7th Century Celtic saint who vacillated between solitude and society: Saint Cuthbert, Bishop, Bird -Watcher, and Shepherd.

Saint Cuthbert was born in the year 625 somewhere in Northubmria (modernly you’d call that North England/Southern Scotland, right where the British accent gets super wonky). He was a shepherd in his first life, and according to the Venerable Bede had a vision while tending sheep that angels were ushering a soul into heaven. It just so happened that Saint Aiden had died that same night, and good Saint Cuthbert took that as a sign that he should replace the monastic roles now empty of that one memorable member.

Saint Cuthbert became a monk at Melrose soon after, and he was known as a kind and dedicated monastic. He eventually became abbot of that monastery just as the plague spread across Briton, and Saint Cuthbert took to the streets, making visits and cheering spirits at great personal risk.

In 664 he became prior of Lindisfarne (also called Holy Island) in North East England, but eventually felt the call to a solitary life and settled on a nearby island to live as a hermit for nine years.

In 684 he was once again called back into society as the Bishop of Northumbria, a seat he reluctantly took. Shortly after accepting the miter, though, he felt death coming toward him and withdrew back to his small hermitage to die in peace on this date in 687.

Fun fact: his bones were found a century later in 1827. His remains had been removed from Farne due to Viking raids and he was put to rest in Durham cathedral. An excavation that year uncovered his bones beneath the site of a medieval shrine dedicated to him.

Saint Cuthbert was not only known for his kindness to humans, but he was also known as an avid birder, being quite observant of the beasts of the air (and feeling a kinship with them). Even monks need a hobby, right?

Saint Cuthbert is a reminder for me, and should be for the whole church, that sometimes we’re called to be and do different things in this life. Cuthbert was a shepherd, then a monk, then a hermit, then a bishop, and then retreated back into solitude…all were holy callings.

Different things at different times: all holy. Kind of makes you rethink that whole “mid-life crisis” thing, right? Perhaps it’s less a crisis and just a new calling.

Let those with ears to hear, hear.

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

-icon written by the dear saints at Mull Monastery (www.mullmonastery.com). I found fascinating and engaging icons written here that will delight and inspire!

Today the church remembers a saint that everyone knows, but no one knows much about: St. Joseph, Step-Father of Jesus and Companion of St. Mary.

St. Joseph is only mentioned in three of the four Gospels (Mark doesn’t seem to know about him, or doesn’t think he’s important enough to mention), but because the Christmas tales are so popular in our age, St. Joseph is part of that other holy Trinity: Jesus, Joseph, and Mary.

Matthew and Luke don’t even really agree on the genealogy of Jesus, but both trace Joseph through that singing Psalmist David, making a direct connection between Jesus and the House of David. Matthew indicates that St. Joseph was originally a resident of Bethlehem who made his home in Nazareth (which is how he met Mary for Matthew), but Luke says that Joseph was a longtime resident of Nazareth, and only went to Bethlehem for the census.

St. Joseph, like Jesus in the Gospel of Mark, seems to be a person without a known home, which I kind of like, because it means that St. Joseph could be anyone…like you, or me, and entrusted with the Christ-child for the sake of the world.

Scriptures say that he was a carpenter (though the Greek word used is kind of obscure and could mean anything from “artisan” to “rock mason”…I like to think he was an artist). The Gospels portray him as a fair individual, and a devout follower of Judaism who sought wisdom and understanding.

Because the Gospel accounts don’t mention him again, it is thought that he had died by the time Jesus is crucified. This is entirely plausible as marriages in the ancient world were often unequal in age, and wives typically outlived their spouses (hence why “widows and orphans” is noted so often in the scriptures). That all being said, nothing in the scriptures notes he was older, so why do we assume he might be?

I’m glad you asked…

There’s a fun (and fake) 2nd Century Gospel attributed to James the Less, a disciple of Jesus, that makes that claim. And in the 5th Century we find a History of Joseph the Carpenter that claims he was 89 (!) when he was a widower, and married Mary when he was 91 (!). That’s a stretch for a number of reasons, not the least of which is that hardly anyone in the ancient world lived that long.

The first commemorations to St. Joseph are recorded in the 8th Century from Northern France that calls him the artful “Spouse of Mary.” I prefer to think of him as the “Step-Father of Jesus” not only because the Gospels functionally portray him that way, but also because it gives a holy nod to the blended families that bless this world.

St. Joseph is a reminder for me, and should be for the whole church, that everyone is called to be a step-father to the Divine Love Letter in this world.

We are all Josephs, no matter where we’re from.

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

Today the church remembers the church father who, in all likelihood, instituted the feast days of Palm Sunday and the observance of Holy Week: St. Cyril, Bishop of Jerusalem and First (unofficial) Sunday School Teacher of the Church.

St. Cyril was born in Jerusalem sometime around the early 4th Century. At a young age he was ordained a priest and, despite his youth, was entrusted with catechizing those preparing for baptism. This work was traditionally reserved only for the Bishop, but Cyril’s skill in teaching and relaying the doctrine of the church was impeccable.

The catechesis that St. Cyril created, known as the Catechetical Lectures are the clearest surviving notes that we have on the catechetical process of the early church for the Rite of Initiation which leads to the Rite of Holy Baptism (at least for adults…for children the process is reversed).

Cyril became Bishop of Jerusalem around the year 349, and remained in that holy seat until his death on this day in 386. Yet, during his bishopric he led in exile more than a few times, as that early church fought over doctrine and dogma (seems like a pattern, no?).

St. Cyril was Bishop over the Holy Land, the site of holy pilgrimage for many early Christians, especially around Easter. It is quite likely that St. Cyril, in all of his catechetical acumen, instituted the Feast of Palm Sunday and the events of Holy Week as a way to teach Christians about the Passion of the Christ. In many ways you can thank St. Cyril for what are, I believe, the best parts of Christian ritual.

St. Cyril is a reminder for me, and can be for the whole church, that rites and rituals are not “hoops we jump through,” but formative experiences that create a rhythm in our being that can be supremely meaningful in the right hands.

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

-icon written by Brother Simeon Davis of Monastery Icons

Today the church remembers St. Patrick, the 5th Century missionary to Ireland.

He was not religious as a child, and as an early teen was seized by Irish raiders and sold as a slave in Ireland. In his bondage and loneliness, he began to pray every day.

He eventually managed to escape in his late teens and returned to Roman-Britain, now spiritual and convinced that he was called to serve the Irish people not as a slave, but as a shepherd.

He studied for the priesthood, and became Bishop of Ireland in the 430’s.

Lore is legion for this Irish saint, and he became known for standing up for the Irish, even against the will and decrees of his native Roman-British. He was known for leading a vigorous and historic life. He died in 461 in County Down.

Prayer of St. Patrick (modern adaptation by me):

Christ with me,
Christ before me, leading to stand between my neighbor and those who would harm them, shoot them, slur them,
Christ behind me, pulling me back from being the harmer, the shooter, the slanderer.
Me in Christ.
Christ beneath me, showing me how to care for those trod under the feet of a system that favors the already-favored,
Christ above me, pulling me out of the pit of depression and all the personal hells we all find ourselves in,
Christ on the right of me, teaching me to love those more conservative than me,
Christ on the left of me, teaching me to love those more liberal than me,
Christ when I lie down, making my bed in the many and various agreements I find myself in that I am proud, and not so proud, of…agreements that betray my values, and also ones that speak to the kind of human I want to be,
Christ when I sit down with the protesters…(Christ make me sit down, that should say), and when I sit down and keep quiet because I’ve seen my privilege and they don’t need another voice like mine in the mix,
Christ when I arise like a phoenix from the fires that almost take my life,
Christ in the heart of everyone who thinks, fondly or unfondly, of me,
Christ in the mouth of everyone who speaks, kindly or unkindly, of me,
Christ in the eye of all who see me at my best and worst,
Christ in the ear of everyone who hears me, at my best and at my worst.

St. Patrick is a testament to how, when we fall in love with a people, we also fall in line with them against the powers of the world that threaten them. He was an ally for the abused Irish, and is now one of their patron saints.