Today the church remembers a saint who fought hard to move the needle of justice, especially for his poor neighbors in Turin Italy: Pier Giorgio Frassati, Social Reformer and Activist.

Saint Pier was born in 1901 to an agnostic father and artistic mother. His father would go on to serve in the Italian government, and his mother would go on to produce artwork that would be bought by royalty. Saint Pier, though, had his eyes set on adventure and advocacy.

As a young boy a mother and shoeless son came begging at the Frassti household. Pier answered the door and, so moved by the sight, gave the young boy the shoes off of his own feet. One night he witnessed a beggar come to his door intoxicated, and was horrified when his father sent him away with nothing. Sobbing Saint Pier ran to his mother who wrapped some food in a napkin for him, and sent him out into the night to find the hungry man.

For as big of a heart Saint Pier had, he also had a wonderful sense of humor. He would play practical jokes on his family and friends, and earned the name “Terror” for his wisecracks.

Though he was a smart boy, he was only an average student, and rather than find his home inside books, he found it inside the organizations working for justice. Especially dear to his heart was the anti-fascism work going on in the day, and those causes seeking to bridge the inequality gap. He spoke out against the regime of Mussolini, and was arrested for protesting alongside the Young Catholic Workers Congress.

“Charity is not enough,” he was known to say, “we must have social reform!”

His friends called him a “saint with a cigar,” as he marched, wrote (riffing off of Thomas Aquinas and St. Catherine of Siena), and spoke out against injustice.

In his leisure time he was an avid athlete, boating and mountaineering with his friends.

On one such boat trip in 1925 Saint Pier started to complain of a back ache. Returning home he was met with the death of his grandmother. Not wanting to add to the grief, he kept his pain largely to himself, though it grew in the following days.

Within a week Saint Pier found himself unable to rise from his bed, stricken at the age of 24 with Polio. He died in the arms of his mother, saying with his last breath, “May I breathe forth my soul in peace to you…”

Saint Pier is not a well-known saint, but is one who reminds me, and should remind the whole church, that moving the needle on social inequality often begins in the compassionate hearts of the young.

Which means we should listen to the young, as uncomfortable as that might make us.

-historical bits gleaned from 365 Saints by Koenig-Bricker

-icon written by Theophilia of Deviant Art (deviantart.com)

Today the church (should, in my opinion) remember one who has long been venerated as a contemporary folk saint, and is now remembered more broadly throughout communities both religious and secular: Saint Denmark Vesey, Carpenter, Community Organizer, and a Founder of Mother Emanuel Church.

Saint Denmark was born into slavery on the island of St. Thomas under Captain Joseph Vesey. Following Captain Vesey throughout the islands, Saint Denmark eventually landed in Charleston, SC and, having won a lottery option, was able to buy his freedom. Unfortunately he was unable to buy the freedom of his first wife, Beck, and their children out of slavery, despite being a very good businessman.

Saint Denmark made his living as a carpenter and was quite skilled. He also grew influential in the Black community both in Charleston and on the surrounding plantations. It should be remembered that by the early 1700’s the population of South Carolina was majority enslaved. Black power was kept in check by intimidation and violence.

Saint Denmark knew this. He saw this. He saw the potential for an uprising, and knew he couldn’t sit still and continue to let his enslaved siblings toil for riches they’ll never see and dignity they’d never be able to earn.

Saint Denmark became very involved in the Black Church in South Carolina, even founding a free African Methodist Episcopal church in the city now known colloquially as Mother Emanuel. Both within the church and through his business he gathered support for an uprising against the powerbrokers and plantation owners that was so massive both with influence and scope, it shook the status quo to its core.

In 1821 plans were made for a mass revolt. Using his skills as a lay preacher, Saint Denmark went over plans for the community action in the classrooms of churches throughout the city, primarily at Mother Emanuel and Second Presbyterian. In the churches the plans for freedom were made, Beloved. Saint Denmark invoked the story of the Exodus in his meetings, weaving the story of the enslaved person in Charleston with that of the enslaved person in Egypt.

Plans were put in motion and, being influenced by the French, Bastille Day (July 14, 1822) was chosen as the date. They would all converge on the Meeting Street Arsenal and, once they took control of the weaponry, would commandeer ships and set sail for Haiti freeing slaves along the way.

Because this planned revolt had gained so much support and attention, word slipped out regarding the details. Even after Saint Denmark moved up the date of the insurrection, the wheels of power were already getting set to crush the leaders, and crush them quickly.

Mayor James Hamilton of Charleston quickly formed a militia and rounded up the key conspirators. After his arrest and quick death sentence, Saint Denmark told his pastor, “I will die for a glorious cause.”

Saint Denmark Vesey died on this date, July 2nd, 1822, by hanging in Charleston, South Carolina.

In 1990 African-American residents of Charleston proposed erecting a monument to Saint Denmark, memorializing how he tried to overturn slavery in this city. Many white patrons balked at the idea, noting that they did not want to commemorate one who they considered “a terrorist.” I mean, let’s totally IGNORE the Confederate statues that dot the city landscape (confirmed terrorists), but, whatever.

Racism is alive and well, Beloved.

Saint Denmark Vesey is a reminder for me, and should be for the whole church, that liberation has always been talked about in the Sunday School rooms of our churches…

We just don’t like to talk about it and conveniently have amnesia when doing so makes us uncomfortable and we’re the ones who have to change in order for liberation to happen.

Let those with ears to hear, hear.

-historical bits gleaned from publicly accessible information and Illes’ work Daily Magic.

-statue of Vesey below was finally erected in 2014 in Hampton Park, Charleston, South Carolina. Ed Dwight was the American sculptor.

Today the church remembers a translator of hymns (and, particularly, one of my favorite hymns), Catherine Winkworth, 19th Century poet and hymn writer.

Born in London in the 1820’s, Catherine would grow up with a deep appreciation for music. Her first work would be published when she was in her 30’s, a translation edition of German hymns, Lyra Germanica. It was immensely popular, churning out five editions in just a few years. She was seen as someone with the rare ability to keep the spirit of the German lyrical genius even when translated into English.

Her skill in translating German into English while retaining the essence, not just the literal word of the text, would lead her to become one of the premier translators of her time.

She was also a staunch advocate for women’s rights in the 19th Century, eventually becoming the secretary of the Clifton Association for Higher Education in Clifton, England, and a member of Cheltenham Ladies’ College.

Catherine and her sister, Susanna, were delegates to the German Conference of Women’s Work, presided over by Princess Anne.

At the age of 51 Catherine died suddenly of heart disease on July 1st, and a monument to her was erected in Bristol Cathedral.

It’s interesting to note, especially for those of us from Reformation backgrounds, that while men are known to be the “great translators” of ancient Greek and Latin hymns, the authoritative translators of post-Reformation German hymns were almost all women, including Catherine Winkworth.

My favorite hymn of her translation, and one we sang often around Thanksgiving here in the States, is ELW 839, “Now Thank We All Our God.” The second verse reads:

“Oh, may this bounteous God
through all our life be near us,
with ever joyful hearts
and blessed peace to cheer us,
and keep us all in grace,
and guide us when perplexed
and free us from all harm
in this world and the next”

Winkworth is a reminder to me, and should be a reminder to the church, that when it comes to theology, to scripture, to “God-talk,” the literal will never do. We must capture the essence, lest we lose ourselves in the particulars. God is found between the words, between the notes, between the letters even…not in them.

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

Calling all my Swedish friends! Today’s saint day is for you!

Today the church remembers a 19th Century saint who put pen to paper and out came some wonderful hymns and brooding poems: Saint Johan Olaf Wallin, Hymnwriter, Archbishop, and Restless Existential Wrestler.

Saint Johan was born in Stora Tuna in the late 1700’s and, despite being a sickly child, graduated from the University of Uppsala in 1799. He would go on to receive his doctorate of theology ten years later, and began serving as a parish priest in Solna.

Being a bright and capable pastor, he quickly became a bishop, a chief royal preacher of the King of Sweden, and then shortly before his death was consecrated Archbishop of Uppsala and Primate of the Church of Sweden.

Though he was a great pastor, he was an even better hymnwriter and poet. In 1805 and 1809 he was awarded the highest award for his poetry by the Swedish Academy, and during his life he composed and published a number of hymnbooks containing older hymns he adapted and new hymns he wrote. He was entrusted in editing the new Swedish hymnbook to replace the old one (which had been around since 1695…and people think we hang on to old texts!), and basically did the collecting, editing, and revising the whole thing because the committee assembled couldn’t agree on any drafts (sounds like church work).

King Karl XIV authorized the new Psalmbook (it’s name) in 1819. It included five hundred hymns, a fifth of which were written by Wallin himself.

The Church of Sweden used this hymnbook for over a century. In the next edition (1937) a third of the hymns were still written by Wallin.

On the personal side, Wallin was known as a brooding and rather “stormy-clouded” individual. He wrestled with life, and published an epic poem of restlessness, “The Angel of Death,” written during the cholera epidemic in Stockholm in 1834. He completed the poem just a few weeks before he died on June 30th, 1839 at the age of 60.

You’ve no doubt sung some of his words, and in the Lutheran Church in America’s hymnbook (SBH) his Christmas hymn “All Hail to Thee, O Blessed Morn” was put to Philip Nicolai’s (see October 26th for his saint day) well-sung tune, “Wie Schon Leuchtet.”

Saint Johan is a reminder for me, and should be for the whole church, that beautiful, wonderful, thoughtful people wrestle with life and death.

Indeed, without such wrestling we’d never have real poetry or music that speaks to the soul. Indeed, as Saint Elton of the John’s notes, “Sad songs say so much…”

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

-hymn found in SBH #33

Today is a Feast Day for the church unlike most others in that it is a day where the church has, in death, tried to reconcile two saints who didn’t get along well in life.

Today is the Feast of Sts. Peter and Paul, Apostles, Arguers, and Erstwhile Frienenemies.

Simon, later renamed Peter, was identified as the rock upon which Christ would build the church. He’s a clear leader from the start, though imperfect, and took the helm after Christ’s ascension. He would become the first Bishop of the church.

Saul, later renamed Paul, was a rogue leader from the beginning. He had a vision for the Gospel that was not bound by ethnicity, race, or creed, and he pushed the boundaries the emerging religious leaders were erecting around this new wave of spirituality. He would become the first superstar of the church.

Peter and Paul did not get along well. Their quarrels are documented in the Acts of the Apostles, as well as the book of Galatians, with varying degrees of agreement between the texts. Their back-and-forth is emblematic of the kind of push-and-pull that the church would face when love for others met the hard barriers of cold doctrine and group identity.

I mean, this still goes on today.

Paul and Peter eventually did agree on one thing: that they would each continue to serve the poor. And they each did secure their own, separate, feast days around specific events in their lives: Peter’s Confession (January 18th) and Paul’s Conversion (January 25th).

But the church would not let their feud last forever and, after their deaths, decided to reconcile them on a single feast day. Most icons even have them kissing, or at least embracing, imagining that their honest love for the faith would overcome their seemingly honest contempt for the other.

Their issues in life would not follow them past the grave.

Maybe that’s one of the most beautiful things the church can offer a world as divisive as this one in these days: the chance to continue to work on loving and being loved even past the grave.

-historical bits gleaned from Pfatteicher’s New Book of Festivals & Commemorations, the Book of Acts, and because I study.

-icon written by Fr. Thomas Loya

Today the church remembers a warning beacon of a prophet who sounded the alarm (but few heard it): Saint Jeremiah, the Weeping Prophet.

Saint Jeremiah lived between 650 and 570 BCE, telling truths during the 13th year of King Josiah of Judah. He was mentored in the prophetic tradition by Zephaniah and called into it by Divine voice in 626 BCE.

And what was the call?

To announce that Judah should reform and turn from their ways, or else destruction would surely come. Saint Jeremiah resisted the call, reminding the Divine that he was “only a child,” and not a great public speaker (a protest used by many prophets, I might add). These protests are pretty curious, of course, because it’s pretty clear from the beginning that Saint Jeremiah was an articulate speaker, and perhaps had been schooled in oratory in one of the early Jewish schools. In the Book of Jeremiah, of which he authored (along with 1 Kings, 2 Kings, and parts of Lamentations with the help of his trusty scribe, Baruch) Saint Jeremiah is said to have been fed words by God…an odd meal, I’m sure!

Ultimately the reforms that King Josiah (to his credit!) put in place seemed to not be enough to avoid disaster. Speaking the harsh truths that he did prompted many people to shun him, his family to plot to take his life, and ultimately he became a priest on the run. It’s important to note that Saint Jeremiah was part of the elite of the day, the inner circle, critiquing the power structures that kept the wealthy, wealthy, the powerful, powerful, and the hard-strapped, hard-strapped. With Saint Jeremiah preaching from the inside, and Saint Amos (the yin to his yang) preaching from the margins (as a simple farmer) years before, you’d think folks would have heard a little better, right?

But power is seductive. Money has a way of silencing dissent. Marx wrote that “Religion is the opiate of the masses,” but sometimes I wonder if health insurance and benefits are the true opiates…

Saint Jeremiah said that he tried to stop telling truths, but that the words burned his throat and tongue if it sat too long. Perhaps too many of us dull the burn with platitudes and “just waiting out the clock.” He called out the religious elites. He called out the political elites. He called out the ruling class.

And they threw him into a cistern, attempting to starve him. He was saved by Ebed-Medech, an Ethiopian, and eventually released from captivity by the Babylonian army.

Turns out, when Babylon laid siege to Judah, the Babylonians were the ones who understood mercy.

Saint Jeremiah is a reminder for me, and should be for the whole church, that sometimes critique must come from those sitting at the table.

-historical bits from publicly available information

-icon written in traditional Orthodox style

Today the church remembers the Siskel to Luther’s Ebert, the Bert to Luther’s Ernie, the Ginger to Luther’s Fred: Saint Philipp Melanchthon, Reformer, Renewer, and Editor.

Saint Philipp’s true last name is Schwarzerd, and he was born on February 16th at the end of the 15th Century. In Greek, though, his last name is Melanchthon, meaning, “dark earth,” probably a nod to his family’s farming heritage.

Saint Philipp was a great student and a natural talent. By the age of twelve he had already mastered Latin, and by thirteen had Greek under his belt as well. He attended both Heidelberg University and Tubingen where he was awarded a Masters Degree for his studies. He was brilliant, he was a humanist, and eventually he became the first professor of Greek at Wittenberg where he would encounter a grumpy, fiery Martin Luther in the Theology Department.

Luther encouraged Melanchthon to study theology as well as Aristotle, and he eventually started teaching that as well at Wittenberg, proving quite popular with the students. With this outstanding professor roaming its halls, Wittenberg became a leading university in Medieval Europe.

In the fall of 1520 Saint Philipp entered unwittingly into the arena of politics when he married the daughter of Wittenberg’s mayor. Their marriage was both a blessing and included a good bit of tragedy as two of their children died quite young. In this both Saint Philipp and our own Blessed Martin shared a similar heartache. All the same, Saint Philipp and his wife, Katherine, were known to be generous and hospitable to everyone they encountered.

In 1521 Saint Philipp published his Loci Communes, the first compilation of Lutheran doctrine ever assembled. But Saint Philipp was not only interested in theology. With Luther’s help, Saint Philipp would go on to tackle social issues in Germany, reorganizing schools and championing public education. It was Saint Philipp who would take the lead in the development of elementary and secondary education, making the study of the classics as the bedrock of public schooling.

Saint Philipp was often called upon to make appearances at debates and meetings where he would draft reports, refutations, and articles of reconciliation. He was a master writer and had a way of tempering Luther’s often bombastic treatises.

Saint Philipp never entered the priesthood, but rather played the important role of invested layperson. He died in Wittenberg just three years after his beloved Katherine in 1560. He is remembered on this day because today is the anniversary of the Presentation of the Augsburg Confession, the founding document of the Reformation. Melanchthon’s influence and pen is all over that document, and he presented it to Emperor Charles V at 3pm at his diet to settle religious controversies because Luther had already been excommunicated.

Saint Philipp is a reminder for me, and should be for the whole church, that every endeavor is a team effort. Luther would not have gotten far without Saint Philipp, who quietly, brilliantly, created the road on which the Reformation trod.

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

Today the church celebrates the Nativity of John the Forerunner, you probably know him as “John the Baptizer,” popularly called the Cousin of Jesus.

John is the miraculous child of the aged Zechariah and Elizabeth, and we first hear of John’s movement in the world when a very pregnant Mary visits a very pregnant Elizabeth, and the still-wombed John leaps for joy.

John was religiously an Essene, otherwise known as a Son of Zadok, an extremist streak of Judaism known for odd behavior and dress. The Essenes focused heavily on repentance, rejected an immoral life, and publicly critiqued the rulers of the day, the Herodians.

This last part will get him killed in the end.

There are still followers of John the Forerunner in Iraq, believing that he is the rightful and true Messiah. They are a severely oppressed minority.

John’s birth day is no accident and is certainly not factually bound. The ancient church put it squarely six months before Jesus’ natal day, near the other pole of nature’s sequence, the Summer Solstice. As Jesus’ birth was placed near the Winter’s Solstice where light will ever increase, John’s natal day was placed near the Summer Solstice, where light will ever decrease, but never be extinguished. This dating of John the Forerunner’s feast pairs nicely with his own words in the Gospel of John (3:30) where the baptizer says, “I must decrease so that he might increase.”

Interestingly, Saint John the Forerunner is the patron saint of Quebec, and is celebrated all across French Canada.

Saint John the Forerunner is a reminder for me, and for the whole church, I think, that the call of the faithful is the call of both personal and societal critique. So much of what passes for Christianity today is focused too heavily on personal reform. John reminds us that our own internal reform should always lead us to call for societal reform.

Even if we lose our life in the process.

Today the church remembers a 4th Century saint that has largely been lost to history, but whose name continues to be used on church signs, street markers (even here in Raleigh), and a number of notable British towns and landmarks: Saint Alban, Master of Disguise and Martyr.

St. Alban was a Roman soldier stationed in what was then the far reaches of the Empire: Verulamium, twenty miles north of London on the British Isles.

One night a priest came knocking at his door seeking shelter from bounty hunter soldiers who intended to kill him for the reward offered. St. Alban took him in, and when the marauding soldiers came to his house, St. Alban dressed as the priest and let the old Father escape.

The soldiers took St. Alban, tortured him, and martyred him in place of the priest, even though they knew they had the wrong person.

At the place of the martyrdom an abbey, St. Alban’s Abbey, now stands.

St. Alban is the earliest person we know tied to the Christian faith on the British Isles, and he’s largely considered the first Christian martyr of Britain (though we have no knowledge of his belief system).

Personally, I like to think that St. Alban was not a Christian, but rather just a good human who understood that when someone knocks at your door intending to harm someone in your house for their beliefs, their skin color, or their heritage, you have no choice but to tell them the truth: there is no one in that house that they can take.

St. Alban is a reminder for me, and should be for the whole church, that sometimes salvation isn’t found in people who believe like you do, but rather in wonderful humans of every creed and stripe who just know the face of the Divine when they see it.

Let those with ears to hear, hear.