Today the church honors a 17th Century pioneer in equality and human dignity, St. Peter Claver, Jesuit, Servant and Reformer.

St. Claver was born in Spain, became a Jesuit priest, and was sent to Columbia and the mission fields of the new world. There he came under the wing of Fr. Alonso de Sandoval, a fellow Jesuit who was dedicating his life to the well being of the slaves being brought in massive numbers to work the Colombian fields and mines.

St. Claver worked on behalf of the slaves from the minute they were forced from their boats in the inhumane slave trade. Their physical, emotional, and spiritual well-being became his primary concern, and he felt he needed to live among them to serve them, taking a stand with them against the inhumane practices of the powerful.

He argued through the means available to him that slaves, once baptized, should be freed, an argument that seems nonsensical and colonialist to our ears, but which was probably his best means of persuasion at the time. Fellow Christians, he thought, deserved the rights all Christians deserve.

He was known for following up with slaves after their work days in the mines and fields, and faced great hatred and opposition from slave owners and the rich elite who knew his care threatened their control.

St. Claver also found himself in the jails and work camps, often coming alongside those being tortured during the Inquisition. Though Fr. Claver was sympathetic to the Inquisition’s goal, he felt that everyone left imprisoned and alone deserved a friend and advocate. In his work in the hospitals he was known for showing no racial partiality in his care for patients, which to us sounds like “not enough,” but in the 17th Century was “far too much” for the powerful padding their pockets on the backs of cheap human labor.

Often stubborn and difficult to work with, Fr. Claver had many admirers for his guts, but few friends. At the end of his life he became paralyzed and was left in a small room, neglected for four years until his death.

Ironically, in his time of need he was not offered the same care that he had offered others.

St. Claver is often called the “Saint of the Slaves,” not only because he cared so much for them, but also because he argued passionately for their legal rights.

Certainly we can say that he did not do enough. But contextually, he was a unique voice of opposition and action…a combination that was rare in the 17th Century.

He is a reminder to the church, and to me, that words without actions are just noise in a world drowning in a cacophony of noise.

Social media posts and generalized outrage are no strategy for world change, Beloved.

We must find ourselves living in and with our neighbor, advocating with them, not just for them. We must find ourselves utilizing our power to preach both to and against the powerful.

And we don’t do so as some sort of insurance policy, believing that someone will one day do the same for any of us…they may not.

We do so because it’s the right thing to do, by God.

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

Today’s feast day is a great example of how cultures adapt ancient feasts and tweak them to make meaning.

Today the church remembers The Black Madonna of Regla, a feast honored in homes around the world, but which is especially important for our Cuban sisters and brothers (though similar feasts are held in Spain and the Philippines).

The Black Madonna of Regla is an extension of tomorrow’s feast day, the Nativity of Saint Mary, but honors a particular carving of the Madonna from North Africa out of dark wood. The carving was supposedly commissioned by Saint Augustine himself!

When Spain pillaged North Africa (modern day Algeria), they took the statue and placed it in Chipiona, Spain. When the Moors went on their own conquest in Spain, the statue was hidden in a well, and forgotten about for hundreds of years, only to reappear after a vision was given to the church describing its location.

When Spain came brandishing their swords to the Caribbean, they found an ancient feast at this time of year to the goddess of the sea and “mother to us all,” Yemaya. Venerated in Santeria, a blend of many ancient religions, Yemaya is the black goddess dressed in blue who birthed life through the sea, and thus birthed everything. This goddess draped in blue looked, to those Conquistadors, like the Virgin Mary depicted in this ancient African statue so popular in Spain. Thus the festival for Yemaya was adopted as the Feast of the Black Virgin of Regla, because the Christianized celebration was instituted in Regla, Havanna, Cuba.

As with most holidays/holy days coopted by the church, ancient practices of the old remain blended into the new. The Black Madonna, clad in blue with sequins (mirroring the sparkles of the sea) is paraded through the town. The people give thanks for this “Mother of All” and celebrate life. The water of the ocean, like amniotic fluid, is used to symbolize the divine birthing of all life.

For those of a more Christian bent, the Madonna is honored and the life celebrated on this day is the life made whole in the person of the Christ, “Firstborn of All Creation” (Colossians 1:15).

For those who follow Santeria and the more indigenous religions, the woman dressed in blue is Yemaya, who births all life (especially to those who live on an island).

For some, she is both…and that is perfectly fine by them. Clear-cut distinctions in these kinds of matters are important only to people with too much time on their hands and too much at stake with either claim.

By the way, if you think this is unusual, this coopting of feasts and festivals by the church to tweak a practice, know that most of the highest, holiest days of the church are examples of this very thing. Christmas is a cooption, hence why trees of more pagan practices appear in Christian sanctuaries. Candlemas, in February, is a cooption of the Celtic festival of Imbolc. Easter, even, is in some ways a cooption as the very name is derived from the pagan “Goddess of Spring,” Eostre. This is why bunnies sit alongside empty tombs.

This happens. No need to hide it.

The Black Madonna of Regla is a reminder for me, and should be for the whole church, that sometimes the Divine is more prism than photograph, with many facets depending where you look…or whose eyes do the looking.

-historical bits by public sources

-icon written by Metu

Today I would lobby hard that the church remember one of its premier contemporary storytellers: Madeleine L’Engle, Writer, Dreamer, and Master of Imagination.

Born in New York City in late 1918, Madeleine L’Engle Camp (she would eventually drop the Camp) was born to a pianist mother and a writer father, and took up her own writing discipline at the young age of eight. She was known as an awkward and shy child, and did poorly in school mostly due to her inability to assimilate. Because of her poor marks, her parents moved her around from school to school (and even physically moved, themselves) in an attempt to find the right fit for their family. Due to her social dis-ease, Madeleine found her home within the pages of the books that brought her comfort and friendship.

Madeleine graduated from Smith College and moved back to New York City to live as a writer and stage performer. She published her first two novels there, married actor Hugh Franklin, and birthed their first child, Josephine. Desiring a change of pace, the young family moved to Connecticut and became merchants of a small general store there as their family grew to add a son Bion and an adopted daughter, Maria.

It should be noted that even though she was writing this whole time, Madeleine had very little success getting her work published.

Because money was tight, the family moved back to New York City in 1959 so that Hugh could resume his acting career. Madeleine continued to write even though very little of it was ready by anyone, and by 1960 she had finally finished what would become her seminal work: A Wrinkle in Time.

It was rejected by 30 publishers before finally being picked up.

I’ll say that again for those in the back who fear that their work is no good: A Wrinkle in Time was rejected 30 times before being published. It would go on to win the Newberry Medal for Junior Fiction in 1962.

Madeleine would continue to give herself away for those she loved even after having attained international literary success. She taught at a local school, volunteered at a local library, and was very active in her Episcopalian parish where she not only served with the community but also accepted a few writer-in-residence opportunities. All the while she continued to write for audiences young and old, both in fiction and memoir form, tantalizing the imagination of so many in this world.

L’Engle understood that fantasy is the language we use to tell truths that are just too hard or deep to understand through common symbolism and dry prose. Fantasy is not an escape from, but an invitation deeply into, the heart of reality.

Children get this. Adults…not so much.

Madeleine was a convinced Christo-centric Universalist, claiming that no God could “punish people forever.” She said she could not do that as a parent, nor wish it upon her children, so how could a loving God do so with their own creation?

After a lifetime of writing, speaking, and creating for humanity, Madeleine L’Engle slowly slowed her pace and died on this day in 2007. She remains a beloved author by so many and an ever-present voice of challenge to humanity. In a world obsessed with “did it actually happen?” L’Engle reminds us that a much more important and interesting question is, “It doesn’t matter if it happened, does it happen?”

Madeleine L’Engle is a reminder for me, and should be for the church (and indeed the whole world), that fantasy tells deep truths, and perhaps religion would do well to not only acknowledge that fact, but lean into a bit.

Let those with ears to hear, hear.

-historical bits gleaned from public sources

-icon written by Jenny Kroik

Today I would lobby hard that we remember St. Freddie of the Mercury, Reformer and Musician.

Freddie (birth name Furrohk), was born in Zanzibar (modern day Tanzania) to Parsi-Indian parents. During the Zanzibar Revolution, Furrohk’s family fled and settled in Middlesex, England.

In 1970 he formed the rock band Queen and became the unlikeliest of frontmen. With an amazing four-octave range, which is almost unheard of, Freddie’s stage persona was as lively as his personal life, despite his intense shyness when not on stage. He interacted with his audience. He craved the spotlight while performing, but had few people he considered true friends. And despite having a serious overbite, never sought dental intervention for fear it would ruin his voice.

Mercury wrote 10 of Queen’s 17 greatest hits. His ambiguous and fluid sexuality caused many tabloids to stir with rumors. In a day when anything but heterosexuality was seen as deviant, he kept people guessing. He was diagnosed with AIDs in 1987, and confirmed he had the disease the day before his death in 1991. He was 45 years old. His birthday, September 5th, is still revered by rock enthusiasts and activists alike.

Mercury is a reminder to the world that the underdog in life should never be underestimated nor counted out. He challenged contemporary tropes relating to masculinity and what it means to be a rock star, and with a unique voice changed the way we think about both.

He was born to sing, and he did what he was born to do…may we all be so fortunate.

Today the church also remembers a woman who had a small frame but was a giant in the life of so many around the world: Saint Mother Teresa, Servant, Renewer of Society, and Woman full of Existential Doubt.

Born Gonxha Agnes Bjoaxhiu in Skopje, Albania in the year 1910, this slight saint was raised in the faith by her mother, as her father died when she was just eight. In September of 1928 Gonxha left home intending to become a missionary and entered the Institute of the Blessed Virgin Mary in Ireland. Being only eighteen at the time, she changed her name to Sister Mary Teresa after St. Therese of Lisieux, and prepared to head to India that December.

In January of 1929 Saint Teresa arrived in Calcutta and began her formal ministry with the people she would eventually identify with. In 1937 she made her final vows and was given the title “Mother,” an homage to not only her status within the ecclesial body of the church, but also as a testament to her outlook: tender, heart-felt, and courageously fierce when it came to the care of her people.

It is no exaggeration to say that many of us were the children of Mother Teresa.

On September 10th (it’s really amazing how many of the events of her life happened in September until we realize that this month is really a month of transitions in all creation) in the year 1946 she received a nudge from the Holy Spirit that a religious community should be formed in Calcutta, dedicated to serving the lowest caste of the societal system there.

In August of 1948 she officially received permission to found the Missionaries of Charity, with their white a blue bordered garb as a tell-tale sign of their work.

By 1950 her movement to serve the poorest of the poor in the world had spread from Calcutta to Venezuela, Rome, Tanzanie, and eventually to every continent throughout the known world. She truly inspired a movement that can be called world-changing.

In 1979 she was honored with the Nobel Prize for Peace and gained larger international fame. What is less-known about Saint Teresa, our common Mother, is that she was plagued by doubt and existential questions. Even as she gained fame as a woman of faith her private life was one of wrestling with the God she professed and the destitute poverty she witnessed. Only after her death did we all realize the deep struggle she faced daily to profess a God of love when so many in the world went without.

In this way, she truly is the Mother of so many of us.

In 1997, having served Calcutta for so many years, Mother Teresa died. She was given a state funeral in India and buried in the motherhouse there at the Sisters of Charity. She remains both an inspiration and an honest participant in both the service that Christ calls us to and the questions surrounding the idea of a benevolent God when there is so much hurt and pain and sorrow in the world.

Saint Mother Teresa is a reminder for me, and should be for the whole church, that no amount of faith can shield us from the honest questions that come when we’re in proximity of those who go without in this world.

Honestly, anyone without questions has not examined their faith…and this saint is a reminder of that.

Let those with ears to hear, hear.

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

-icon written by Brian Nicholas Tsai

Last night we lost Saint Jimmy of the Buffett’s, a tropical bard who embodied chill for a world needing instructions on how to do it, all the while using his business savvy and heart to create a legacy of ongoing chill that will outlive him.

I was introduced to Saint Jimmy early in my life. Some called him a novelty, some a joke, but to me he presented the quintessential ideal of someone enjoying their life’s calling to the fullest. I immediately found a kindred soul: he loved to make people happy and sought out different ways to do it through all the senses.

His love for bar food and boat drinks led to an empire of eateries.

His love for people of all ages led to retirement communities that encourage chill in the third act of life.

His love for human connection was found in a touring schedule that would make artists half his age fatigued in half the time, drawing thousands and thousands of Parrot Heads who saw following him on tour as an honor that bonded vagabonds and misfits and CEOs and school teachers together, all needing a break for a few hours, everyone letting their hair down (even if you didn’t have any).

His love for the written word led to books upon books, both for adults and children, to be published, all highlighting the sand and the surf and the hoisted sail.

And his love for music? Well, Saint Jimmy was not an amazing composer, but he was a prolific one. And he knew something that so few people do: how to tell a good, complete story in song.

In “The Captain and the Kid” we learned about his grandfather’s struggle to retire from sea life. In “Son of A Son of A Sailor” we learned about his life’s ambition to be on the waves forever like his grandfather, and in “A Pirate Looks at 40” we heard him struggle with the fact that he’ll never live that kind of life because, by chance, he was born “200 years too late…an over 40 victim of fate.” Even in his little-known tune “Mailbox Money” we got a glimpse of his life, hearing how his residuals just appeared in his mailbox in the morning and even how, when in his island life the postal service was spotty, he’d take up the helm delivering the mail by boat to his neighbors.

Though I find toe-tapping fun in his hits “Fins” and “Cheeseburger in Paradise,” I’ve always been drawn to his sentimental tunes offerings like “Barefoot Children in the Rain,” and “Take Another Road.”

After Hurricane Katrina wiped out large swaths of New Orleans and lower Mississippi, he wrote a song to ease their hearts, donating the proceeds of the album to their recovery. In the song he sang,

“I bought a cheap watch from a crazy man,
Floating down Canal.
It doesn’t use numbers or moving hands,
It always just says ‘now.’
Now you may be thinking that I was had,
But this watch is never wrong.
And if I have trouble the warranty says,
‘Breathe in, breathe out, move on.’”

I cannot tell you, Beloved, how many times those lyrics have saved my life.

Saint Jimmy sought the good life and accidentally stumbled upon a meaningful one. Saint Jimmy sought the ocean, but instead brought happiness to oceans of humanity through community-building tunes.

Saint Jimmy found his way into the ears and hearts of so many who just needed a license to chill, and he wrote the order for them to do so without hesitation. I had the joy of hearing him for the first time just a few years ago, even as I own just about every one of his albums on vinyl.

He was a serious businessman who peddled in amusement as his currency, and we were grateful to join in that commercial exchange, finding privilege on both sides of that transaction.

It is fitting that he died on the cusp of Autumn, having led a Summer existence.

And, at least for me, I find it fitting that I read of his death this morning looking at the waves of the Atlantic, his home he introduced me to and invited me to see as my own.

Sail on, Jimmy.

Here’s the view from my balcony, and I have to imagine that this morning, well, yours is the same one.

Today the church honors often overlooked saints, but ones close to my heart, The Martyrs of Papua New Guinea.

I know…you’ve never heard of them, which is too bad.

They’re relatively recent additions to the calendar of commemorations, added in the late 70’s.

When the Axis Powers invaded New Guinea in 1942, a number of the European missionaries on the island nation had already been called back to their countries of origin.

The Anglican Bishop of New Guinea, Philip Strong, challenged his clergy to remain with the people. Eight missionaries and two Papuan laymen were betrayed to the Axis Powers and martyred in August of 1942 for their defiance and insubordination.

In 1948 the Martyrs Memorial School was opened in Sangara as a living memorial to these brave souls. The school continues today and can be found in Agenahambo.

Often included in this memorial day are the 15 Lutheran, 24 Methodist, and 168 Roman Catholic Missionaries in Papua New Guinea, New Britain, and the Solomon Islands who died during the WW II.

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

Today the church remembers a wonderful 7th Century Celtic Saint, Saint Aidan, Friendly Bishop and Quiet Firebrand.

In St. Aidan’s day the British Isles were considered to be mostly Christianized, but the stubborn island of Ireland was proving to be a difficult people to convert. As keepers of an older way, the Irish were amenable to many parts of Roman Catholicism except for the whole “obedience” thing.

Nevertheless, at the turn of the 7th Century the church decided to try its hand again at bringing the faith to the Irish. The little monastery founded by St. Columba on Iona housed a number of native Irish monks, and rather than send British or Roman missionaries to the Irish people, it was deemed wise to send Irish monks to serve them and share the Gospel.

This was smart.

St. Aidan had been quite critical of the methods previously used by Roman missionaries toward his people, and though his name means “little fiery one” in Gaelic, he entered the mission field with humility and a genuine love for the Northumbrians, of whom he was now appointed as Bishop.

In the way that the Celts were known for doing, he melded the ancient rituals and beliefs of the Celts with Christianity to create a more wholistic way of practicing the faith. He chose the island of Lindisfarne as the perfect place to build a cathedral, and from these emerald-hued hills began meeting with towns people across Ireland, taking a keen interest in their lives and gently ingratiating himself to them.

Aidan thought conversion happened best by wooing, not warring with words. He was relentlessly friendly, and founded a number of schools and hospitals to serve the children of Ireland. He was particularly concerned for orphans and those trapped in slavery. In fact, he bought the freedom of many slaves, using church offerings to pay off those who held them captive.

St. Aidan died on one of his many missionary endeavors, having fallen ill visiting his beloved people. The legend goes that on August 31st in 651, he stopped, took a breather leaning against the wall of the local church in Bamburgh, and simply fell over.

St. Aidan is a reminder to me, and should be for the whole church, that for any message to be heard, genuine love must first be shown.

-icon written by Anatoli
-historical bits gleaned from various sources, including Koenig-Bricker’s 365 Saints

Today is the feast day of a giant of theology and philosophy, Saint Augustine, Teacher.

Fun Fact: Augustine was voted by his classmates, “Most Likely Non-Disciple to Get Lutheran Churches Named After Him.”

Augustine was born in Algeria in 354 to a Christian mother (Monica) and a pagan father. He was a good student, and in his early years practiced Manichaeism, a dualistic religion of Persian origin that was very “in the now” of his day.

He fathered a child early on in his life, and he named him Adeodatus which means “Gift of God.” History is quiet on the kind of father he was, but it’s important to note that this happened because all of this early material would lay the basis for his most famous work, Confessions.

Eventually Augustine ended up in Rome where he taught rhetoric and was wooed into the Catholic faith. There he was catechized under St. Ambrose and was baptized at the Great Vigil of Easter in 387.

Shortly thereafter Augustine returned to North Africa and lived a monastic life with friends. In 391 while visiting Hippo, he was chosen by the small church there to be their pastor.

All indicators point to his reluctance to take up the role, but eventually he was ordained into the priesthood and consecrated Bishop of Hippo, a role he kept for 35 years. He traveled extensively in the ancient world, and wrote volumes while he did so.

His book The City of God contains his reflections on society and the body politic in the aftermath of Rome’s collapse. In it he also defends Christianity and sets forth a vision of an ideal Christian society.

Spoiler alert: it looks nothing like America.

He established a Rule of Life and an order, Augustinian, was begun in his name. Martin Luther would adopt this Rule and this order.

Augustine died after he came down with an intense fever in the year 430. His remains, well, remain in the Church of San Pietro in Pavia, Italy.

Augustine is the model of the “second chance” life. And, quite honestly if you read Confessions, a third and fourth chance, too.

He is one of the most human of the saints because his foibles and misadventures are documented for all to see. He remains a gift to the church, even with all his flaws, and is a constant reminder that contrition and confession enable us to be born again.

And again.

And again.

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