"Jesus Began to Weep" (Reflections on All Saints, Year B 2024)

 

I lost my dad to a sudden massive heart attack in December of 1990. I took some time off from my teaching job with the Los Angeles School District to be with my mom. My mother suffered with emphysema, and my father had been her major caregiver. With him gone my sisters and I would have to make some arrangements for her care. But life, as it has a tendency to do, still went on, and a few days later I found myself getting back to quotidian tasks like grocery shopping. At my local supermarket I ran into Randy, a huge teddy bear of a guy who was the sexton of our church. He stuck out an enormous hand when he saw me and said, “Gosh, Owen. I sure am sorry about your dad.”

It occurred to me that there hadn’t been a Sunday in between the time of my father’s death and my meeting Randy at the Ralph’s Market. This took place in those dark, barbaric days before the internet or the ubiquitous cell phone. The people of St. Luke’s Lutheran Church actually took the time to get on their land lines and call one another and pass along the word that Evan Griffiths had died. They reacted to the death of one of their own as a community.

If the Christian Church has nothing else to offer, it provides a space where we can all grieve, mourn, and console one another together as a family. We gather together in the empathetic knowledge of our shared humanity. We all love, we all fear loss, but we all will experience it.

Since the fourth century the Church has set aside a special day to remember our dead. When Christianity was first legal and later official as a religion of the Roman Empire, the faithful departed—mostly those martyred for their faith during the Church’s “unofficial” times—were remembered after Easter. The springtime observance was possibly meant to remind Christians of the promise of the resurrection of the faithful. By the twelfth century the Feast of All Saints was moved to November 1, around the time of the final harvest when Northern European pagans, feeling the changing season somehow eroded the barrier between the physical and the spirit worlds, celebrated their dead. So, for the last thousand years we’ve been setting this time aside to look back, remember the ones we’ve loved and lost, give thanks to God for the influence they’ve had and the joy they brought to us, and, quite simply, while in each other’s understanding company, allow ourselves to miss them.

The gospel lesson appointed in the Revised Common Lectionary for All Saints, Year B (John 11:32-44) is the famous story of the raising of Lazarus. I like this story. It mirrors so many of the feelings we all have about death and bereavement. Lazarus’ sisters both express some bitterness because their brother’s death might’ve been prevented.

“Lord, if you had been here, my brother would not have died,” they both say.

Another expresses perplexity about his friend’s untimely demise.

“Could not he, who opened the eyes of the blind man, have kept this man from dying?”

Martha expresses despair.

“Lord, already there is a stench because he has been dead four days.”

But she also expresses hope.

“I know he will rise again in the resurrection on the last day.”

And Jesus joins with this family—and with us—in sharing our grief.

When Jesus saw her weeping and the Jews who came with her also weeping, he was greatly disturbed in spirit and deeply moved…Jesus began to weep.

And that’s what I love about John’s gospel. Yes, he makes Jesus very God-like, but he also makes Jesus very human. He reminds us that it’s God’s desire to be Emmanuel, God With Us. We could never worship or understand a God who doesn’t understand us. Whether we are grieving or consoling, we are experiencing a form of love—and that love is the holiness of God.

Please allow me to share a little about a few of the saints we’ll be remembering this All Saints Sunday.

Shirley Hosack was the last charter signatory of Faith Lutheran Church. She was with us from the very beginning. A delightful, friendly, cheerful lady who sang in the church choir and encouraged her neighbor, Jean MacLeod, to join her. While their Catholic husbands went to Our Lady of Calvary every Sunday morning, Jean and Shirley donned their choir gowns and sang for Faith. Even after our switch to a more contemporary music style, Shirley would worship from her pew with Jean and the other “retired choir ladies” until age and physical disability kept her from us.

Agnes Myers was a dedicated Woman of Faith. It was said she could make a charming handcraft out of just about anything. She was the mastermind behind the crafts the Women made for the fall Festival, and she was always present to man the tasting table or deliver a fascinating recipe for a potluck. Like Shirley, she was dedicated to helping this congregation, courageously volunteering despite her health struggles.

Flo Wilson was friendly, slyly witty, and more energetic than a mature woman ought to be. Had she made it to her birthday in February, she would’ve been 100 years old—and still more mentally alert than I am most days! Flo loved to roller skate and did so well into her eighties. She was tough, keeping her faith in spite of surviving three of her six children. In her 100^th year she taught her home health aid how to crochet. She was a community volunteer, a great mom and grandma, and a faithful supporter of this congregation.

We didn’t get to know Cloreen Russell for long. Faced with some serious health problems, she took a chance and decided to give this little church a try. She had a dazzling smile and quirky sense of humor which helped her to power through any number of distressing reports from her doctors. No one can deny she had faith. I will always remember how she introduced herself, “I’m Cloreen—like the bleach.” She was courageous. She wasn’t one just to sit in the back pew. She got to know us, jumping in with both feet. We were blessed to know her, and her strength is an inspiration.

There are two non-members we remember on All Saints this year whom I would like to highlight.

I only met Rich Sodouski, Cindie’s late husband twice, and I only know two things about him. One, he did everything his own way and on his own terms. Two, he loved Cindie. That’s enough for me.

Finally, I want to mention my young friend—or co-worker, or colleague, I’m not sure what to call her—Anne Weiswasser. Anne died a few weeks ago unexpectedly at age thirty-five. She was a funeral director, and she’d often call (mostly text) me to do services for folks who didn’t have their own clergy. I can’t say I knew Anne too well. If we weren’t discussing a service, we mostly talked about our dogs. Still, I liked her. She was a good soul. She was professional and compassionate and too young. 

I appreciated the trust Anne and her colleagues in the funeral industry have placed in me over the years. I never intended to be the Barry Bonds of neighborhood funerals. It was just something that became part of my ministry and I consider it to be an honor to speak for the departed. I also consider it an honor to work with funeral directors. I think I prefer the old-fashioned term “undertaker” (even if it conjures up images of John Carradine in a top hat) because it more accurately describes what these kind, decent folks do—they undertake the burden of creating meaningful tributes to people we love. They are there as Jesus was to comfort people on some of the worst days of their lives. They help people understand insurance policies and often suggest grief counseling and they don’t make a whole lot of money doing it. But Martin Luther would point out that what they do is a priestly profession.

May Shirley, Agnes, Flo, Cloreen, Rich, Anne, and all the departed rest in peace. May the peace of God which passes all our understanding keep our hearts and minds in Christ Jesus.

Give Me the OLD Apostolic Reformation (Reflections on Reformation Sunday)

 Jesus answered, “My kingdom does not belong to this world…” (John 18:36a)

 This Thursday is Halloween, a spooky and fun time for most Americans, but for Lutherans it’s also that sacred day peculiar to our denomination, Reformation Day. On the Sunday which precedes it Lutherans around the globe will deck their worship spaces out with brilliant red paraments and, more likely than not, bellow out the familiar (if slightly unsingable) anthem “A Mighty Fortress is Our God.” We’ll be remembering a day over 500 years ago when a brilliant, spunky, and possibly bi-polar monk challenged the awesome might of the Roman Catholic Church, daring to question the teaching of the most powerful institution in Europe, calling the Church out for its abuse of the poor and uneducated, and forever changing the course of Western Civilization.

Martin Luther dared to suggest that the Christian Church must always be reforming. Unfortunately, in the last five centuries, we’ve been pretty content to keep the status quo. Today, as church attendance is falling like a bowling ball off the Empire State Building and Millennials and Gen-Zs consider themselves “spiritual but not religious,” I’ve often opined it’s about time for a new Reformation.

Apparently, I’m not alone in this wish. There’s a group of American Christians who are determined to start their own new reformation. It’s a reformation of both the Church and the whole of American society. I’m not at all sure I like what they’re proposing. In fact, I’m quite sure I don’t.

Let me quote from Wikipedia what this movement is all about:

The New Apostolic Reformation (NAR) is a theological belief and controversial movement that combines elements of Pentecostalism, evangelicalism and the Seven Mountain Mandate to advocate for spiritual warfare to bring about Christian dominion over all aspects of society, and end or weaken the separation of church and state.[i]

I highly recommend that you read Wikipedia’s full article on this movement. If you like feeling scared for Halloween, this will scare the crap out of you. The “Seven Mountain Mandate” refers to the belief held by NAR adherents that it is their Christian duty to exercise their godly influence over seven aspects of society: family, religion, media, arts and entertainment, business, education, and government. To my Lutheran eyes, this sounds like an attempt to take over the country and dominate the culture. I kind of like the First Amendment of the US Constitution, so I find this rather unsettling. I really like the gospel, so I find it nauseating, unbiblical, and heretical.

The nitwits—and be very afraid because there are a LOT of them!—who espouse the NAR philosophy seem to be in love with power and control. It’s no freaking surprise they see the power-mad Donald Trump as some kind of savior sent by God (Again, read the Wikipedia article. I’m not making this up). But earthly power and authority was never Jesus’ goal, nor should it be the goal of Christians. Jesus came to confront tyranny, not impose it.

Deep in our Lutheran heritage is the separation of church and state. Luther was sickened by the corruption of the Church of his day, a Church which was more concerned with establishing control, waging wars, and acquiring territory and riches than with caring for the souls of the poor. The religious hierarchy was content to let people shake in superstitious fear of God. They taught them poverty and suffering were God’s will, their salvation depended on obedience to authority, and any dissent or lack of orthodoxy would be met with crushing punishment in this world and the next. Luther fought back against this with the same weapon Jesus used to combat the devil in the wilderness—the scriptures.

Jesus entered Jerusalem humble and riding on a baby donkey. He never came as a conqueror or a monarch. He told the governor his kingdom did not belong to this world. When his followers asked for positions of authority, Jesus told them:

“You know that among the gentiles those whom they recognize as their rulers lord it over them, and their great ones are tyrants over them.  But it is not so among you; instead, whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all. For the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve and to give his life a ransom for many.”[ii]

I could cite more scriptural texts, but you get the idea. It’s my hope that, should you encounter anyone who bleats out, “We need to turn America back into a Christian country!” you’ll lovingly but courageously tell them the Kingdom of God is about love of all God’s children and not about governmental control. The New Apostolic Reformation may be new and an attempt at reform, but it is certainly not apostolic. I’ll stick with Martin Luther’s OLD Apostolic Reformation, thank you very much.

I hope I’m not being naïve about this, but I doubt the NAR numbskulls will ever be able to create anything like a Handmaid’s Tale-style theocracy in the United States. What they are capable of doing, however, is getting voters to concentrate on their petty culture war issues and ignore poverty, climate change, and civil rights. 

No one comes to Christ by force of law, and no law can magically make a sinful humanity become moral and empathetic. Shaming gender or sexual identity, banning books, censoring the media, imposing iconography or prayer in public schools, outlawing abortion, or any other kind of coercion will never lead anyone to Jesus. If American Christians won’t preach the love of Christ though our love of neighbor, our charity, our inclusivity, our piety, and our willingness to express the forgiveness taught us by Jesus, we deserve to be pushed to the margins of society.

Come to think of it, out on the margins—where the poor, the ostracized, the misunderstood, and the hurting are—is exactly where Jesus would want us to be.

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[i] See the article at https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/New_Apostolic_Reformation. I’m not making this shit up.

[ii] Mark 10:42-45

Call Me Crazy (Reflections on Pentecost 22, Year B 2024)

 

“..whoever wishes to become great among you must be your servant, and whoever wishes to be first among you must be slave of all.” (Mark 10:43-44)

Many years ago, I paid a visit to a homebound member of my congregation, a true saint of the Lord who is, alas, now one of the Church Triumphant. I liked visiting Dot, and I usually found her in a rather chipper mood—or as chipper as an elderly lady who’d had her leg amputated and was confined to a bed could be. On this particular day, however, Dot seemed somewhat peeved.

“Oh, Pastor,” she said. “I just got off the phone with Mary. She’s talking crazy!”

I was familiar with Mary’s situation. She was a diagnosed paranoid schizophrenic. A lovely lady when she was on her meds, but prone to some discomforting eccentricities should she neglect her daily regimen of pharmaceuticals.

“Pastor,” Dot said, “she thinks her neighbors are stealing her property. She says they’re moving their fence closer to her house during the night. Have you ever heard of anything so crazy? I’ve tried to tell her that’s ridiculous, but she doesn’t believe me.”

“I don’t think she’ll believe you, Dot. She’s got mental health problems, and she’s become delusional.”

“But that’s just crazy, Pastor!”

“That’s my point, Dot. She’s crazy. Off her medication she’s nuttier than squirrel poop. You can’t convince her of anything because you can’t make a rational argument to an irrational mind.”

Fortunately, Mary—after a pretty bizzocko episode which I don’t have time to relate—was eventually taken to live with her adult daughter somewhere south of the Mason-Dixon Line. She was loved, supervised, properly medicated, and—as far as I know—allowed to live a happy and peaceful life until the Lord called her home. Her phone argument with Dot, however, was an epiphany for me. Some people are just irrational. No matter how many times you tell them something, no matter how cogent your argument, and no matter what evidence you present—once they get an idea in their heads that’s comfortable to them, they cannot be disabused of it. In fact, the more you prove them wrong, the more likely they are to double down on their position[i].

The problem is all of us can become slightly delusional at times. When we’ve made up our minds to a position or an idea that comforts us, we’re going to hang on to it like a deer tick on a fat man’s thigh. We’ll argue to the death for something that’s completely insane to others but gives us the sense of security or righteousness we in our insecurities crave.

Case in point: the belief held by Jesus’ disciples that their rabbi and leader will one day start a revolution which will overthrow the oppressive occupation of the Roman Empire, elevate the suffering peasants, and put Jesus on the governing throne of Israel where a son of David ought to be. James and John in our gospel text for Pentecost 22, Year B (Mark 10:35-45) are convinced that Jesus will enter into glory,[ii] and they’ll both get cabinet positions in the new administration in recognition of their faithful service to the Messiah.

They seem to have missed the point.

An earthly kingdom based on earthly power is not what Jesus is all about. If you worship victory[iii], you are, in some sense, worshiping oppression. If you’re the winner, someone else has to be the loser. If you are dominant, someone else must be subservient. Jesus is pretty clear about this. In verse 45 he spells it out: “The Son of Man came not to be served, but to serve, and to give his life a ransom for many.”

You’d think James and John would’ve figured that out by this time. At this point in Mark’s gospel, Jesus has told these boys no less than four times what his intentions are and how this story is going to play out. He told them when he went to the villages of Caesarea Philippi (Mark 8:31). He told them again after they’d come down from the Mount of the Transfiguration (9:12)—where they’d been instructed by God’s voice from the cloud to listen to him (9:7). He reminded them a third time as they hiked through Galilee (9:30), and, in case that wasn’t enough, he told them all a fourth time on the road to Jerusalem (10:33-34). Did they get the message? Nope. I don’t think they wanted to get it. The idea of a magnificent earthly kingdom and a fat, juicy reward for the sacrifices they’d made was just too tempting an idea to let go.

Crazy, demented, looney as it sounds, there still are Christians who dream of an earthly kingdom. There are some on the religious right in America who want to march triumphantly over the bones of perceived enemies of the faith. They dream and espouse a dominant political hegemony of Christians—their kind of Christians—who will rule the nation and bring it back to their conception of godliness. I guess the words of Jesus in the scriptures have been no more convincing to them than they were to the first disciples. No matter how often they hear it, they just can’t grasp it.

Jesus is calling us to deny ourselves and embrace a spirit of love through servanthood. And this servanthood will not carry a guarantee of any earthly reward. Indeed, obedience to Christ and love of our neighbor will be its own reward. We are called to find a need and fill it, to find a wound and heal it. We are called to follow as Jesus led the way. Think, for example, of the home caregiver who looks after an elderly dementia patient. They do what they do out of love and compassion, even though the object of that love may never recognize the sacrifice or give the slightest hint of gratitude.

These are the things which make us great in the way of Christ: the willingness to see ourselves as vessels of God’s love, and a willingness to relinquish our insane, selfish desire to be dominant. Such a desire only leads us to frustration, anger, and ultimate disappointment. It took James and John and the other disciples a while to figure out that “the last shall be first” didn’t mean an overthrow of government. It means those who acknowledge their weakness and dependence will know the peace which comes with gratitude to God. Those who are esteemed highly by the world will win no special reward but will take their place in heaven next to the poor, the despised, the infirm, and the lost.

Call me crazy, but I take comfort from that.

God’s love to you, my friend. Please come again next week.

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[i] Doesn’t this phenomenon explain the MAGA movement?

[ii] The word which appears in the Greek testament is doxeson. It’s a form of doxa which can mean splendor and grandeur, but it can also mean power and kingdom.

[iii] Fun fact: The Nazi salutation Sieg Heil literally translates as “Hail Victory.”

You Want Me to Do What? (Reflection on Pentecost 21, Year B 2024)

 

Jesus, looking at him, loved him and said, “You lack one thing; go, sell what you own, and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven; then come, follow me.” (Mark 10:21)

On September 28 the world said good-bye to a guy I think is one of the greatest—if not the greatest—country music songwriters of all time, Kris Kristofferson. I guess “Me and Bobby McGee” is probably my favorite song of his. It’s got this great lyric in the chorus:

“Freedom’s just another word for nothin’ left to lose, and nothin’ ain’t worth nothin’ but it’s free.”

If you think about it, Kris had a point there. If you’re not tied down to stuff—whether you’re talking about material wealth or work or position or relationships or whatnot—you won’t have a whole lot of worries or responsibilities. But then I start thinking about something another guy I admire, the late economist John Kenneth Galbraith, said. He thought the greatest threat to the freedom and liberty of anyone was poverty. He also had a point. If you don’t have the dough to do stuff, there’s not a lot of stuff you’re free to do.

I’m wondering just how free those folks down in North Carolina, Kentucky, Florida, and Georgia are feeling about now. Hurricanes Helene and Milton have washed and blown away just about everything some people had in the world. How do you feel when the home or business you worked and saved for has been turned into a muddy, soggy pile of fetid crap?

It would take a very special individual to say, “Well, I seem to have lost all I possess, but I’m still alive. After all, it was only stuff.” If the seeker in the gospel lesson appointed for Pentecost 21, Year B in the RCL (Mark 10:17-31) was contented with his stuff, why would he come running after Jesus and kneeling at the Lord’s feet to ask him what more his soul needed?

This gospel passage is a tough one (Aren’t they all?). In verse 23 Jesus says, “How hard it will be for those who have wealth to enter the kingdom of God!” I don’t imagine, given this translation from the New Revised Standard Version Bible that anyone in my congregation will be too worried about this. After all, there just aren’t a whole lot of hedge fund managers, venture capitalists, or NBA stars worshiping here in Northeast Philly. But “wealth” is kind of a relative term, don’t you think? Any American with a roof over his or her head, a job, and clean drinking water is living in unimaginable wealth compared to someone living in the developing world, or someone living in the tents on the sidewalk near our local mall, or even someone who just had their house washed down a canyon by Hurricane Helene.

Of course, there’s another way to get around this warning of Jesus. If we look at verse 23 in the Greek (and why wouldn’t we?) the phrase translated as “those who have wealth” is actually “tous pepoithotas epi tois chremasin.” Or, literally, “those who trust in riches.” I guess Jesus is saying you don’t actually have to have riches, but if you put your faith in material riches, you’re going to have a rough time experiencing what God wants you to experience. This naturally begs the question, don’t we all, in some way, trust in our riches? That’s why we have Social Security and 401K plans and invest money in our homes and stash a little somethin’ somethin’ away for a rainy day. Right?

The disciples are perfectly within their rights to ask, as they do in verse 26, “Who can be saved?” Who, unless you’re Francis of Assisi or Mother Teresa, is willing to commit the act of total liquidation to live only as a follower of Jesus? I don’t think I’ve met anyone with that kind of faith, and I know I don’t have it.

But what if that act of liquidation isn’t voluntary? What if you’re one of those folks down in North Carolina who have just seen everything you own washed down the river? What would matter to you then? How would you experience your own personhood? What would there be of value to sustain you?

Jesus’ disciples seem pretty smug about their own voluntary poverty. In verse 26 Peter, perhaps rather proudly, points out that he and his eleven colleagues have chucked it all to be followers of Jesus. He doesn’t seem to be trusting in wealth, but he might just be thinking he’s achieved a certain status by renouncing it. Jesus has to disabuse him of this. Sacrificing everything in hopes of gain isn’t really sacrificing. It’s actually transactional or, at the very least, gambling.

Verse 21 reminds us that Jesus looked at the man seeking salvation and loved him—even if he knew the fellow wasn’t going to be able to accept what the Good Teacher had to say. And Jesus also  knows that the reward for our abandonment of earthly things will never be enjoyed in the earthly realm. He is asking us to do what is really impossible for us—to give up our trust in everything, to go broke in terms of wealth, position, status, self-image, personal assumptions, and everything else—and just come humbly to receive the grace of God.

This is a tough ask, but it is one with which each of us will one day have to comply.

Since I began this post with a quote from Mr. Kristofferson, I might as well end with one and share these lyrics which I feel would get the Martin Luther Seal of Approval:

Why me Lord?

What have I ever done

To deserve even one

Of the pleasure I've known?

Tell me, Lord

What did I ever do

That was worth lovin' you

For the kindness you've shown?

 

Lord help me, Jesus

I've wasted it so

Help me, Jesus

I know what I am

But now that I know

That I needed you so

Help me, Jesus

My soul's in your hands.

 

Thanks for checking in on me this week. Please come back again.

PS - If you'd like to hear Kristofferson sing this great old song, just click "Why Me."

St. Francis Got the Connection (Reflections on Pentecost 20, Year B 2024)

 

So out of the ground the Lord God formed every animal of the field and every bird of the air and brought them to the man to see what he would call them, and whatever the man called every living creature, that was its name. (Genesis 2:19)

Divorce is a nasty subject. I know. I’ve been divorced. It’s not really the kind of thing you want to think about on a pleasant Sunday morning even if it happens to be the subject of the gospel reading in the Revised Common Lectionary for Pentecost 20, Year B (Mark 10:2-16). Since my congregation is now comprised more of widows than divorcees, I think I’m going to dispense with this subject as quickly as I can. So here goes:

In Mark’s gospel Jesus lets the Pharisees and the disciples know that divorce, however legal it might be, is only legal because of humankind’s “hardness of heart.” He’s shooting pretty straight when he tells this crowd that breaking your promise to someone so you can hook up with someone else is still breaking a promise (You’ll remember the flack John the Baptist gave Herod about shacking up with his brother’s ex.[i] ).

In the world of this text, women didn’t have a whole lot of rights. If you were a woman and your old man decided he didn’t want you anymore, he could write you a letter of divorce and you’d be on the street. You’ll notice in the passage the Pharisees say a man has a right to divorce his wife, but nothing is mentioned about her having a right to get rid of him if he’s abusive to her. Jesus is actually standing up to protect the women from poverty when he speaks these words about divorce and adultery.

Our Roman Catholic brothers have been getting their shorts in a knot over the subject of divorce for a long time. I think they’re rather missing the point of this gospel lesson. They may be stuck like obsessed barnacles to the letter of the scripture, but they’re missing the intent. Jesus cares for the weak and the vulnerable. He also cares that we honor one another. It’s very true that two perfectly lovely and amiable human beings might discover they just can’t be lovely and amiable living under the same roof. There can be many good and legitimate reasons why couples split up. Nevertheless, a necessary separation should not negate the mutual responsibility to forgive and care for the wellbeing of the other.

Everything in the universe exists in relationship to everything else. There’s a divine interconnectedness all things share. Our gospel writer juxtaposes Jesus’ teaching about broken relationships between adults with his welcome for children—the weakest and, in the society of his day, the least important. Jesus welcomes the children as being an essential part of the whole.

I love that this gospel text is paired with the reading from Genesis 2:18-24. In this well-known and fanciful story, the first man recognizes the first woman as being a part of himself. She is “bone of my bones and flesh of my flesh.” He recognizes, as God says in verse 18, “It is not good that the man should be alone.” We are created for community and relationship.

The lesson from Genesis also stresses the human being’s relationship with the natural world. Before Adam meets his intended bride, God (showing a great sense of humor if you ask me!) has him encounter a bunch of unsuitable “partners.” In doing this, God creates a relationship between the man and all the other living creatures. How? The man gives them names. It is so important that we know each other by name, don’t you think? And don’t we even nickname or rename people who are closest to us? Sometimes nicknames are meant to be insulting and oppressive,[ii] but even this labeling defines a relationship. Lovers often have secret pet names for each other which only they know. To know by name creates a bond.

So bottom line? It’s not too deep a thought: we’re all in this together. We all have responsibility for each other. We are all called to see God in one another—even in the little children and the beasts of the field.

Saying this allows me to segue into a few words about the Feast of St. Francis of Assisi which is celebrated on October 4. If ever there was a fellow who understood the interconnectedness of all living creatures, it was Francis. He lived in the late 12^th and early 13^th centuries, the son of a wealthy Italian cloth merchant. As a young man he joined the army of his duchy which was waging war on its neighbor—something which was not at all uncommon in 13^th century Italy. He was taken prisoner and held for ransom for about a year. Following his release, he started to have a change of heart about many things.

Although Francis was wealthy, he slowly began to lose interest in his father’s enterprise and began to devote himself to a life of the spirit. Sometime around 1205 it is said that Francis had a divine vision which ultimately led him to renounce his father’s business and wealth. He began to spend more time alone and in prayer. After encountering beggars while on a pilgrimage to Rome, Francis determined to enter into a relationship with them by becoming a mendicant himself.

Francis is said to have had a vision of Jesus who told him to rebuild his church. He spent a few years around the vicinity of Assisi repairing dilapidated chapels and nursing lepers. By 1208 he had developed a following of eleven disciples who were moved by his embrace of poverty and love for the poor. The following year he approached Pope Innocence III and requested and was granted permission to form a new religious order.

Francis is remembered and beloved for his relationship with all living things. This included his love for the poor and marginalized and his love for the natural world and the creatures which inhabit it. He is considered the patron saint of animals, and it’s not uncommon for churches to hold a blessing of the animals on the Sunday nearest his feast day. It’s said that Francis referred to all creatures as his brothers and sisters. Legend has it that he’d preach to the birds and ventured into the wild to encounter a vicious wolf which had been devouring the livestock of a local village. Francis, so the story goes, was able to convince the predator to give up attacking sheep and accept food scraps from the villagers instead. The animal lived with the people of the town for two years as something of a collective pet. In the late 19th century, the skeletal remains of a large wolf were discovered buried near the wall of the village church.[iii]

Francis is also credited for being the inventor of the Christmas creche in 1220. He celebrated Christmas mass by bringing a straw-filled manager into the worship space of the church along with some live donkeys and bovines so the worshipers could have an experience of the birth of Christ.

In an attempt to restore broken human relationships, Francis and some of his disciples traveled to Egypt in 1219, hoping to bring an end to the 5^th Crusade. During a temporary ceasefire, he crossed the lines to the Muslim camp and met with the Sultan of Egypt. His attempt was to bring peace or die as a martyr. He achieved neither goal, but the severe African sunlight damaged his eyes and claimed a portion of his sight.

We remember Francis today because he really seemed to understand that a goal of our human existence is to see Christ in each other and God in all things, to put away our selfish exclusivity, and love the world as a child might—with wonder and affection and joy.

Thanks for being connected to me this week. Please drop by again.

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[i] See Mark 6:17ff

[ii] Especially if Donald Trump is doing the naming.

[iii] Who knows if this story is true or not, but, if it isn’t, it ought to be. You can read the whole tale by clicking Francis and the Wolf of Gubbio.