All posts by Miranda Hassett

Church Seasons & Holy Days, Saints, Sermons

Homily, May 22

It’s not a very nice story, is it?  For the story, the Devil is the embodiment of evil, who is always trying to trick and hurt human beings… so the story thinks it’s OK to trick and hurt the Devil. Maybe we would want to try to solve this problem another way!

This is an old story – but it’s probably not as old as St. Dunstan himself. Dunstan lived about 11 hundred years ago. He lived in a place that we call England, now… though then it was a group of little kingdoms that had just begun to think of themselves as being a country, together. It was an unstable, uncertain time, with a lot of violence and poverty. 

When he was a young man, Dunstan became a monk. That means he committed his life to serving God, living simply as part of a community of other monks. Later on he became a bishop, a leader in the church – and then Archbishop of Canterbury, leader of ALL the churches in England. He also served in the court of several English kings, helping and advising them – if they would let him. 

We know a fair amount about Dunstan’s life, from historical documents and other evidence. He died on May 19 in the year 988. Soon after his death, people began to honor him as a saint, and to tell stories meant to show how holy he was – like this story about Dunstan defeating the Devil! 

When the church calls someone a saint, it usually means that we think they followed God in ways that mattered to the people of their time and place. Let’s look at a couple of images – historical documents – to remember Dunstan today and think about his sainthood. 

Dunstan was one of the leaders in the English Benedictine Reform movement of the tenth century. Monasteries and convents – places where monks and nuns lived lives of prayer and study, devoted to God – were a really important part of society back then, as centers for for faith, education, medical care, and more. But centuries of war and struggle made it hard for those places to thrive and do what they were meant to do. 

Dunstan and his colleagues wanted to fix that. To make monasteries centers of true faith and learning again – and to start MORE monasteries, where they could train priests to serve God and God’s people.

This is a page of the Rule they used in their monasteries, based on the Rule of St. Benedict.  The Rule was a document that told the monks and nuns how they should live in community, with a balance of daily work, study, rest and prayer. 

The most important thing about this page is something you might not notice right away. Back then, not very many people knew how to read or write. And all the books were handwritten… Does everybody have the same handwriting?

Have you ever seen somebody’s handwriting that was hard for you to read? Maybe they had bad handwriting, or maybe they had GOOD handwriting but you just did’t know how to read it?… 

In Dunstan’s time, if you wanted to study and read about religion or science or travel or philosophy or poetry, anything – well, first, you had to be able to read the language it was written in, often Greek or Latin. Latin was the language of the Roman Empire. And long after the Romans were gone, it kept being used as the language of scholarship and literature and church, in lots of places. 

But even if you could read Latin, you also had to be able to read the handwriting, the script style, that the text was written in! It was hard for a lot of people, even educated people, to read books that came from previous centuries or from other places, because of those problems. So it was hard to study and learn and build up new knowledge. 

But starting not long before Dunstan was born, there was a movement across Europe to start using one form of writing, called Carolingian Miniscule. People wrote new books in this script, and they also rewrote older books in this script. So suddenly a lot more knowledge and culture could be read and shared! It was a big deal!

Scholars think they know Dunstan’s handwriting, from parts of a book called the Glastonbury Classbook. He wrote in his own version of Carolingian Minuscule, with some influence from the Irish monks who first trained him. 

Dunstan didn’t write this page. But it is in the Carolingian style. It’s hard for us to read – and the text is in Latin – but you can notice that the letter forms are very clear and regular. And if you look closely, you’ll see some other words on the page, written in between those nice neat lines. The written-in part is the same thing in Old English, the language ordinary people spoke. 

Those words were written in to help monks and nuns who didn’t know Latin, or only knew a little bit – so that they could also read this important text about how they were called to live. 

So both that Carolingian script – and the written-in Old English – show us that for Dunstan and other leaders of this movement, having more people be able to read and learn and understand was really important. I think that’s really cool! And it’s one of the ways Dunstan’s work mattered to the people of his time and place. 

Dunstan did the things he did – even when they were hard! – because he loved God and wanted to follow God’s will. Here’s the second image we’ll look at today. You may have seen it before. 

This is the icon of Dunstan that we like to use here.

It’s an image from that book I mentioned, the Glastonbury Classbook, and – here’s the part I think is really cool – it’s likely that Dunstan drew it himself. He was an artist, as well as a scribe, a writer of books. 

Usually our icons, our holy images, put the person we’re honoring right in the middle.  But in this picture Dunstan drew himself kneeling at the feet of Jesus Christ, on a throne. That’s how Dunstan drew himself so that is how we honor him – as a servant of Jesus. 

Look: you can see that he’s dressed as a monk, in a robe, and with his hair shaved on top – that’s called a tonsure. 

The words above him are a prayer: “I ask, merciful Christ, that you protect me, Dunstan;  A medieval drawing of a seated Christ, robed, with a monk bowing at his feetdo not permit the storms of the Underworld to swallow me.”

I learned about that prayer a few years ago, and I think it’s a really good prayer. 

It’s a prayer asking Jesus to help us feel his presence and love when we feel overwhelmed – when we feel like chaos or anxiety or struggle might just swallow us up. 

Praying a prayer like that isn’t like flipping a switch; the struggle or anxiety doesn’t just go away. But maybe it reminds us that we’re not alone with it. And that it won’t last forever. And sometimes pausing to pray can help us catch our breath, and unclench our fists, and notice that the earth is still under our feet, and there is still breath going in and out of our lungs, and that we are loved. 

This week when I read that prayer again, it came with a tune. Dunstan was a musician too – so maybe it was a little gift from our saint. 

Here’s how it goes… in Latin first: 

Memet clemens rogo, Christe, tuere / 

Tenarias me non sinas sorbsisse procellas.

Now in English: 

Kindly Christ, I pray thee, save my humble soul;

Let me not be swallowed by the storms of the netherworld! 

 

Merciful Christ,  Protect us, each and all; when the world feels like a storm that batters us, like waters rising to swallow us up, calm our hearts and give us peace. Amen. 

Sermons

Sermon, May 15

Love, like Death, hath all destroyed –

Rendered all distinctions void: 

Name, and sect, and party fall; 

Thou, O Christ, art all in all. 

That verse was written by Charles Wesley, the great 18th-century poet and hymn writer.  I came across it last week and it’s been knocking around in my head ever since. 

Love, like Death, hath all destroyed – rendered all distinctions void… 

In this provocative verse about Love, the Destroyer, Wesley is playing with this important thing Paul says in a couple of his letters: There is no longer Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male and female, for you are all one in Christ Jesus.

It may be hard for us to fully understand what a radical statement this really was, in the first century. Even if we only focus on “neither Jew nor Greek”! “Greek” here means “Gentile” – non-Jews in general. The first Christians and church leaders were all Jewish, formed in the faith of the First Testament. And they initially understood the Way of Jesus as a new kind of Judaism. Opening the doors for non-Jews to join the movement – on equal terms! – was a big deal.  And like most big changes, it took time, and listening, and arguing, and praying, to get there. 

Today’s lesson from the Acts of the Apostles shows us one chapter of this story. When I first looked at the assigned passage last week, I felt annoyed. Because what we have here is Peter’s brief summary of a story that is told in full in the previous chapter – Acts 10. There are lots of details in that version that we miss, here. For example: The Gentile whom Peter visits isn’t just any Gentile. He’s a centurion, a leader in the Roman army that occupies Peter’s homeland. His name is Cornelius. And though he’s a Gentile, he’s a man of prayer and generosity. 

I don’t know why Peter doesn’t tell the church leaders in Jerusalem that his new convert is a Roman soldier. Maybe a Gentile is a Gentile and it doesn’t really matter. Or maybe it would have made it a bridge too far for some folks, so he just… neglects to mention it. 

There are other things that we miss in Peter’s retelling. Like the delightful detail that when the vision comes to him, he’s very hungry and waiting for lunch. Or the wonderful thing Peter says as all of this comes together for him in a lightbulb moment: “I truly understand that God shows no partiality! God has no preferences, no favorites; but in every nation or people, anyone who honors God and does good is acceptable to God.” 

Love, like Death, hath all destroyed! Rendered all distinctions void! … 

So at first, when I looked at today’s lesson, I was a little grumpy. I wanted the whole story, not this little Cliff’s Notes version. 

But then I noticed what’s happening here. This isn’t just a summary of what’s happened already. It’s the next chapter in the story – and it’s an important chapter. 

Peter’s heart has been changed.  He’s come to a new understanding about whom God is calling to join the Way of Jesus. But it’s not all up to Peter. He’s a leader in the nascent Christian community; but he’s not THE leader. 

There’s a group of apostles and elders in Jerusalem who are trying to guide the movement and keep it on track and faithful to the teachings and witness of Jesus. And while God has no preferences or favorites, people do. The Jerusalem leaders are skeptical about Gentile converts. This isn’t just bigotry; it’s partly that they honor and treasure their Jewish faith and heritage, and fear that it may be lost. We may grieve what Love destroys! 

They hear about what happens in Caesarea, this group of Gentiles whom Peter has actually baptized into the church! – and they call Peter back to Jerusalem to explain himself. Why did you go to uncircumcised men – to people outside God’s ancient covenant with the Jewish people – and eat with them?

I love the next verse: “Then Peter began to explain it to them, step by step.” 

What he’s doing here is actually a best practice for talking with someone with opposing views: Talk about your experiences. Don’t argue about the big ideas – Gentiles belong! Gentiles don’t belong! – but share what you have seen and heard, and how you came to understand things the way you do.

Peter tells them about what was going on outside of him, at Cornelius’s house: seeing this group of Gentiles seized by the Holy Spirit, in a way that looks a lot like what happened to the disciples at Pentecost. 

He also tells them about what was going on inside of him: He sees the Spirit at work, he remembers Jesus’ words, he knows God sent him to meet these people and witness this moment, and all of that becomes metanoia, a turning of the heart: Whom am I to hinder God? 

Peter’s conversion, his change of heart, matters. But Peter’s testimony to these leaders matters even more. Peter has some standing in this group, as one of Jesus’ closest friends, whom Jesus appointed as a church leader… But everyone also knows that Peter has a tendency to go off half-cocked, so that may work against him! 

When he’s finished speaking, the leaders are quiet for a while. Imagine the suspense in the room. And then someone says, “So God has given even to Gentiles a turning of the heart toward life.” And they celebrate. 

Love, like Death, hath all destroyed, rendered all distinctions void. Name and sect and party fall… 

In the vision of John of Patmos, in today’s Revelation text, the Holy One seated on the throne says, “See, I am making all things new.” And Jesus tells the disciples in today’s Gospel, “I am giving you a new commandment.” Our God is a god who brings forth new things and leads us to new understandings. 

It’s important to say that new stuff isn’t intrinsically better just because it’s new – just like old stuff isn’t better, or worse, just because it’s old. There’s plenty of bad new stuff in the world. But what we see here isn’t Peter seizing the new for new’s sake. He hears God nudge him to pay attention, to respond. I get nudges like that, though perhaps not as dramatically! Then Peter goes into the situation with eyes and ears open. And he weighs what he sees against the teachings of Jesus. This is a process of discernment – of seeking God’s will or God’s purposes. 

And once Peter discerns that God has called these Gentiles into the church – he doesn’t just tolerate them. He goes to bat for them. He makes their full inclusion part of his witness, his agenda. And he sticks with it for the long term. 

The question of Gentiles in the church comes back in Acts chapter 15 – which takes place as much as a decade later.  A group of Jewish Christians are telling everyone that for Gentiles to become Christian, they essentially have to first become Jews – including circumcision, a fairly drastic step. Basically, it’s been accepted that Gentiles can become Christian – but the question now is on what terms. Can they join the church as they are? Or do they have become something else, to be fully included? 

So there’s another gathering of church leaders in Jerusalem to talk it out and settle the matter. Peter is there, and he harks back to this experience and to what it taught him about God’s welcome for Gentiles: “In cleansing their hearts by faith God has made no distinction between them and us.”

There’s discussion and debate and it probably drags on for days. But finally James, the brother of Jesus, speaks up and settles the matter: “We should not burden those Gentiles who are turning to God.” The Church will be a church of both Jews and Gentiles, on more or less equal terms. 

The issue at stake in Acts is: who belongs in the church, and how. As people of the church, we continue to face those frontiers. There’s a movement in the Episcopal Church today to deepen our understanding and affirmation of transgender and non-binary people – perhaps finally coming to grips with Paul’s insight that in Christ there is no longer male and female. 

We’re working to not just welcome and include people of color, but reckon with the ways racism is embedded in our liturgies, institutions and culture. 

I think – I hope – that our larger church is beginning some real work on the the true welcome and inclusion of those living with mental illness; those with disabilities; and neurodivergent people.

I believe we will look more like the church God intends us to be when we have learned, together, to receive one another in the fullness of our humanity, without asking anyone to become something else first in order to be fully included. 

But what Peter models for us here isn’t just for church. This is a story about a group wrestling with who it’s for, and it’s an oddly timeless story – one we might find ourselves in at any time. I certainly have. 

Maybe you’re Peter, meeting someone who blows open your sense of who matters or who belongs. 

Maybe you’re one of the Jerusalem leaders, weighing the implications of changing standards and opening doors. 

Maybe you’re Cornelius, simply witnessing to your human worth to somebody who’s never really talked to someone like you before.

This oddly mundane story that’s threaded through the book of Acts, of an organization revising its membership requirements – it’s a reminder that holy work takes many forms.Sometimes it’s courageous witnessing. Sometimes it’s prayerful listening. Sometimes it’s the grind and stress of working for cultural and institutional change. Through it all, the Love that formed the universe and knows us each by name is working, working, working, beside and among and within us. 

Love, like Death, hath all destroyed –

Rendered all distinctions void: 

Name, and sect, and party fall; 

Thou, O Christ, art all in all. 

Amen. Alleluia. 

 

Sermons

Sermon, May 8

 

 

 

 

Today, the fourth Sunday of Easter, is known as Good Shepherd Sunday. But who is this good shepherd? 

Well: the Old Testament, the Hebrew Bible, says that God the Creator, the God of Israel, the Living One, is the good shepherd.We hear that in Psalm 23: “The Lord, ADONAI, is my shepherd; I need nothing more. God gives me rest in green meadows, near calm waters; God guides me along safe paths; and even when I walk through dangerous places, God’s shepherd’s staff guards and comforts me.”

And we hear it other places too – like the 34th chapter of the book of the prophet Ezekiel: “Thus says the Lord God:… As shepherds seek out their flocks.., so I will seek out my sheep. I will rescue them from all the places to which they have been scattered on a day of clouds and thick darkness…. They shall lie down in good grazing land, and they shall feed on rich pasture on the mountains of Israel. I myself will be the shepherd of my sheep, says the Lord God.”

The word Sheep occurs 190 times in the Old Testament, in the New Revised Standard Version; the word Shepherd appears 97 times. Those numbers are a mix of stories about actual sheep and shepherds, and metaphorical uses like those I’ve just quoted. 

Why so many sheep? 

Well: Tending sheep and goats – what anthropologists call pastoralism – was the culturally foundational way of life of God’s people Israel. Even as they settled into agriculture, urbanization, trade and so on, they still thought of themselves as a sheep-herding people at heart. Maybe a good analogy is the way small family farms have a kind of symbolic status as “the real American way of life,” even though very few Americans have lived that way for a long time. 

So: In the Old Testament, God the Father is the good shepherd. And in the New Testament, Jesus, God the Son, takes on that role. We hear that in today’s text from the Gospel of John, when Jesus says: “My sheep hear my voice. I know them, and they follow me. I give them eternal life, and they will never perish. No one will snatch them out of my hand.” This is just a portion of a longer speech in which Jesus describes himself as the Good Shepherd; the lectionary gives us a piece of it on this Sunday each year of our three-year cycle. 

Jesus knew the Hebrew scriptures well; he is riffing on texts like Ezekiel and Psalm 23, here, as he describes himself as the good shepherd who will tend his sheep, even at cost of his own life. 

So, then, who are the sheep? In the Old Testament, the sheep are the people Israel, God’s chosen flock. In this passage from John’s Gospel, and elsewhere in the New Testament, the sheep are Jesus’ followers – all those who respond to the voice of the Good Shepherd.

But also: Jesus himself is a sheep. Or at least: a lamb. The idea of Jesus as a sacrificial lamb may have begun because his execution was close to the Jewish feast of Passover. In the Passover story – the Exodus story – God tells the people Israel, enslaved in Egypt, to kill a perfect lamb and use its blood to mark the doors of their homes. The lamb’s blood will protect them from the angel of death, as it swoops across Egypt, to pressure Pharaoh to set God’s people free. The New Testament writers explore the image of Jesus as Passover lamb, whose blood saves God’s people from bondage and death. 

The book of the Revelation of John in particular leans in hard to the idea of Jesus as Passover Lamb – AND as the true Shepherd of God’s people.  In our text today it puts them side by side:  “The Lamb at the center of the throne will be their shepherd.” A lamb who is also a shepherd? It’s an intentional paradox. 

These early church leaders and writers are playing with this pastoral imagery that pervades their tradition, to find ways to talk about who they are coming to understand Jesus to be. Fully God and fully human. At once both sheep and shepherd.

But Jesus isn’t the only one for whom sheepness and shepherdness are a little jumbled up. It can happen with God’s people too. 

Most of us – maybe all of us? – don’t have a lot of contact with sheep. We tend to think of them as sort of an undifferentiated fluffy white mass. Our cultural associations with sheep involve unthinking conformity – consider the word “sheeple.” But the scriptural tradition thinks there are differences among sheep. That among sheep as among people there are leaders and followers, winners and losers, those who help and those who harm. 

In that text from Ezekiel, God speaking through the prophet accuses Israel’s leaders of being lazy, cruel, self-serving shepherds. But God also accuses the sheep of harming one another. Some of the sheep have been greedy, at the expense of others. To them, God says, “Because you pushed with flank and shoulder, and butted at all the weak animals with your horns until you scattered them far and wide, I will save my flock, and they shall no longer be ravaged; and I will judge between sheep and sheep.”

And then there’s Peter’s role – the apostle Peter, who becomes the greatest leader of the early church. Last week we heard the risen Jesus telling Peter – three times – to  show his love for Jesus by tending Jesus’ sheep. So who is Peter, then? The lead sheep – the bellwether? A junior shepherd, serving by the divine Good Shepherd? A little of both? 

Either way, in this week’s reading from the book of the Acts of the Apostles, stories of the early church after Jesus returned to God, we see Peter tending Jesus’ flock, fulfilling that call, by responding quickly and compassionately to the people who come from Joppa to seek his help, as they grieve the loss of a beloved pillar of their community. Sheep can hurt each other… or help each other. 

We are God’s sheep, Jesus’ flock. But we’re not an undifferentiated fluffy mass. We’re not sheeple. I’ve heard many a sermon on the stupidity of sheep. I’m pretty sure I’ve preached one myself. But that’s not an emphasis in the Bible.

What does the Bible tell us about sheep, and thus, about ourselves? That we’re vulnerable – to dangerous environments, to predators, to bad shepherds who profit off of us instead of caring for us. To being scattered or lost or stolen. 

That we’re interdependent. When there’s lots of lush grass and fresh water, we all flourish. When resources are scarce, we don’t. 

That left to ourselves, we’ll hurt each other. The stronger sheep will bully the weaker sheep and push them away from food or water. 

That we need to be tended. Found and gathered. Guided. Fed. Protected. Comforted. That deep down, we know the voice of our true Shepherd, and will respond and follow. 

All of that seems true to me. All of that makes me feel pretty sheep-ish. 

I’m glad to know that we are in the ultimate care of the Good Shepherd. That someone is watching over us, guarding and guiding. But trusting in the Good Shepherd doesn’t mean that I, and we, don’t have our own sheeply responsibilities. We, too, will face moments when we’re called to show our love of Jesus by tending Jesus’ sheep. We, too, will face moments when the stronger sheep are ganging up on the weaker sheep, and we have to choose sides – or walk away, which is also choosing a side. 

But I’ll tell you one more thing about sheep – something the Bible doesn’t bother to talk about because it takes it for granted: Sheep are tough. 

Pastoralism is a way to live in environments too harsh or hilly for agriculture. Sheep can handle high altitudes, cold weather, and rough terrain. They graze on steep hill and mountainsides, where there’s no way you could grow crops. Sheep are mobile; when one area is grazed out they move on to the next area. The wool that makes them so useful to humans also protects them from bitter cold and wind. 

Sheep find what they need, in dry and craggy places, in the valley of the shadow of death, and turn it into wool and milk and lambs. They appreciate a nice flat, green pasture… but they don’t absolutely need one. 

I lived around sheep for one summer, in 2000. I was hired to help with a project in Eskdale, in northern England. It’s a beautiful green valley surrounded by very steep, rocky hills. And – yep – it’s sheep country. 

I remember jokes about how Eskdale sheep – a hardy breed called Herdwicks – would develop legs that were shorter on one side, from constantly grazing on steep hillsides. 

I’d honestly kind of forgotten the Eskdale Herdwicks until this week. I found some photos online that brought back memories. My favorite is a sheep standing tall against the sky on the lichen-covered boulders of Hardknott Pass. I remember Hardknott Pass; we hiked up it one day. The road over that pass is the steepest road in Great Britain, ascending 1200 feet at a 33% grade. Challenging for humans and cars. No sweat for sheep. 

The world doesn’t feel like a place of green pastures and still waters at the moment. Bossy sheep and bad shepherds abound.

I think what I need from Good Shepherd Sunday this year is the reminder that with a loving Shepherd to guard and guide them, sheep can handle a lot. Sheep can stick together and find what they need, in harsh environments and hard seasons. 

May the Lamb who is our loving Shepherd protect us, tend us, and equip us for the landscape ahead. 

Amen. Alleluia. 

Creation Care

No Mow May 2022

This year St. Dunstan’s is doing No Mow May! This means we will not mow our grassy areas until the beginning of June. This will let dandelions, clover, and other flowers grow, to provide food (nectar and pollen) for bees and other pollinators early in the season.

This is one way of living out our Creation Care Mission Statement.

No Mow May began as a movement in the UK and took off in Appleton, Wisconsin. It’s now spreading around Wisconsin and the country. Click here for an article to learn more! 

Click here for a website about No Mow May.

Baptism, Church Seasons & Holy Days, Saints, Sermons, Theology & Doctrine

Easter sermon

He was wounded for our transgressions,
crushed for our iniquities;
upon him was the punishment that made us whole,
and by his bruises we are healed… 

This Lent, Father Tom McAlpine – a retired priest and Old Testament scholar who makes his home at St. Dunstan’s – invited us into deep study of a set of texts from the book of the prophet Isaiah. 

These texts are called the Servant Songs, and they probably date from about 500 years before the time of Jesus – with the rest of Second Isaiah.

I’ve just quoted part of the fourth and last Servant Song, found in Isaiah chapter 53.  If you’ve hung around churches for a while, you’ve heard bits of the fourth Song, especially during Holy Week.

“Like a lamb that is led to the slaughter,
so he did not open his mouth… and the Lord has laid on him the iniquity of us all…

Even if you don’t remember hearing the words of the Fourth Song directly, its vocabulary and ideas are woven into the worship and theology of the church in so many ways. 

It’s a little hard to know what to make of the fourth Song in its original context. The idea of someone innocent suffering on behalf of others, in a way that somehow frees or absolves those others, is distinctive here. It has loose parallels elsewhere in the Old Testament, but nothing terribly close.

If your immediate reaction is to think that this text is unusual because it’s pointing towards Jesus, let’s tap the brakes. I don’t believe that Judaism is only fulfilled in Jesus. That all these pre-Christian texts and traditions just sat around waiting for their true and full meaning to arrive when Jesus was born. I don’t believe that and I invite you to not believe it with me. 

The Fourth Song meant something in its original context and it means something for Jews today.  That does not keep it from meaning something else, something additional, for Christians. And it has, and does. 

Textual study makes it very clear that early Christians interpreted Jesus’ life and death through the words of of the Fourth Song. There are hints, too, that Jesus himself understood his mission through these ancient and evocative words. Jesus knew the Old Testament – the Hebrew Bible – very well. Perhaps he found in this song a poetic description of his call to suffer and die among and for God’s people. Much as one might hear a song of love or anger on the radio and think, That’s it. That’s exactly what it’s like. 

The Fourth Song speaks of death – but I’m bringing it up today because I want to talk about life.  About resurrection – Jesus’s, and ours. 

We think of resurrection – the Church’s fancy word for rising from the dead – as something that happens after we die. And the Bible and the church do speak about a new life in God for the faithful departed. I trust and hope in that promise. 

But the Christian Scriptures also describe baptism as a dying and rising with Christ.  At the Last Supper, Jesus describes his coming crucifixion as a baptism (Mk 10:38) – although he was also baptized with water in the Jordan River by his cousin John, much earlier in the Gospels. 

And early Christian writers repeatedly describe Christian baptism as a death to the old self, and a rising to new life in Christ. In the letter to the Romans, the apostle Paul writes, “Do you not know that all of us who have been baptized into Christ Jesus were baptized into his death? We have been buried with him by baptism into death, so that, just as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, so we too might walk in newness of life.” And the author of the letter to the church in Colossae writes,  “So if you have been raised with Christ, seek the things that are above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God… for you have died, and your life is hidden with Christ in God.”  (Colossians 3:1, 3)

Our baptismal rite reflects this understanding, when we say, “We thank you, Father, for the water of Baptism. In it we are buried with Christ in his death. By it we share in his resurrection. Through it we are reborn by the Holy Spirit.”

What is it like to think of myself as already dead?

What is it like to think of myself as already fully and eternally alive?

The Fourth Song of Isaiah and the Christian scriptures talk about this dying – and rising – as purposeful. It accomplishes something. In the Fourth Song, the Servant is not resurrected, but their death is redemptive:  “The righteous one, my servant, shall make many righteous.” 

Jesus says about himself: “Very truly, I tell you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains just a single grain; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.” (John 12:24)

The how of Jesus Christ’s redemptive death remains a mystery despite millennia of theologizing. That is another sermon for another time. Today we are talking resurrection. New life. Christ’s life in us. 

The resurrection we celebrate at Easter isn’t just Jesus’s.  It’s also ours. And it’s not just meant to free us from the power of death. We are baptized to become a certain kind of people. We are freed from death to live a certain kind of life. 

Our Prayer Book gestures at some of what that means – we’ll dwell with that shortly as we renew our baptismal vows. 

In our study of the Fourth Song and how Christians understand it, we read a little of the work of Rowan Williams, the theologian and former Archbishop of Canterbury, writing about Dietrich Bonhoeffer. Bonhoeffer was a German theologian who was killed by the Nazis for his involvement with the resistance movement. He wrote about what it really means to be a follower of Jesus. What our life in Christ is all about – in times of war, chaos and terror. 

Williams, reflecting on Bonhoeffer’s writings, life and death, argues that our life in Christ Jesus is fundamentally a life lived for the good of others. He writes, “The other person I encounter is already the one with whom Christ is in solidarity, and the death I must endure is the death of anything in me that stops me acknowledging that and acting accordingly…. We are to stand in the place where the other lives, so that we are vulnerable to what the other is vulnerable to; we are to risk what the other risks…”

Williams continues, [To follow Jesus Christ,] “we must learn to ask how we may act so as to relinquish whatever fashions, conventions and securities prevent us from standing with another, whatever self-images protect us from seeing the reality of another, whatever generalities block our attention to the particularity of another.” (Christ the Heart of Creation, Williams, 2018)

I want to be clear here that in their focus on life in Christ as a life lived for others, Williams and Bonhoeffer aren’t talking about letting someone harm you or take advantage of you. They’re talking about seeing and standing with those who are under threat or pushed to the margins in the world as it is. 

And I want to acknowledge that Bonhoeffer, Williams – and I – all speak and write from the position of people who could roll along pretty comfortably with the cultural and economic status quo. Some of those hearing my voice right now may feel yourself outside the “we” of the texts I just read. What you need are people ready to see you and stand with you. To risk what you risk, simply by being. 

There’s a prayer we prayed, here, last Sunday – a prayer we pray every Palm Sunday, as we begin our walk through the great story of Jesus’ death and resurrection.It says, “Mercifully grant that we, walking in the way of the cross, may find it none other than the way of life and peace…” 

This year, our work with the Fourth Song and its meaning for Christians has me asking myself: Whose life? Whose peace? 

I wonder if the author of that prayer – William Reed Huntington, in the late 1800s – actually had the Fourth Song, Isaiah 53, in mind. “Upon him was the punishment that made us whole” – that’s actually the Hebrew word Shalom, often translated as peace – “And by his bruises we are healed.” – it’s not a big step from healing to life. 

Shalom and healing, life and peace. 

The Servant’s death was for the healing and peace of others. Jesus’ life, death, and rising were for the life and peace of others.  It’s hard to avoid the conclusion that as God’s baptized and resurrected people, the life and peace we are to be about is not our own… but others’.

As the author C.S. Lewis once remarked, “If you want a religion to make you feel really comfortable, I certainly don’t recommend Christianity.”

Bonhoeffer wrote, “My life is outside myself, beyond my disposal. My life is another, a stranger; Jesus Christ.” 

What is it like to think of myself as already dead?

What is it like to think of myself as already fully and eternally alive?

What makes this an Easter sermon, beloved friends, is that Jesus’ story doesn’t end at the tomb. Bonhoeffer’s story doesn’t end at the gallows.  Martin Luther King, Jr.’s story doesn’t end on the balcony of the Lorraine Motel.  Last night, at the Easter Vigil, we called on the saints, the holy martyrs, the faithful departed, to stand with us as we marched towards Easter. So many names. So many prayers for us, for our world, our lives, our discipleship, uttered – even now – in the presence of the One who is first and last. 

Love wins.

Life wins.

Whatever we spend, comes back to us – in this world, or another. 

Whatever it costs, it’s worth it. 

Whatever we pour out for the life and peace of another draws us deeper into Christ. 

For we are already dead,  and our life is hid with Christ in God. 

Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia. 

Church Seasons & Holy Days, Events, Uncategorized

Holy Week 2022

A note about plans in a time of pandemic… It is possible that Covid rates could rise again by Holy Week. In that event, we may take some steps to reduce the risk of in-person gatherings, such as increasing ventilation, limiting singing, encouraging advance sign-up to manage capacity, or even moving services outdoors. We will communicate clearly about any such measures. Please read our weekly Enews and/or check the website for the latest information. Zoom worship will always be an option. 

ALL ZOOM SERVICES will be on our usual Sunday Morning Worship link. Contact the church office ( or 608-238-2781) or subscribe to our weekly Enews to get the links. 

MAUNDY THURSDAY, April 14

ZOOM WORSHIP, 5 – 6PM: Join from the dinner table! Consider setting your table for a special occasion, with dishes you love, flowers, candles. Have bread and wine or fruit juice on hand. 

IN PERSON WORSHIP, 6:30 – 8PM: This year’s service will include an informal Eucharist (not a full meal, as we have done in the past); an opportunity for foot washing; and stripping of the altar. 

NIGHTWATCH: Keep vigil for an hour,  at home or at church, Thursday evening or Friday morning.  It’s appropriate to pray, sing, read the Bible or spiritual texts, or just sit in silence. Sign up for your chosen hour at this link. 

GOOD FRIDAY,  April 15

ZOOM WORSHIP, 1PM: A Zoom-adapted version of Good Friday worship, with passion Gospel. 

IN PERSON, 12PM and 7PM: We will read the Passion Gospel and pray the special prayers of this day. This liturgy does not include the Eucharist. 

IN PERSON Children’s Stations of the Cross, 4:30PM: A gentle outdoor exploration of the Stations of the Cross, for all ages. 

THE GREAT VIGIL, Saturday, April 16

ZOOM WORSHIP, 6:30 – 7:30: A service of story and song that prepares us for Easter Sunday. You might enjoy gathering by candlelight/dim light, and having bells or noisemakers on hand! 

IN PERSON, 8PM – 9:30PM: We’ll honor the Great Vigil, one of the Church’s most ancient rites, with fire and water, story and song, renewal of baptismal vows and the first Eucharist of Easter.  PLEASE NOTE: This service will BEGIN at the Parish Center, the green building at the end of the parking lot. We will walk to the church midway through the service. 

EASTER SUNDAY, April 17

ZOOM WORSHIP, 9AM: A festive Easter liturgy online!

IN PERSON, 8AM & 10AM: Gather for Easter worship with Eucharist.  All are welcome! We are planning an outdoor reception and an egg hunt after the 10AM service.

Sermons

Sermon, March 20

A note about the readings: Today’s Epistle is transferred from next Sunday, March 27 (Lent 4C), because we will not read the Epistle next week due to our Scripture Drama. 

Today’s Old Testament lesson gives us the call of Moses – Israel’s great leader who led them out of bondage in Egypt and through a long wilderness journey. I’m always tickled by God saying, “I have heard my people’s cry, I have come to deliver them, I’m sending … YOU!” And Moses saying, “You have the wrong guy.” 

But this year my attention is caught by this sentence:  “I have come down to deliver [My people] from the Egyptians, and to bring them up out of that land to a good and broad land, a land flowing with milk and honey” – so far so good –

“To the country of the Canaanites, the Hittites, the Amorites, the Perizzites, the Hivites, and the Jebusites.”

That’s… a whole lot of people to already be living in the land that God plans to give to the Israelites. 

Two weeks ago, on the first Sunday in Lent, we heard a portion of Deuteronomy – a book that presents itself as Moses’ last words to his people before his death and their crossing over into this land, the land they believe God intends as their new home. 

That passage had resonances with our Thanksgiving myth. The people told to honor their first harvest season in this new land that God has given them by making an offering to God, then celebrating with a great feast. 

The only thing missing from the story are helpful native peoples… because the Israelites were supposed to wipe them all out. 

How do we deal with the places where the Bible says that God wants God’s people to destroy other nations? 

I find those texts to be in tension with some really central themes of Scripture – like that when God calls a particular people, be it the the Israelites, later known as the Jews, or the Christians, followers of Jesus, it’s so that they can bless other peoples, not destroy them. 

Both the Bible and archaeology tell us that the Israelites spent a long, long time being one small nation among other nations. There are lots of stories of conflict with neighboring peoples in the Old Testament. 

From that angle it makes some sense that as people compiled texts and traditions into their holy book, some language crept in there about how God definitely wanted them to destroy all those troublesome neighbors. 

There’s more to unpack and wrestle with there.  I don’t want to make it too simple. But there is room to faithfully question whether God has ever called God’s people to commit genocide. 

In March of 1848, a revolution was stirring in what is now Germany. The working classes and middle classes were joining forces against the ruling elites, to call for more democratic government and constitutional reforms protecting the rights of ordinary citizens. 

The revolution was ultimately quashed by military force. Discouraged and fearing reprisals, many young Germans who could afford emigrate, did – to places like Texas, Ohio, and Wisconsin. 

This wave of German immigrants, seeking a fresh start in a more free and democratic nation, became known as the Forty-Eighters. Among them were the Heim family – including two brothers, young men, Joseph and Anton, and Joseph’s fiancée Theresia. Arriving in New York in 1848, the Heims made their way to Wisconsin.

To a good and broad land, a land flowing with milk and honey – the land of the Ho-Chunk, the Sauk, the Menominee, the Ojibwe, the Potawatomi, the Oneida. 

There Joseph, Anton, and Theresia bought some land from the US government, built a home, and started a farm. I’m standing on that land right now. The brick house over there – that’s the home the Heims built. 

Another of those big, overarching themes of Scripture is that God wants people to be free – not in bondage. God seems to care about human wellbeing, human thriving. 

Our Presiding Bishop Michael Curry likes to talk about our loving, liberating, and life-giving God. 

I believe God wanted to free the Israelites from enslavement in Egypt. I believe, too, that God wanted the Heims to be free from the oppressive circumstances they faced at home in Germany. To have a chance to build a better life for themselves and their children. 

And: All these stories of making home in a new place, a place of freedom and plenty: all these stories have to reckon with who was displaced or killed, to free up the “promised land” for those new arrivals. 

We have to read against the grain of these received stories to notice those losses, those costs. It is work. Because these powerful myths of journey and arrival and home-making – they either demonize the people who were there already, or ignore them entirely. 

From the mid-15th century to the present, the legal principle of the Doctrine of Discovery has asserted that Christian,“civilized” Europeans had the right to any territory occupied by non-Christian peoples. The native peoples of the Americas, of Australia, of Africa – their millennia of presence and stewardship of the land simply didn’t matter. 

The United States government did negotiate many treaties with Native peoples – including the 1832 treaty that forced the Ho-Chunk nation to leave this land. 

Those treaties give the appearance of taking Native land rights seriously – but they were also overwhelmingly unfair and coercive, and usually made in bad faith on the American side. And the fundamental mindset was that land wasn’t truly owned, truly used, until white people were living and farming on it. 

It’s work to learn about all this, to take it on board. It’s hard and uncomfortable. 

And if Paul’s right that being followers of Jesus means being ambassadors of reconciliation – it’s part of our call to faithful living. 

Reconciliation. The Greek word Paul used is katalasso. It was most literally a word for exchanging money between currencies, making sure the values came out even.

We still use the word “reconcile” in financial contexts:  to reconcile accounts means you compare them, explain any differences, and get them to match up.

But in Greek and in English, we also use this word for relationships. For coming back together, working through differences, finding resolution and, perhaps, a shared way forward. 

These are timely words and ideas for this season. Reconciliation and repentance. Acknowledging harm, making amends. Mending… 

The financial meaning of “reconciliation” feels oddly apt for the learning some of us have been doing, through our parish Land Acknowledgement Task Force and other opportunities. 

We are, indeed, comparing accounts: the account of the history of this place that begins with people like the Heims claiming and taming the wilderness, and the account that begins much earlier, with the deep memories of peoples who stewarded this land for centuries or millennia. 

Comparing these accounts, seeking to understanding the differences between them – that’s the work that led us, as a first step, to commit $3000 of our 2022 parish budget as an offering to the Native peoples of this region.

Today’s Gospel is a complicated little passage. Some people want to know what Jesus thinks of this recent news story – a tragedy, an abomination, a war crime. He responds, then shares a short parable. 

On the surface, the teaching and the story seem like a mismatch: Tragedies don’t happen to people because they’re extra sinful, BUT: if you don’t start bearing fruit, you’re gonna get chopped! … 

Let me offer a paraphrase that I think holds the pieces together better. Jesus says, Look, those people didn’t have it coming, any more than anybody else ever has it coming. Get that way of thinking out of your head. That’s not how things work.

Everyone is bound by sin. And death is coming for us all, eventually, one way or another. The question is: what will you do with the time you have? 

It’s very easy for us to read this Gospel text in terms of consequences – of punishment. The tower falls, the tree gets chopped down: bad things will happen… unless, maybe…! 

But I truly believe that what Jesus wants from us, and for us, is very different from dread and the kind of rigid and fearful righteousness that grows from fear of punishment. Rather, Jesus invites us to take an unflinching look at the brevity and uncertainty of life – and asks us: 

In a world where a random building might fall on you at any time, where you never know if this may be your last fruitful year: How will you live? What do you choose? 

May God bless us to be a blessing.

May God give us the fertilizer we need to bear fruit. 

May God strengthen us, each and all, to be ambassadors of reconciliation – to have skill and courage and hope for the work of mending, in its many shapes and sizes. 

May we find that work – however it manifests for us, each and all –  to be both our duty and our joy. Amen. 

Saints

Saints Perpetua and Felicity

See some beautiful images of these saints here and here.

This biography was prepared for us by Sister Pamela Pranke. 

The young women clung to one another with courage as the wild animal charged them. This story is that of Perpetua and Felicity, companions, Christian heroes and martyrs who faced a violent death rather than deny God by worshiping the Roman Emperor. Their compelling story captured the attention and imagination of Christians for 1800 years as an example of unwavering faith in God while facing torture and death with grace. Perpetua, a Christian noblewoman of Carthage, in North Africa, with an infant at her breast, told us in her own words through a diary she kept while in prison of the friendship with her dear pregnant slave, Felicity, and, fellow catechumens, Revocatus, Saturninus, and Secundulus. This is their enduring story.

In the second century people under Roman rule were required to worship the emperor and the Roman gods. Refusal to do so could result in imprisonment and death. That is exactly what happened to Perpetua and her companions.

Perpetua’s parents were not Christian so they could not understand their daughter’s decision to disregard the Roman law especially since her infant stayed in prison with her. Perpetua’s father pleaded with her to change her mind about Christianity to save her life. This was her response, “‘Father,’ said I, ‘do you see this vase here, for example, or waterpot or whatever?’ ‘Yes, I do’, said he. And I told him: ‘Could it be called by any other name than what it is?’ And he said: ‘No.’ ‘Well, so too I cannot be called anything other than what I am, a Christian.'”

Perpetua’s outraged father left the prison in a fury, returning several days later desperately pleading with Perpetua to offer a sacrifice to the emperors. Even the governor pleaded with her to do the same. Over the next days, her father continued to plead with Perpetua until he was beaten back by the guards. Still, Perpetua remained faithful to Christianity.

Felicity was 8 months pregnant when the group was imprisoned. Since pregnant women were not allowed to be executed, her date for execution was postponed until after delivery. This caused her great distress since she would not be executed with her companions. The group gathered in supplication to the Lord that Felicity would deliver her baby so they could all die together. Their prayer was answered two days before the scheduled execution when Felicity delivered a baby in the prison.

The small group of Christians was determined to die rejoicing in the Lord with dignity. Their last meal together was a love feast shared with family and friends. The group of Christian companions approached death with faith and celebration of victory knowing that they were in the Lord’s hands.

The day of execution arrived. Perpetua entered the arena singing psalms. The men faced the wild beasts first, after being attacked by a bear, boar, and leopard, they waited for Perpetua and Felicity to face their beast, a wild heifer that was symbolic of their young womanhood.

Perpetua and Felicity, clinging to each other, were stripped, and dragged in a large net into the arena. The crowd, after seeing that Perpetua was a very young woman and that Felicity had just given birth, called for them to be clothed. Perpetua was tossed into the air by the wild heifer that trampled Felicity. Perpetua pulled Felicity up so they could face the wild animal together. Perpetua, concerned with her Christian dignity, covered an exposed thigh and straightened her hair.

The crowd indicated that it was taking too long for the Christians to die, so in compassion, they called for a rapid death. The Christians stood in silence together after sharing a blessed kiss. A gladiator killed each in turn, excluding Perpetua. A soldier thrust a sword at Perpetua and hit bone rather than killing her. Perpetua dramatically reached for the sword guiding it to her neck to aid her executioner.
This narrative became so well-known in the early Church that it was read during liturgies. Even today, Perpetua’s diary is read in church services or their brave story retold.

O God the King of saints, who strengthened your servants Perpetua and Felicity and their companions to make a good confession, staunchly resisting, for the cause of Christ, the claims of human affection, and encouraging one another in their time of trial: Grant that we who cherish their blessed memory may share their pure and steadfast faith, and win with them the palm of victory; through the same Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever.

Further Reading and References
Acts of Christian Martyrs, The Martyrdom of Saints Perpetua and Felicitas, untitled (ssfp.org) This includes Perpetua’s Diary.

Keifer, J., Perpetua and her companions: Martyrs at Carthage. Biographical sketches of memorable Christians of the past. http://justus.anglican.org/resources/bio/117.html

Peterson, A.R. (2004). Perpetua: A Bride, a Martyr, a Passion, Relevant Books.

Shewring, W, (2021). The Passion of SS. Perpetua and Felicity, Hassell Street Press.

YouTube has a number of videos about these saints.

 

 

Church Seasons & Holy Days, Kid-friendly, Sermons

Homily, All-Ages Worship, Feb. 27

Today we heard stories about two people who came so close to God that it made them GLOW. Like a light bulb! 

First was Moses. God chose Moses to be the great leader of God’s people. To lead them to freedom, after they had been enslaved in Egypt; though their long journey in the wilderness until they finally come to a land where they could settle. 

Who remembers how long that journey was? …  

During that wilderness time, Moses talks to God to learn how the people are supposed to live as God’s chosen people. And he teaches them. 

There’s a lot that happens in this story, isn’t there? Moses and God are talking up on the holy mountain, and I guess they lose track of time, and the people get impatient.  “Why are we just sitting here in the literal middle of nowhere? How do we know that there’s actually a god who is leading and protecting us? Maybe we should just make our own god…” 

That doesn’t work out so well, does it? … 

But at the end of the story, Moses comes down from the mountain after talking to God again, and his face SHINES.  So much that people feel afraid to go near him! So much that he wears a veil – a fabric covering – to hide the light. 

It seems like he’s been in God’s presence so much that a little of God’s divine glory has rubbed off on him. Or maybe it’s like glow in the dark stuff, where you have to hold it near a light source for a while to charge it before it will glow. Maybe Moses is a special kind of glow in the dark that is activated by being near God’s light. Maybe we all are!

And then we have a story about Jesus being up on a mountain, and coming close to God. Jesus’ friends, Peter and James and John, see him speaking to two men – Moses and Elijah, two great prophets and leaders of God’s people. 

When this story happens, Moses and Elijah had lived a long, long time ago, so I don’t know how Jesus’ friends knew who they were. They didn’t have photographs! Maybe Jesus told them. 

And God is there, too – God the Father, Creator, and Source. God is in the mysterious cloud, and in the Voice that says, “This is my Son, the chosen one; listen to him!” 

Now, Jesus is a human being, but Jesus is also God. So it seems like what happens here is that some of Jesus’ inner Godness shines out. And that made me think about a little project we did at my house recently. 

We found out that if you pour melted chocolate on something called a diffraction grating, then the chocolate becomes very special. 

Look, here’s the diffraction grating. And here’s some chocolate. It just looks like normal chocolate right now…. But when I tilt it so that a bright light is shining on it, you can see all these rainbows! It doesn’t look ordinary any more, does it? 

So maybe Jesus was a little like that. Most of the time when you looked at him you just saw an ordinary person. But when the light of God the Father and Creator shined directly on him, it made him shine too… 

So far we’ve been talking about special people: Moses and Jesus. 

But the apostle Paul says that these stories are about us, too. That coming close to God and shining with God’s light is for all of us. 

In one of his letters to the church in Corinth, Paul writes, “All of us with face unveiled are mirroring the Lord’s glory, and we are being transformed into the same image, from glory to glory, as by the Lord’s spirit.” (Hart) 

Paul is drawing together these two stories, here! He’s thinking about Moses’ veil. And he’s thinking about Jesus being transformed on the mountain top, so that he shines with holy light 

When Paul says “the Lord,” he means Jesus. So he’s saying, We can be mirrors that reflect Jesus’ glory, Jesus’ brightness, Jesus’ goodness. We can embrace that, without veiling our faces or hiding the light. And over time we might reflect Jesus better and better, as our lives and hearts match his life and his heart more and more. 

So, Paul says, Let God’s light shine through you! Reflect Jesus’ light! 

I wonder how we could do that? 

Maybe by trying to be patient, and kind, and understanding, like we heard in Paul’s letter about love, last week. 

Maybe by being generous to others without worrying about what will come back to us, and praying for our enemies, and loving people even when they’re kind of hard to love, like Jesus said in the part of his sermon that we heard last week. 

We get lots of guidance from the Bible about how to live as God’s people and as followers of Jesus. Today’s texts tell us that when we try to make those kinds of choices and live that kind of life,  it’s not JUST that we’re following God’s hopes for us. It’s not JUST that these choices help us be people who add to the amount of wholeness and love and joy in the world. 

It’s also that when we let ourselves reflect the light of Jesus, the light of God, we might shine a little light into somebody else’s life. That light might bless them or comfort them. 

And if they’re looking for God, that light, the light of God that you are reflecting, might help them start to find their way towards God. Like it says in the song we sometimes sing: Let your little light shine, shine, shine – there might be somebody down in the valley trying to get home! 

Today is the last Sunday in the season of Epiphany. We talk a lot about light in Epiphany! The light of the star that leads the Wise Ones to find the baby Jesus… the Light of God’s promises dawning on God’s people… the Light of God’s presence in the face of Jesus, shining on the mountaintop. 

Let’s end Epiphany by singing about letting our little lights shine, one more time… knowing that we don’t have to make the light; we just have to let God’s light shine through us… 

Saints

Chad of Lichfield

Chad of Lichfield, 634-672  (Feast Day – March 2)

Written by Sr. Pamela Pranke, OPA

In the mid600s, a father transported his four sons across Northumbria in Britain to the Holy Island where the newly build, solid stone Lindisfarne Abbey guarded the North Sea. There, the youngest son, Chad, and his older brother, Cedd, said farewell to their father and were turned over to the care of Abbot Adain to learn and live the life of a Celtic monk. Thus began their legendary saintly lives.

At Lindesfarne, the boys lived in community, praying, studying, and working together. Those early years shaped Chad to the rhythms of the sea and prayer, obedience, humility, Celtic spirituality, memorizing psalms and gospel, singing, and playing clapping word games. A call and response game went something like this, one boy called out, “God is_,” followed by a couple of claps. The other boys would shout a response such as, “Omnipotent.” Chad was especially known for his loud thunderous claps. 

The North Sea churned about the Holy Island as a constant reminder of the power of nature, especially during fierce storms. When the sea roared, Chad humbled himself before God by lying prostrate praying for protection and deliverance.  

When the boys were old enough to travel alone, Chad and some of the other young monks were send to a monastery in Ireland, Rath Melsigi. Following the instructions of Abbott Aidan and the way of Celtic monks they were told to keep their feet on the ground walking rather than riding a horse. Chad always refused a horse until a time when as a Bishop his superior, Archbishop Theodore, picked him up and put him on a horse, forcing him to ride.

Chad and his companions traveled from monastery to monastery on foot in the wet and cold of Ireland, sharing with people living in extreme poverty, hunger, and deprivation, until they reached Rath Melsigi. Chad would go out of his way to meet every poorest distant home or farm to preach the gospel and teach them to sing and chant simple Celtic tunes like, “Come, Lord. Come down. Come among us.” As the chant was repeated, he would tell them gospel stories over the rhythm of the chant. 

When the young monks first saw Rath Melsigi they were like hobbits seeing the elven city of Rivendell for the first time. They were awe struck, especially by the large number of books housed there. At Rath Melsigi, the day was divided into three parts, first, study of early Church writers, second, work for their upkeep, third, work for the good of others, no matter what that might mean. No task was considered beneath their dignity, from mending a fence, or teaching the psalms. The monks completely lived a life of service. This rhythm formed their days until the time when they would be sent back out into the world.

Every time and place have its upheavals and conflicts. For Chad these took the form of political conflict within Christianity between the Roman and Celtic Christians, and the 664 A.D. plague in Ireland and Britain. As we know well, pandemic impacts every part of one’s life.  This plague gave rise to deadly devastation that decimated the population to an extent beyond our understanding, while chaos ruled the day.

Needing assistance, Chad’s older brother, Cedd, who was Bishop of London and Abbott of Lastingham in Yorkshire, sent for his brothers, including, Chad. As Chad traveled to Lastingham his journey slowed to care for the sick and bury the dead. Sadly, death greeted Chad at Lastingham. All of his brothers, including Cedd, died of the plague, leaving Chad to serve as the Abbot of Lastingham.

Sadly, and ironically, while the population died, the rulers and church hierarchy were most concerned with the date of Easter and how to cut a tonsure. Despite the plague, The Synod of Whitby was called to settle the disputes. Unfortunately, most of those attending the Synod died from the plague.

A bishop or priest could not be found in all of Britain resulting in a power void that added to the chaos. For example, a priest named Wilfred was selected to be Bishop of York, but three bishops could not be found to consecrate him since all were dead. So, Wilfred went to Gual in search of bishops. There he lingered to be safe from the deadly plague.

With Wilfred in Gual, a bishop was still needed. Chad was selected for this position, but he experienced the same problem as Wilfred, no bishops were available to consecrate him as a bishop. Finally, the King had him unofficially consecrated. Still, it was not proper or official.

Just like a twisted, concocted tale, Wilfred returned wanting his bishop seat back. This is where Chad’s humility and holiness shined through brilliantly. Chad humbly gave the bishop seat back to Wilfred. Because he was so humble, and saintly, Chad was made Bishop of Lastingham where he served as Abbott. 

Learning of a massacre of martyrs on the fields of Lichfield under the Roman Emperor Diocletian in 303. Chad moved his See to Lichfield where a cathedral and monastary were built on the exact spot of the massacre.

Bishop Chad maintained his untarnished reputation as a humble, holy man. Sometimes he retreated to the bottom of a well to find a quiet space for prayer. It was said that light poured from the well when Chad prayed within. Ultimately, Chad, too, died of the plague. While the Lichfield monks prayed, they heard singing like that of angels. They scrambled outside to learn the source of the singing, instead they found their Bishop dead.

Chad was canonized shortly after his death. Many miracles and healings were attributed to him. The well where he prayed became a site of pilgrimage. His relics reside in the cathedral at Birmingham, England. 

We have much to learn from the life of St. Chad about humility, prayer, living in rhythm with the hours and nature, and care of the least during times of pandemic. Fortunately, one of Chad’s monks taught Bede, the famous British historian. From this monk, Venerable Bede learned intimate details about Chad’s life and Celtic Christianity. To learn more about this interesting saint, here are a few references.

Bede’s Ecclesiastical History of England, by The Venerable Bede, https://ccel.org/ccel/bede/history/history?queryID=15001896&resultID=952

Lichfield and the Lands of St Chad: Creating Community in Early Medieval Mercia (Studies in Regional and Local History Book 19) Kindle Edition, by Andrew Sargent

Life and Legends of Saint Chad, Bishop of Lichfield, (669-672) With Extracts From Un-edited mss., and Illustrations – September 3, 2015 by Richard Hyett Warner

On Eagles’ Wings – The Life and Spirit of St Chad, Mass Market Paperback – by Revd David Adam

Saint Chad (Caedda), Bishop of Mercia (Lichfield) † 672 http://ourvillagechurch.org.uk/wp-content/uploads/2017/03/Saint-Chad-Booklet-WWH.pdf

http://saintchads.weebly.com