St. Michael's Church, Litchfield, CT

Augustine of Hippo (354 – 430) is one of the giants of church history. In the fifteen-hundred-year span between the apostle Paul and Martin Luther, no one looms larger in the minds of most Protestants. With the possible exception of Thomas Aquinas and John Calvin, his influence as a theologian is unparalleled. And his memoir, Confessions, is given a place in literature as the first recorded memoir. Augustine was an African, and it is fitting that this man of such great stature is still read and debated today, when the African church, having come full circle, is again a center of vibrancy and scholarship.
As a youth, Augustine finds himself in “the thorny branches of sex and temptation.” He also sows his wild oats for several years as an adherent of Manichaeism, a dualistic religion in which the spiritual realm is manifested in conflict between light and darkness, spirit and body. There is no good God who reigns supreme; individuals are essentially on their own, seeking knowledge to save themselves.
Manichaeism eventually proves to be intellectually unsatisfying for Augustine, who turns to skepticism and then to Neo-Platonism, a philosophy extolling truth, goodness, and beauty. This intellectual shift parallels a geographical move from Carthage to Rome. From Rome he moves to Milan, where his mother joins him and soon becomes enamored with Ambrose and influences her son to attend his sermons. All the while, Augustine is moving away from a philosophical worldview toward orthodox Christianity.
His “garden conversion” is the spiritual climax of his memoir. While weeping in a garden, Augustine overhears a child’s voice calling, “Take up and read.” Augustine takes this as a sign from God, and reaches for a manuscript of Paul. There his eyes fall on these words: “Not in rioting and drunkenness, not in chambering and wantonness, not in strife and envying: but put ye on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make not provision for the flesh in concupiscence”
“Instantly at the end of this sentence,” he writes, “by a light of serenity infused into my heart, all darkness of doubt fled away.” Biographers and historians have pointed out that this was a conversion to a celibate monastic life as much as a recommitment to the Christian faith of his heritage and that it had been some time in coming.
On Easter Sunday 387, Ambrose baptizes Augustine, who leaves behind his teaching position to immerse himself in Scripture. He then returns to Africa to live quietly in his hometown as a monk, but the locals recognize his capabilities and elect him to be their priest. Then, in 395, only eight years after his baptism, he is elected bishop of Hippo. Unlike many bishops of the era, he seeks to retain a monastic way of life while preaching several times a week and writing more than a thousand treatises in addition to extensive correspondence.
During the course of his bishopric, several controversies arise between Augustine and other sects. One of these is with the Donatists, a sect arising in the aftermath of the Great Persecution of Emperor Diocletian. When Imperial officials demand that Christians hand over the Scriptures under penalty of death, some Christians surrender their manuscripts and are considered traditors by the Donatists.
The Donatists regard denial of the faith to be the ultimate crime against the church and against God; traditors are no longer part of the church. If someone is baptized by a traditor bishop, that baptism is invalid. In defense of priests and bishops who had surrendered the Scriptures, Augustine argues that the sacrament is valid irrespective of the sinfulness of the priest who administers it. The grace of Christ is operative in the sacrament; thus the worthiness of the priest is irrelevant. Grace is conferred through the sacrament.
Augustine’s most bitter theological controversies involve Pelagius, a devout and stout British monk, who teaches that individuals are responsible for their sins, even as they are for their good deeds. That humans inherit original sin from Adam he deems patently false; whether one sins or not is a matter of self-control and free will rather than determinism. Augustine, emphasizing God’s sovereignty and election, counters that our sinful nature propels us to sin and that no one has the innate capability to do good.

Yet Augustine knows above all else that God is entangled with mystery. “Since it is God we are speaking of,” he cautions, “you do not understand it. If you could understand it, it would not be God.”

Excerpted from Parade of Faith: A Biographical History of the Christian Church
by Ruth A. Tucker

Almighty God, who gave such grace to your apostle Andrew that he readily obeyed the call of your Son Jesus Christ, and brought his brother with him: Give us, who are called by your Holy Word, grace to follow him without delay, and to bring those near to us into his gracious presence; who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

Quote: “Conquer by this.”

Emperor Constantine (c. 272 – 327) was the first Christian emperor. Or was he?

Whether he was a sincere believer or only used religion as a talisman or as a way to unite his empire has been debated for centuries. The historian Eusebius records the story of Constantine’s vision of a cross in the noon-day sky, one of the most well-known conversion accounts in Christian literature — if it is indeed a conversion account.

The date is October 28, 312. The setting is the ancient stone Milvian Bridge that spans the Tiber River near the gate of Rome. Constantine is nervous. His troops are outnumbered by the army of Maxentius stationed behind the walls of Rome with enough provisions to withstand a long siege. The prospects of winning are not good for the pagan general. Then at noon he sees a cross above the sun with the words “Conquer by this.”

Why Maxentius came out of town to do open battle with his adversary is a mystery to military experts. In the end, due to his poor strategy or to the intervention of God, the victory belongs to Constantine, paving the way for him to become the sole emperor of both East and West.

As a Christian emperor, Constantine gets high marks for the Edict of Milan in 313 that secures toleration of Christianity and ends the persecution that began with Nero. But while ending persecution from pagans he disregards the Christian pacifist tradition and inaugurates a long history of Christian fratricide. He sends troops to North Africa to attack the Donatists, a breakaway sect of Christian purists.

Constantine’s sins also include murder — and not merely murder of his distant enemies. He arranges the murder even of his son and one of his wives. His Christian credentials are found wanting in other matters as well. Before he professed to follow the Christian God, he was partial to the sun god, a god who continued to be in good standing with him long after his cross-above-the-sun vision. His coins featured the sun god on one side and the name of Christ on the other. Thus Sunday, so-called by Constantine, was on his orders set aside as the day of worship.

Constantine’s delayed baptism also throws a damper on any claim to his saintliness. Apparently fearing the sacrament would not take because of his wicked ways, he postpones it until he is on his deathbed in 337. Then he contacts Bishop Eusebius of Nicomedia to officiate. Setting aside his imperial purple garb, he dresses in white and rests on a white sofa to symbolize his new spiritual status. That Eusebius is an Arian is one final snub by the emperor to Athanasius and orthodoxy in the Western church. In an effort to rectify the matter, however, an apocryphal account was later circulated that falsely claims that Constantine was baptized in Rome by Pope Sylvester. The end for Constantine comes, according to Eusebius, at “about the time of the midday sun,” reminiscent of the vision a quarter-century earlier — symbolism fitting an emperor.
Constantine’s life illustrates the malevolence and messiness of this era — an era that set the stage for orthodox faith for the ensuing centuries. Saintly heroes were in short supply. Sin and shame had free reign, then as now.

Adapted by biblegateway.com from the book Parade of Faith: A Biographical History of the Christian Church by Ruth A. Tucker

Saint Medard, we ask you to intercede for us during the storms of our lives as well as the storms in nature. Protect us and our homes. And Lord, help all the victims of snowstorms, hurricanes, tornadoes, earthquakes and other natural disasters. Send in more helpers and multiply the supplies that are needed for their aid. You calmed the storm on the Sea of Galilee; deliver us from the storms that are raging around us now. Saint Medard, pray for us. Amen

In case you’re not familiar with St. Medard: Legend says that when he was a child, St. Medard was once sheltered from the rain by a hovering eagle. This is his most common depiction in art, and led to his patronage of good weather and against bad weather.

Christ has no body now on earth but yours,
no hands but yours,
no feet but yours,
Yours are the eyes through which to look out
Christ’s compassion to the world;
Yours are the feet with which he is to go about doing good
Yours are the hands with which he is to bless others now.
~Teresa of Avila

Iconographer Andrew Bobik welcomed local artist Lori Barker, owner of Litchfield gallery The Artist's Path, to St. Michael's Fellowship Hour for his lecture.

St. Michael’s hosted iconography artist Andrew J. Bobik, Jr. at Fellowship Hour on Sunday, March 18th.

Andrew was raised in and has been active in the life of the Byzantine church. His love for the church and interest in art led him to the study of iconography, which refers to someone who studies the field of art history focusing on representations or pictures of a sacred or sanctified Christian personage. After much study of the ancient canons and writings regarding iconography, and observing iconographers at work, Andrew chose to begin the journey of writing icons himself.

Since 1997 he has been writing icons both for churches and for individuals. His icons are in several churches in Pennsylvania, West Virginia, Colorado, California and Ohio as well as in several private collections, including one belonging to a former personal secretary of Pope John Paul, the Irish Ambassador and actor Mel Gibson.

In the brief period of time since beginning, he has written over 300 icons. His work is done in acrylics and he has utilized both canvas and wood. He has also used his woodworking skills to build icon screens, altars, service tables, and various other liturgical items for churches.

Andrew presented a history of iconography throughout the ages, and answered many questions for a lively session. He also noted that the St. Michael’s image on our letterhead and the community house sign is a Renaissance style icon.

St. Francis of Assisi: Blessing Our Brothers, the Birds

“If you have men who will exclude any of God’s creatures from the shelter of compassion and pity, you will have men who will deal likewise with their fellow men.”

The son of Pietro di Bernadone, a wealthy Italian fabric merchant, Francis of Assisi is one of seven children. Young Francis spends several years vacillating between the life of a troubadour, time in the military, and visions of God speaking to him.

In 1209, in his late twenties, he hears the voice of Go, saying: “Preach, the kingdom of heaven is at hand, heal the sick, cleanse the lepers, cast out devils. Provide neither silver nor gold, nor brass in your purses.” This becomes his rule of life.

He discards his purse and shoes, dresses in rags, and feels guilty if he meets someone poorer than he. He lives with lepers, washing their puss-filled sores and kissing their fingerless hands and stubbed feet. His father and his friends think he has gone mad. Initially, he is a loner. But then a follower comes along, and by the end of the year, with ten more disciples, the “Lesser Brethren” beg from house to house, spending nights out of doors.

In Rome Francis seeks the papal blessing. Initially, Innocent III is insulted by his apparent show of disrespect, but, he later agrees to give provisional approval for a new religious order. Final sanction will come only after they have proven themselves worthy.

Poverty is not new to monasticism, but Francis gives it greater prominence, bringing new meaning to urban poverty. He embraces poverty rather than separating from it as hermits and monks had done. The inward emphasis on personal self-denial is turned upside-down with an outward focus on the poor and needy living on the margins of society.

Although having taken a vow of celibacy, he considers himself married to Lady Poverty, revering her as “the mistress and queen of the virtues.” Second only to Lady Poverty is his other love, Mother Nature. So close was Francis to nature that he preached sermons to those he regarded as his companions: “Brother birds,” he admonished, “you ought to love and praise your Creator very much. He has given you feathers for clothing, wings for flying, and all things that can be of use to you.”

An environmentalist before his time, he asked the emperor enact laws to protect “our sisters, the birds.”

For Francis, however, life is far from idyllic. For many of the less-committed friars, the love for Lady Poverty quickly evaporates. They rebel against what they perceive to be an evil stepmother. Having been stirred by the personal charisma and emotion-charged sermons of Francis, they have second thoughts about being on the bottom rung of society. Other monks, they observe, live the good life. Supported by clerics, angry friars replace Francis with a new leader while he is away on a mission trip. It is the most dramatic coup in monastic history. He returns to find a wealthy cleric in charge of the very ministry he has founded. He might have rallied his dedicated followers and led them away and begin anew. But this, he reasons, is not the way of humility. He accepts the stunning reversal as God’s will. He tells his followers, “From henceforth I am dead for you. Here is brother Peter di Catana whom you and I will obey.” He then prostrates himself before his new superior and directs the friars to follow in submission. His heart is broken, but there is no other course of action for this most singular saint.

Despite this turn of events, Francis is widely regarded as a saint, and his death in 1228 only increases his stock as a holy man. After he dies, the vicar of the Franciscan order testifies to the miracle of the stigmata on the body of Francis. Church leaders from far and near, including Pope Gregory IX, bask in his popularity. In fact, the pope preaches at his funeral, lays the cornerstone for a church in his memory, and canonizes him as a saint.

________________________________________

Parade of Faith: A Biographical History of the Christian Church
by Ruth A. Tucker

Hildegard of Bingen: Directed by Divine Light

Quote: “These visions weren’t fabricated by my own imagination, nor are they anyone else’s. I saw these when I was in the heavenly places. They are God’s mysteries. These are God’s secrets.”

A contemporary of Bernard of Clairvaux, Hildegard of Bingen (1098 – 1179) left behind a large portfolio of writings that sheds light on her inner thoughts as well as the world around her. The tenth child born into an aristocratic family, Hildegard grows up sickly and saintly. When she is a small girl she informs her nurse that a pregnant cow is carrying a white calf with colored spots on its head, back, and feet. For her accuracy she is given the calf as a pet. Soon after, she is sent away to study with the celebrated anchoress Jutta.

Like Jutta, Hildegard testifies to revelations and visions. On the death of Jutta, she assumes the leadership of the young women who have now joined together in community. In her early forties she testifies that God has given her the ability to comprehend the meaning of sacred texts and has commanded her to record the meaning given to her through visions. Seeking sanction as God’s mouthpiece, she contacts Bernard of Clairvaux. He passes her request on to the pope, who encourages her to continue transcribing her visions. She begins publishing her visions as Scivias (know the ways [of the Lord]), which soon becomes popular.

The revelations, according to Hildegard, do not come during a dream or a trance, “but watchful and intent in mind I received them according to the will of God.” She speaks with authority, yet when commanded by God to write down what she is seeing, she feels “wretched in my womanly condition” and an “unworthy servant”:

Self-doubt made me hesitate. I analyzed others’ opinions of my decision and sifted through my own bad opinions of myself… Then, when my good friends Richardis and Volmar urged me to write, I did. I started writing this book and received the strength to finish it, somehow, in ten years. These visions weren’t fabricated by my own imagination, nor are they anyone else’s. I saw these when I was in the heavenly places. They are God’s mysteries. These are God’s secrets. I wrote them down because a heavenly voice kept saying to me, “See and speak! Hear and write!”

Soon Hildegard relocates her nuns to the Rhine River in Bingen. Here her reputation flowers as she and her nuns write in a number of genres on a wide variety of topics, including plays, letters, music, and treatises on natural medicine. Throughout her ministry she criticizes corrupt clergy, warning people not to seek out priests for salvation, but to seek Christ and the Scriptures.

Unlike her cloistered sisters, Hildegard travels and preaches widely. In fact, despite her poor health, she conducts four preaching tours over a span of thirteen years, the final one completed during her seventy-fourth year. She visits monasteries and cathedrals, counseling and preaching to men more often than women. She corresponds with popes and bishops and heads of government as well as lesser clerics and laity. She also writes music and is now recognized as one of the great medieval composers.

________________________________________

Parade of Faith: A Biographical History of the Christian Church
by Ruth A. Tucker

________________________________________

Written by Miguel Angel Escobar on November 1, 2011 (reprinted from Episcopal Church Foundation Vital Practices)

Okay. I confess. All Saints Day in The Episcopal Church has always struck me as a bit bland.

Sure I know the official line: that All Saints Day is when we honor the martyrs, preachers, teachers and everyday witnesses whose examples we seek to follow in our lives. But every time All Saints Day rolls around, I can’t help but think of how the saints were spoken about, and used, in the pragmatic, popular faith of my Roman Catholic childhood.

In that setting, saints were a lot like apps: mobile, easy-to-use, and applicable to all sorts of everyday situations.

Lost keys? There’s a saint for that. Selling your house? Not unless you bury St. Joseph in the yard. Computer troubles? Saint Isidore of Seville can help. Not a morning person? Pray to Saint Vitus who, along with a rooster, had the grisly misfortune of being boiled in oil at dawn (though I’m still unclear how this qualifies him to be someone who can help us wake up refreshed). And for those who have no clue whom to apply when, never fear: you can now purchase an actual patron saints app for just $1.99.

As a still relatively new member of the Episcopal Church, I appreciate the high-minded reasonableness with which we approach our religious traditions. And yet, if there is one thing I wish I could change, one thing I wish I could carry over from my life as a Roman Catholic, it’d be the practical mysticism that these traditions convey. And I feel this way especially on All Saints and All Souls.

Like many Episcopalians, I am going to a worship service today where we will call upon and celebrate that great cloud of witnesses. And like many Episcopalians, I’ll head to church with mixed notions of how this cloud of witnesses relates to contemporary life and today’s church. For the past few years the homilists have approached this issue head-on. One year I heard an ultra-rational approach where saints were described as past examples that we should model our lives on. And two years ago I heard a socially-aware message wrapped in a curious metaphor: this cloud of witnesses nudges us along on history’s long arc toward justice in much the same way tailwinds nudge planes as they head toward their destinations.

Only rarely have I heard a homilist acknowledge what remains for many a quietly held article of faith: namely, just how helpful this cloud of witnesses can be, especially when you find yourself in a tight fix.

Two experiences have hammered this home to me. The first has to do with the chapel space at the Episcopal Church Center. Day after day, people from all walks of life enter to light tall, tapered candles in front of a statue of the Virgin Mary. Particularly on evenings when I work late, I love to step into the chapel space and observe these flickering prayers before heading home. This is undoubtedly the most popular corner of this large worship space, and the frequency with which those tapered candles have to be replaced speaks to aspects of faith that are harder to name, harder to define, yet are powerful and real for many.

The second experience, from a few years ago, began when I heard a knock at my front door early one morning. It was my Jewish neighbor with a curious request. She’d seen my statue of the Virgin de Guadalupe sitting on the windowsill and wanted me to light a candle for her. When I asked her to repeat her request to be sure I’d heard her correctly, she smiled broadly and said “Oh, I need all the help I can get.”

Don’t we all?

Have a blessed All Saints Day.