Saints of service

At first thought one might place Mother Teresa in the Social Justice stream of Christianity. As I think on her life though, I see a mix of influences, Holiness and Contemplative, but the most predominate being the Incarnational life.

“The Incarnational Stream of Christian life and faith,” says Foster, “focuses upon making present and visible the realm of the invisible spirit. This sacramental way of living addresses the crying need to experience God as truly manifest and notoriously active in daily life” (237).

In his appendix, Foster lists Mother Teresa as an example of Social Justice, but I find her actions more directed toward making the love of God manifest to the poor, making His Kingdom felt, than addressing the underlying causes of injustice. She made this sacramental way of life an entry point to the life of the Spirit and experienced it hand in hand with the contemplative life, calling her sisters “Contemplatives in the wold,” all the while demanding a high standard of holiness, determined to offer saints to Jesus.

Mother Teresa seemed always to hear Jesus calling her beyond herself. From her “second vocation to the poor,” to her abandoning her preferences and comforts to become a world media figure she was growing and stretching always. In her later years she perhaps took so hard a line on holiness she may have bordered on legalism were in not for her persistent love.

Mother Teresa would readily recognize the grace of God in her life from an early age. As young Agnes Bojaxhiu, daughter of Drana, grew up, her mother was a constant source of Formation for her. “At least once a week Drana would visit an old woman who had been abandoned by her family, to take her food an clean her house. She washed and fed and cared for File, an alcoholic woman covered with sores as if she was a small child” (Spink 7). Agnes accompanying her mother to visit File would create a powerful model for her as she later ministered to the poorest of the poor, lonely and forgotten. Her visits to the shrine of the Madonna of Letnice as a child would provide a conteplative basis for her life. She would identify herself always with the contemplative Thérèsa of Lisieux.

She was completely grounded in the institutional Catholic Church, first receiving formation in the Loreto order then creating the Missionaries of Charity as a Catholic Order. She was completely devoted to Catholic orthodoxy and the Pope, yet she ministered to, and cooperated with people from every creed.

Teresa always saw the political workings as the hand of God. She did not get involved in politics except to call for peace and love, trusting the leaders to do their duty in the end. She saw the crumbling of Communism as an opening door to spread tender love to the poor in those lands. Her ministry was not restricted to those who agreed with her, even staunch atheists would cooperate with her in Cuba, the Soviet, and other places.

In a wold of growing affluence and separation from the poor, her ministry to the poorest of the poor as though each one was Jesus in “distressing disguise” was and remains a prophetic word. She did much to proclaim the kingdom of God without preaching or giving an “altar call.”

Is there a difference between a saint and an ordinary person with an extraordinary desire and willingness to serve God? Mother Teresa was in her energy and determination a human dynamo, perhaps an extraordinary human power, but her formation in the selfless way of Christ, her consistent treatment of each individual as Christ in disguise shows her to be a saint. We are all called to such saintliness.

Elaine Martin is another such saint. Her faithfulness and fruit show her devotion to God. Her life of service to people shines as an example of the compassionate life. She grew up in a Lutheran home and appreciated her mother’s efforts to instill in her a spirituality.

It wasn’t until she went through a divorce that she began seeking a deeper relationship with God. Through a divorce support group at a church she found the depths she sought, along with the in-filling of the Spirit. The loneliness of the single life, the pain of divorce and concern for her family has been a challenge for her. She moved back to the Sebewaing area to be with her father before he died, caring for him, and praying him to Christ.

Over the years she has felt God call her to “come along side” individuals needing care and support. She has been a live in aide for many people. As a single woman she is surprised by the way God works, over recent years the people she has been directed to have been men. Sometimes her supportive relationships have raised eyebrows but she has remained faithful to do what God has called her to do.

She is a free spirit, at home anywhere with God. She goes where ever the Spirit directs her, so no one church has had a claim on her, though she lists many that have had a strong impact on her spiritually.

She is a prayer warrior and offers her devotion to God along with the person she is serving. She often makes use of the daily scriptures from the Book of Common Prayer we print in our bulletin, reading and praying with her neighbor each day. She is in her seventies and her neighbor, who she is serving is in his eighties. She remains vigorous and her service and support have been meaningful to me as her pastor.

Mother Teresa also challenges me. The service of the poorest of the poor, not just as though they were Christ, but actually seeing the suffering Christ in them, is a thought is forming and shaping me. I am wrestling lately with how meet the needs of the blue collar culture I am in. Mother Teresa challenges me to love them, though I gravitate to the intellectual and liberal postmodern crowd, she challenges me to see Christ wearing the blue collar garb of the workers in Sebewaing. Lord help me find ways to serve like Elaine and make of me a saint in the mold of Mother, with eyes only for you.

Distressing Disguise

Several months ago I was wrestling with the idea that Jesus could be found in the hurting around me when I wrote:

I can’t understand the image of Christ as stranger. How could he come to those beloved disciples on the road to Emmaus unrecognized? How could he be naked, poor, imprisoned, and we not see him there? How could he, my dear heart, be the stinking, cursing, drunk and homeless? Could he be my neighbor John who riding is bicycle home from the bar, at two AM, went over the handlebars and broke his nose? Could it have been Jesus I drove home with tears in his eyes and pain in his body? It is hard for me to see Jesus there, not because I don’t think he would stoop so low, but because I love him and don’t want to see blood pour from his nose or tears from his eyes. What would it mean to see my Jesus in all those around me? Is he there in people I know, and who don’t even know him, or just in strangers? Does he visit in the familiar as well as the strange? Perhaps he does, perhaps his incarnation is both in us as his hands and feet and in the fleshly suffering of those around us. Perhaps his paschal mystery continues in all who are hurting, naked and abandoned, just as his advent happens in us as we engage them in service and hospitality.

Seeing our neighbors and strangers as Jesus can be difficult precisely because we cannot see Jesus as coming to us in the form of a sinner.

Now as I encounter Mother Teresa's conviction that we find Jesus in "Distressing disguise" around us, I rejoice in confirmation of the idea. It isn't some wild fantasy I was entertaining when I asked "could it be?" but rather a truth revealed to saints through the ages - a truth I have come to embrace and is shaping me.

Saint Francis and saint Trask

Foster himself places St. Francis squarely in the Charismatic stream, citing him as a prime historical example. “I commend Francis of Assisi to you as a model of charismatic jubilee” (106). Jubilee sums up the beautiful sense of joy found in St. Francis. From Le Jongleur de Dieu to whimsical songs to brother Sun and moon, to his own child like wonder and perpetually simple faith, joy filled the Franciscan spirit. It was also jubilee in the sense of the freedom. The emancipation from the dark ages, and the freedom granted in supernatural works. His was a strange mix of celebration and asceticism -- they found their home together in his constant practice of simplicity. Simplicity as Foster notes brings freedom and joy.

From the horrors of war, a year of captivity and a year of convalescence stirred and transformed something deep within Francis. His family and friends may well have seen it as a break with reality, for he through off the imposed reality of this world with the clothes off his back and began a quest to enter fully into the reality of the Kingdom of God. Foster notes his longing for transformation, quoting his poem to the virtues:

Hail, Queen Wisdom! May the Lord preserve you
With your sister holy pure Simplicity!
O lady holy Poverty, may the Lord save you
With your sister holy Humility!
O lady holy Charity, may the Lord save you
With your sister holy Obedience
O al you most holy virtues,
May the Lord save you all,
From Whom you come and proceed (Foster 104).

Francis was gregarious and influenced by the wandering troubadours and jugglers who entertained from town to town. Even as a young man and a soldier, Chesterton notes, “Francis was one of those people who are popular with everybody in any case; and his guileless swagger as a Troubadour and leader of French fashions made him a sort of romantic ringleader around town” (41). That is his transformation wasn’t in his character as much as in whom he served. As he through himself into the service of God with characteristic abandon, he traded French fashions for a hair shirt, but he remained a ringleader, romantic toward God and His creation, and a Jongleur de Dieu.

With beauty Chesterton describes the time and world of Francis. The world was emerging from the dark ages, a time of penance and purging from pagan naturalism. St. Francis emerged into a world that was clean and ready to receive his songs of praise for creation and her Creator. His joyful asceticism was a release from the harsh practices of the previous age. H e renounced the emerging wealth of the renaissance with an adventurous and generous spirit. He fought in the crusades not with an army, but alone with God, hoping to convert the radical Islamists. On his return he found even his own movement too tame, beginning to own property, albeit in common.

Francis is also an example of the incarnational life. He valued the material world and the ways he could see God in the world around him. As my friend Ken notes, Francis saw the wonder and miracle in the world around him. Is it any wonder then that the miraculous followed him? Francis seemed to see the world through spiritual eyes. He could identify the wonders and miracles in the world around, he could see creation as brother and sister. In his simplicity and holy foolishness, he saw the reality of the Kingdom around him. In his mind there may not have been much dividing the natural from the supernatural. His life was the adventure of the true Kingdom invading the world of men, so he had to live according to the values of that Kingdom come what may.

This week we were on our own mendicant adventure with a Franciscan flavor, trusting God for our every need. We went to our District Council without any money to rely on. There in the midst of God’s wonderful provision for us, I found great joy celebrating the lives of saints who had persevered in ministry. Allow me to submit one such saint as a further example of the Charismatic stream, Thomas E. Trask.

Tom Trask celebrated his fiftieth year as an ordained minister this week. Until last summer he served as General Superintendent for the Assemblies of God in the United States. He is a consummate preacher, though not using the method of expository preaching I value most. His preaching relies entirely on the anointing of the Spirit. Prayer and a spiritual reading of the text is important to him as he prepares.

He lived the adventure of ministry that my family is enjoying now. He planted a church in Northern Minnesota in 1956. He made no money as the church’s pastor, so he had to work. His father, also a minister in Minnesota, told him to get a job that was simple enough that he could do while still focussing on God - on his call.

He began to work for a Jewish businessman, W.R. Feldman. After struggling through months of slim income, Fledman approached Trask. “I’ll pay for your management training, if you come back to work for me,” he said, offering a large salary.

Trask said he would pray about it. Fledman was incredulous, “Pray about what? I know what they’re paying you!”
Trask responded, “The church is not my boss, God is my boss.” After praying Trask felt he had no option but to turn Feldman down, believing that he had been “bought with a price.”

Complete trust in God for his financial security combined with a discipline of giving, giving him experiences like St. Francis. One thanksgiving he had no food for his family. He didn’t have money for groceries, but in desperation he got in to his car to head to the store. As he was pulling out a man in a pickup truck pulled in behind him.
“Are you that pastor, Trask?” He asked. When Trask said yes, he said, “I have something you will need for tomorrow.” He proceeded to take two bags of groceries out of the back of his truck. Trask never saw the man before or since, convinced that angels sometimes dive pickups.

Giving continues to be an important discipline for him. As he rose in the ranks of the church and made more money, he increased his giving, until last year he was able to give away %70 of his income. Though he can also strangely value nice cars and manicured lawns as evidence of God’s provision to those around us.

Early in his ministry an older minister told him, “Tom, ask God to put you on a schedule and keep that schedule.” Rising early to engage in disciplines of prayer and study became important for him through out his life, as did “creating a family altar.” He recalled as a child his parents gathering the family before school and praying, “God keep Tom, keep Roy, Keep Patty.” Such times of prayer and worship with his family were important disciplines for him.

Looking back on his 52 years of ministry, Trask says, “Enjoy the adventure, because it was meant to be enjoyed.”

The faithfulness of Saint Francis and saint Trask in the adventure of the kingdom is a great inspiration to me. Like Francis this week I have been challenged to give and entirely trust in God for my family’s provision. It has been wonderful to see him work in us. Dropping the last of our money in the offering plate and then seeing God replenish that amount or give even more for us to give has been hilarious and wonderful. I can appreciate the joy of Francis as he danced naked through the forest, free from possessions but rich in God.

As Elaine and I were Ordained this year, the example of those who have gone before has been powerful as well. I appreciate Tom Trask’s example of faithfulness and demonstration of how this heroic trust and that we can actually make it through the adventure. After we were ordained, and hands laid on us symbolically passing the anointing, Tom Trask kissed my cheek. I accept from the Spirit Trask’s blessing.

veneration of saints

I can’t get my head around the doctrines concerning Mary: her immaculate conception, her ascension, her various appearances, her intercessory roll… But, I am starting to see the place of devotion as love.

Today I was walking around the cemetery imagining I was Paul looking at the shrines in Athens. When I came to the head stone of Rev. John and Sister Ora Rosetta Dearing, I stopped. I knelt beside it and thanked God for saints, and the courage to stand in their place as a pastor and follow in their footsteps.

Pastor Dearing served my church for ten years. That is quite an accomplishment especially in light of the church having an average pastoral stay being about six months. He was much beloved. He died suddenly while away for General Council in 96. His wife was a dear saint. She sent us encouragements regularly. She saw in Elaine and I a mirror of her life with her husband in their early years. She profoundly impacted me with her notes, her visits and ultimately her death. Her funeral was the third in my pastorate here.

As I left the cemetery I did something very much resembling a devotion to Mary. I blew a kiss to their tomb stone. The connection suddenly came to me. For those who respect and love a saint (and Mary is at the top of the list to be loved and respected), such acts should be the acts of lovers. If we leave aside the pedantics concerning her veneration perhaps we can simply love her.

Saints

John Chrysostom was an example of the Holiness stream. He embodied the disciplined life throughout his spiritual journey. As an ascetic he practiced disciplines to bring the flesh into his control. As a preacher he sought to inspire his auditors to the same kind of rigorous holiness. He would castigate them for their immoralities regardless of their rank or status. He was rigorous to the point of being overzealous, but his inward holiness shone through in his pastoral heart, in homiletically moments of tenderness.

As a rigorist John faced the dangers of legalism that Foster remarks as dangerous for the holiness stream. His terse nature was a stumbling block to his pastoral duties toward his underlings as a Bishop inspiring the hatred that would be his undoing. Kelly does show growth and a softening of his positions from his youthful condemnations of marriage and family life in later works about raising children. He moves from a rigorist ideal that all children be trained by monks in asceticism to the placing a greater value on the institution of family. In exile his heart seems softer yet as he writes to his supporters, though his terse nature remains to the end.

He grew up in the cradle of Christendom, Antioch, which gave him access to the examples of Syrian asceticism and challenged him to a life of holiness. While he was trained in rhetoric, the Spirit used his training making him not a lawyer, but a preacher. Events of the day exposed his preaching to a wider audience, as imperial officials came from Constantinople to investigate treasonous vandalism they took back reports of his preaching on the matter that led to his being ordered to be consecrated Bishop of Constantinople. As with other such appointments in the political realm, there was much maneuvering, but we do well to remember that God is still in control even when the process is tainted. So we may rest assured that God planned the position of John as bishop even in spite of Eutropios’ intentions in the matter. Going from Antioch with its various entertainments John had grown accustom to railing against to the opulence of the imperial city gave John a prophetic voice in the affairs of the rich and powerful. Holiness for them, John would continue to say, is to provide for the poor and the widows, not to enjoy luxuries and thus rob God. His move into the imperial see also placed him in a highly charged political arena and his refusal to bend to those powers and interests would be his undoing.

First and foremost John shows himself an ascetic. His ascetic ways stayed with him all through his life. It was his ascetic leanings that made his preaching fiery and charged like the holiness preachers of the last century. He pulled no punches, but became a polemicist defining the faith by what should not be done by believers and acts of righteousness in giving to the poor. He takes his ascetics to the church at large as a bishop and seeks to see the church living as lean and rigorous a lifestyle as he did. The imposition of his vision of holiness may have teetered on pharisaism, and this brought him many enemies, both among those whom he rubbed the wrong way and those who were social climbers and whose cupidity would not be offended. In exile his asceticism again returns, perhaps as an old friend, bringing him vigor in the midst of his many complaints. How soft he may have become in the Bishop’s palace, enjoying his warm baths to sooth his ruined digestive system we may not know, but in the mist of his discomfort he gives his friend Olimpias glimpses of his joy in the difficulty.

When I think of local saints one woman comes to mind immediately. Hers was the first funeral service I ever conducted (25 Feb 2004). Sister Lohrman exemplified the charismatic and contemplative streams. She was a prayer warrior, an intercessor who trusted the Spirit to fight the battles for her.

Ella Lohrman was a dear German lady. She had grown up a tom boy and loved picking berries and fishing. Communing with God in the natural world started at an early age for her. She was extremely devoted to her church, the one I now pastor, even though she was barred from membership for years because she had been divorced. She grew up in a time when the Assemblies of God was both staunchly concerned with holiness (particularly outward) and still newly ablaze with the power of the Spirit. She played the piano in church until she was no longer able to, and she taught Sunday school for years with that mix of love and sternness that can be said to be particularly German.

I met sister Lohrman only once, in the hospital. We came to pray for her. All I knew about her at the time was that she was a dear woman of God, long faithful to our church and that she had kept a newspaper clipping of our arrival in her Bible, that she cared and prayed for us.

We came to her room, my wife, Elaine, my daughter Ella and I, wanting to be a blessing to her -- to pray for her and let her know that we cared. What I found in her room has profoundly affected me. She was a blessing to us. She prayed for my family, and me -- our ministry, she let us know that she cared. That was important to her.

As she spoke with us, she punctuated her sentences by telling us how beautiful our Ella was and offering another prayer to her dear Lord. I felt that she spoke with him almost continually. A smile came to my face., my cheeks grew warm. It was like basking in the sunlight. I didn’t want to leave that room. It was so full of God’s glory. I felt all Heaven was there with her, God filling the room with his presence. I wanted to stay there, holding her hand, drinking in the glory of God as she continually prayed over me. I felt as though I had met a saint of old.

Both of these saints inspire me to the incarnational stream. Ronald Rolhieser writes about the body of Christ that we are called to eat in John chapter six (the sarx) as being the fleshly earthy body, full of imperfection sometimes beautiful, sometimes disgusting, in short the church. The incarnational stream seeks to find God in the ordinary material things, like bread, wine or sarx. Chrysostom’s story often disturbed me and made me ashamed to be a Christian. His polemics offended me, and his enemies all the more wrenched my stomach. Sister Lohrman showed me the glory of the church and entices me to engage like John, pastoring all in my charge with holiness, prayer and power.