Martin of Tours, Veteran

A sermon for the Feast of St. Martin of Tours, November 11, 2015
Matthew 25:34-40

I wonder if it occurred to the diplomats and generals who were working out the Armistice that would stop the fighting in Europe on the eleventh hour of the eleventh day of the eleventh month of 1918 that the day was also the Feast of St. Martin of Tours.

Americans, unless they were devout Catholics, would probably have missed the coincidence. But I wonder about the French, the Germans, the Belgians, the Italians, and the other European nations both Allied and Central powers. Would they have have picked up on the coincidence...and the irony?

Martin was a soldier. He served in an elite cavalry unit as did his father in the army of Imperial Rome. He was a Christian but was a cathechumen until he was 18 or so, when he was baptized. Some say that he served only a short stint, but the most reliable witnesses say he served his full tour of 25 years. Martin was one of these early Christians who apparently would not draw blood as a soldier, but there is a story about how he would lead his vanguard into battle unarmed.

After he served in the military, he entered the priesthood and religious community. He approached vowed life with the same discipline and focus that he learned as a soldier. He had to be tricked into being consecrated a bishop...the legend is that someone ran up to him told that there was a very ill man in the church who needed him and he needed to come now. When he arrived, there was a church full of people.

I love these stories, but it does make me wonder...did every one jump up and yell "Surprise!"?

Anyway, the story goes that he ran way and hid in a barn full of geese. As a soldier, he ought to have known better. Geese were often used as a kind of early warning system for walled towns, so when they made a fuss, the jig was up and they brought him back to church for the ceremony. It is said that he refused consecration unless he could continue to live his religious vows and simple life, which he did.

Martin was known for his mercy. As a bishop, he refused to have heretics put to death and was known for always visiting and freeing prisoners. It's said that magistrates and governors in his see would hear he was coming and find an excuse not to meet with him so that they would not have to be pressed into releasing more convicts, especially politically inconvenient ones.

But most of all, Martin is known for an encounter that took place when he was young, even before he was baptized.

He was riding his horse through town when he encountered a beggar who was naked or nearly so. Martin drew his sword (which must have startled and worried the beggar, I am sure!) and used it to cut his military cloak...his uniform...in half, giving the beggar the lower half.. Later, Martin had a dream that he met the risen Christ on the road...wearing the half of cloak he gave away.

This story, and the veneration of the remaining cloak, became an important part of western European popular piety not just through the middle ages but right through to the 20th century. A chapel in his honor was a popular stop on the pilgrim road between southern France and Spain. Even as France secularized in the Third Republic, veneration of Martin continued especially in the military.

So I wonder, when that first Armistice Day happened in 1918, if there wasn't, at least among a few, prayers of thanksgiving and intercession made through Blessed Martin, a patron saint of France and of soldiers. And even through we now call today's observance Veterans Day and honor all who have served their country in the armed forces, I wonder if we might not also pause from our secular thanks to these men and women and remember the example of Martin of Tours, Soldier, Bishop and witness.

Remember a saint who took on the discipline and responsibility of military service, and yet called Christ his Lord and general. Martin chose to use his power--both as a soldier and as a bishop--in the service of mercy and his discipline in the service of prayer. He advocated for those without a voice, and practiced restraint in the face of his enemy. Above all, he saw in the face of the beggar, the prisoner, and even the heretic, the face of Christ.

Radical prayers, radical declaration, radical theology

Easton, Pennsylvania was one of the first places to hear the Declaration of Independence read in public, on the Sunday after its' passage. So the first Sunday after Independence Day is celebrated in our town as "Heritage Day." Trinity, Easton does a ton of activities for Heritage Day: after an ecumenical worship service, we go hear the Declaration read. Trinity will hold a Festival of Patriotic Songs...and we'll open the church for tours, we have a concession stand on Center Square and in the evening is Sitgreaves Coffee House in the parish hall followed by fireworks.

So for us in Easton, our celebration of Independence Day is a kind of tip of the hat to mass communication, 18th Century Style...acknowledging how long it took for the document to make it's way up the Delaware from Philadelphia.

What I did not know was that "The first reading of the Declaration of Independence outside of a governmental setting was in William White's living room, to the vestry of Christ Church, Philadelphia."

My bishop, Paul Marshall of Bethlehem, included this factoid in a reflection on the special and radical nature of the Episcopal Church's inclusion of Independence Day as one of our main feasts of the Church as well as the radical nature of the Declaration itself.

Here are some excerpts:

Monday is a red-letter day in our calendar (=holy day of obligation), although sadly, it is not observed by some rectors.

I BELIEVE THAT THE PATRIOTIC OBLIGATION of our time is return to Stoic values of character rather than epicurean characteristics of greed, narcissism, or entitlement, as the defining mark of an American citizen. We are really not called to be an extension of the British bourgeoisie, the Gilded Age notwithstanding. If you want to observe the long weekend meaningfully, deny yourself something big, spend time relating to your loved ones, and do not purchase anything except food and a little fuel. If your town has a patriotic exercise of some kind, attend it--with your children and grandchildren. If you possibly can, make something by hand or personally pack a box for Good Will.

If you don't have a church service available on Independence Day, you might set aside a moment to give thanks for this extraordinary land and to contemplate for a moment the collect for the day:

"Lord God Almighty, in whose Name the founders of this country won liberty for themselves and for us, and lit the torch of freedom for nations then unborn: Grant, we beseech thee, that we and all the people of the this land may have grace to maintain these liberties in righteousness and peace, through Jesus Christ our Lord," etc.

What I like about this prayer it that it assumes that the perception of liberty (as opposed to mere freedom) is an evolving concept, and one that needs diligent preservation as it develops and spreads. Democrat or Republican, the last two administrations and five congresses have trod heavily on our liberties and need a bit of patriotic smacking down. (I imagine a sherry- not a tea-party here.) Politics is about the acquisition of power; democracy is about its dispersal, and there is no middle ground. I predict that my grandchildren will live under a kind of plutocratic fascism (with small hints of socialism as a sop to the masses) unless our citizens have a spiritual and social revival. The Koch brothers and the tax-and-spend people all need to be controlled. The legislature needs to reign in a rogue Supreme Court. A thoughtful church could lead such a movement toward self-control...

...Those of us who have lost loved-ones, or seen them maimed, in the defense of our national values cannot let our nation further decay into hedonism, socialism, or oligarchy. Unlike most of the UK's former colonies, we were formed as a nation on theologically self-evident principles. We need to insist that those whom we elect begin once again to honor those principles without sensational rhetoric or scapegoating.

In a post-script, Bishop Paul reflects on the Declaration of Independence itself.

Of course, the writers of the Constitution weren't quite happy with that "abolish" part--it is illegal to speak of overthrowing our government the way we overthrew the colonial oppressors, no matter how far the government strays. 'Twas ever thus. Thus the need for the sherry party. Or Harriet Beecher Stowe. Or both.

Conservative Christians of course choke on the idea that government gets its power from the governed, rather, than directly from God (so much for Paul and Luther). To be an American patriot is to be a theological revisionist. And we all know what that leads to.

Read it all here.

Keep the dates

Over on the Daily Episcopalian, Derek Olsen is writing a series called "Seven Dates and Why They Matter for the Anglican Faith." Today's installment is "AD 325 and Why it Matters." I recommend it for a number of reasons. Olsen talks about the background surrounding the Council of the Nicea, both historical and theological. He explodes a few myths that many Christians hold, and also undoes a few of the favorite errors perpetrated by the History Channel and Dan Brown set.

Here's a peek:

The reign of Constantine and his blessing on the flourishing faith raised a host of issues—some neither easily nor quickly solved. One—the tension between the Roman social structure and the counter-cultural character of Christianity—has remained a live issue to the present day (and will be addressed in a later article). Of the rest, two urgent problems pressed to the fore. The first was political and administrative: how would structures that emerged locally fit themselves into a coherent empire-wide system and where would authority reside? The second was theological and doctrinal: what was the proper way to understand the relationship between Jesus and God? The vacuum of authority created by the first problem exacerbated the second. Constantine saw trouble brewing. The faith that he hoped would help cement the embattled empire was threatening to cause further rifts. Taking matters into his own hands, he called a meeting of bishops to the city of Nicaea in the year 325.

At this point it’s worth clearing up a little bit of confusion about Constantine, his motives, and his personal beliefs. Constantine was probably introduced to Christianity at a young age; his mother was a Christian (her search for the relics of the Holy Cross read like a fourth-century Indiana Jones tale but several versions have deplorable anti-Semitic bits) and some sources relate he had a sister named Anastasia which means “Resurrection”. Despite this, he was not baptized until he was on his deathbed. This was not unusual in the fourth century, though, especially for those who held political office. Theologically the Church of the day had a strong sense of Baptism and the remission of sins connected with that act; they were a little fuzzy on forgiveness of major sins committed after baptism. The realities of political office (presiding over torture and executions and participating in public religious ceremonies to the state gods or the official supreme god, the Unconquered Sun) made committing sins inevitable. Thus, Constantine and others put off their baptism until they had retired from public life and no longer had to participate in these activities. As far as Constantine’s personal beliefs go he served as a proper emperor, honoring the state gods and the Unconquered Sun in his public capacity, but no less authority than the late great Henry Chadwick states that “his letters from 313 onwards leave no doubt that he regarded himself as a Christian whose imperial duty it was to keep a united Church” (The Early Church, p. 127).

And...

Trinitarian theology tends to be very complicated because it did not begin as an intellectual exercise: if people had sat down and thought it up, it would make a lot more sense! Instead, this theology proceeds from the realm of Christian experience. Christians knew from their Scriptures and from their Jewish roots that God was unmistakably and unquestionably One. In their religious experience, though, they perceived the working of God in three persons: God the Father, God the Son (Jesus), and God the Holy Spirit. The problem of Trinitarian theology was how to wrap limited and limiting human language and concepts around the power of God that they had experienced in their lives.

The reason why this became necessary and pressing was because the theological formulations had very practical, pastoral consequences. Understanding the divinity of God the Son was not simply an arcane puzzle for specialists but rather was intimately connected to who God was and how God interacted with creation. In a sense, Arius thought that he had discovered a formulation that would preserve the dignity of God the Father. After all, the great scandal of Christianity to the philosophical minds of the time is why a god who existed as spirit would have anything to do with flesh and matter which was inherently imperfect and corruptible.

Take a look here. See also the first two entries here and here. Derek's blog is haligweorc.