SS. Perpetua, Felicity, & Their Companions (d. 203)

"If ancient examples of faith, which testify to the grace of God and give us encouragement, are honored and recorded for posterity in writing, so that by reading them the deeds of God are glorified and others are strengthened, why should we not in our generation also set down new witnesses which serve these ends. One day their example will also be ancient and important to our children, if at the present time, because of the reverence we accord to antiquity, they seem less weighty to us..."

We could easily apply this quotation from The Martyrdom of SS. Perpetua and Felicity and their companions to many modern witnesses to the Christian faith: Bishop Janani Luwum, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., Archbishop Oscar Romero, Matthew Shepard, to name but a few.

The moving account of these early 3rd century African martyrs stirred the imaginations of and deeply touched many Christians who lived at the time of their deaths and in subsequent centuries in the early Church. Vibia Perpetua was 22 years old, "reared in a liberal manner" of a noble Carthaginian family, a young married woman, "wedded honorably", according to The Martyrdom. She had two brothers, one of whom, Saturus, was a catechumen also and who died with her.  Her seven year old brother, Dinocrates, had died of diseased facial ulcers. It's interesting, however, that there's no mention at all of her husband in the account. Felicity was her personal slave and was pregnant at the time she was arrested. The baby was safely born and provided for. Felicity, along with her martyr companions, Revocatus, Saturninus, Secundulus, and Saturus, Perpetua's brother, were all catechumens and were baptized in prison. The group was sent into the public arena to be mauled by animals as a public spectacle. Perpetua, especially, faced the challenge with great evenness of spirit and deep faith. Part of the record of The Martyrdom is this account by Perpetua herself:

"What follows here she herself shall tell; the whole order of her martyrdom as she left it written with her own hand and in her own words. 'When,' she said, 'we were still under legal surveillance and my father was liked to vex me with his words and continually strove to hurt my faith because of his love: Father, said I, Do you see (for examples) this vessel lying, a pitcher or whatsoever it may be?' And he said, 'I see it.' And I said to him, 'Can it be called by any other name than that which it is?' And he answered, 'No. So can I call myself nought other than that which I am, a Christian.'


Then my father, angry with this word, set upon me to tear out my eyes; but he only vexed me, and he departed vanquished, he and the arguments of the devil. Then because I was without my father for a few days I gave thanks to the Lord; and I was comforted because of his absence. In this same space of a few days we were baptized, and the Spirit declared to me that I must pray for nothing else after that water save only endurance of the flesh. After a few days we were taken into prison, and I was much afraid because I had never known such darkness. O bitter day! There was a great heat because of the press, there was cruel handling of the soldiers. Lastly I was tormented there by care for the child.


Then Tertius and Pomponius, the blessed deacons who ministered to us, obtained with money that, for a few hours, we should be taken to a better part of the prison and be refreshed. Then all of them went out from the dungeon...I suckled my child who was now faint with hunger. And being careful for him, I spoke to my mother and strengthened my brother and commended my son to them. I pined because I saw they pined for my sake. Such cares I suffered for many days; and I was permitted to have the child abide with me in prison; and straightway I became well and was lightened of my labor and care for the child; and suddenly the prison was made a palace for me, so that I would sooner be there than anywhere else.


Then my brother said to me: 'Lady my sister, you are now in high honor, even such that you might ask for a vision; and it should be shown you whether this is a passion or else a deliverance.' And I, as knowing that I conversed with the Lord, for Whose sake I had suffered such things, promised him nothing doubting; and I said: 'Tomorrow I will tell you.'  And I asked, and this was shown me.


I beheld a ladder of bronze, marvelously great, reaching up to heaven; and it was narrow, so that not more than one might go up at one time. And in the sides of the ladder were planted all sorts of iron objects:,,,spears, hooks, and knives, so that if any who went up weren't careful or failed to look up, he would be torn and his flesh cling to the iron. And there, right at the ladder's foot, was a serpent, marvelously great, which lay in wait for those that would go up, and frightened them that they might not go up. Now Saturus went up first, he who afterwards had of his own free will given himself up for our sakes, because it was he who had edified us, and when we were taken he had not been there. And coming to the ladder's head, he turned and said: 'Perpetua, I await you, but take care that the serpent bite you not.' And I said: 'It shall not hurt me, in the name of Jesus Christ.' And from beneath the ladder, as though it feared me, it softly put forth its head; and as though I trod on the first step, I trod on its head. And I went up, and I saw a very great space of garden, and in the midst a man sitting, white-headed, in shepherd's clothing, tall milking his sheep; and standing around in white were many thousands. And he raised his head and beheld me and said to me: 'Welcome, child.' And he cried to me, and from the curd he had from the milk he gave me, as it were, a morsel; and I took it with joined hands and ate it up; and all that stood around said, 'Amen.' And at the sound of that word I awoke, yet eating I know not what of sweet. And at once I told my brother, and we knew it should be a passion; and we began to have no hope any longer in this world.


A few days after, the report went abroad that we were to be tried. Also my father returned from the city spent with weariness; and he came up to me to cast down my faith saying: 'Have pity, daughter, on my grey hairs; have pity on your father, if I am worthy to be called father by you. If with these hands I have brought you to this flower of youth and have preferred you before all your brothers, give me not over to the reproach of men. Look upon your brothers; look upon your mother and mother's sister; look upon your son, who will not endure to live after you. Give up your resolution; do not destroy us all together; for none of us will speak openly against men again if you suffer aught.'


This he said, fatherly in his love, kissing my hands and grovelling at my feet; and with tears he named me, not daughter, but lady. And I was grieved for my father's welfare because he would not rejoice at my passion out of all my kin; and I comforted him, saying: 'Whatsoever pleases God shall be done at this tribunal. For know that we are not established in our own power, but in God's.' And he went from me very sorrowful..."

The account also speaks of Felicity: "As for Felicity,...because she was now eight months with child when she was taken, she was very sorrowful as the day of the games drew near, fearing that for this reason she should be kept back (for it is not lawful for women that are with child to be brought forth for torment), and that she should have to shed her holy and innocent blood after the rest, among strangers and malefactors. Also her fellow martyrs were quite upset lest they should leave behind them so good a friend and, as it were, their fellow-traveler on the road of the same hope. Therefore with common and united supplication they poured out their prayer to the Lord, three days before the games....After their prayer her pains came upon her. And when, because of the natural difficulty she had at eighth months, she was feeling the pain of her travail and made complaint, one of the servants of the keepers of the door said to her: 'You complain now: what will you do when you are thrown to the beasts, which you disdained when you refused to sacrifice?' And she answered, 'I now suffer what I have to suffer, but there Another shall be in me who shall suffer for me, because I am to suffer for him.' So she delivered a daughter, whom a sister reared up as her own daughter..."

"The day of their victory now dawned, and they went from the prison into the amphitheater as if into heaven, cheerful and bright of countenance. If they trembled at all, it was for joy, not for fear. Perpetua followed behind, glorious of presence, as a true spouse of Christ and darling of God; at her piercing gaze all cast down their eyes. Felicity likewise, rejoicing that she had borne her child safely, that she might fight with the beasts, came now from blood to blood, from the midwife to the gladiator, to wash after her travail in a second baptism. And when they had been brought to the gate and were being forced to put on, the dress of the priests of Saturn for the men, and the dress of the priestesses of Ceres for the women, the noble Perpetua remained adamant to the end, and would not put it on. She said: 'We came willingly to this, in order that our freedom might not be obscured. We devoted our lives to this cause, so that we might do no such thing as this, as we agreed upon with you.' Injustice acknowledged justice; the tribune simply allowed that they should be brought forth as they were, without more ado. Perpetua began to sing,...Revocatus and Saturninus and Saturus piercingly gazed at the crowd which looked on. When they came into Hilarian's sight, stretching forth their hands and nodding their heads, they said to Hilarian: 'You judge us, and God judges you.' At this the people became enraged, and insisted that they should be soundly scourged before the line of gladiators, those who fought with beasts. Then truly the martyrs gave thanks because they had received somewhat of the sufferings of the Lord...


But for the women the devil had made ready a most savage cow...They were stripped, therefore, placed in nets, and thus brought forth. The people shuddered, seeing one a tender girl, the other her breasts yet dropping from her late childbearing. So the women were called back and clothed in loose robes. Perpetua was first thrown, and fell upon her back. And when she had sat upright, her robe being rent at the side, she drew it over to cover her thigh, mindful of her modesty rather than of pain. Then, looking for a pin, she likewise pinned up her disheveled hair, feeling that it wasn't appropriate for a martyr to suffer with dishevelled hair, which would make it appear that she was grieving in her glory. So she stood up; and when she saw Felicity on the ground, she went over and offered her hand, raising her up.. Both of them stood together and...were called back to the [gate called the] Gate of Life. There Perpetua was supported by one named Rusticus, then a catechumen, who stood close at her side, and as now awakening from sleep...began first to look about her. Perpetua than asked, 'When are we to be thrown to the cow?' When she heard that this had already been done, she would not believe it till she noticed some marks of mauling on her body and on her dress. Thereupon she called her brother and the catechumen to her, and spoke to them, saying: 'Stand fast in the faith, and love one another. Don't let our suffering be a stumbling block to you.'


Saturus, at another gate, encouraged Pudens, the ajutant: 'Indeed, as I trusted and foretold, I have felt no assault of beasts until now. Just believe with all your heart. Behold, I'm going out there and I shall perish with one bite of the leopard. Immediately at the end of the spectacle, the leopard was released, and with one bite Saturus was covered with so much blood that the people, seeing his second baptism, cried out to him: 'Well washed, well washed!'...Saturus then said to Pudens the soldier: 'Farewell, remember the faith and me, and don't let these things trouble you, but rather strengthen you.' So saying, he removed from Pudens' finger a little ring, and dipping it in his wound gave it back to him again as an heirloom, leaving him a pledge and memorial of his own blood. As Saturus' breathing became labored, he was thrown down with the rest in the accustomed place where their throats were to be cut. And when the crowd demanded that they be brought forward...the martyrs rose by themselves and moved forward...first kissing one another, so that they might complete their martyrdom with the kiss of peace. Without resisting and in silence, each received the sword. Saturus had already...gone up earlier, and now waited for Perpetua. But Perpetua had yet to taste more pain. Pierced between the bones, she cried out, and when the gladiator's hand fumbled still, for he was a novice, she herself set it upon her own neck. Perhaps so great a woman could have been killed in no other way, feared as she was by the unclean spirit, unless she herself gave her consent...

O most valiant and blessed martyrs! O ones truly called and chosen for the glory of our Lord Jesus Christ!"  

Beholding By Faith, Strengthened To Bear Our Cross, Changed Into His Likeness

Today begins the time between Epiphany and Lent in the liturgical year. This Sunday’s Collect suggests a pretty clear agenda for accepting and living out the invitation which the Church will hold out to us on Ash Wednesday: “I invite you...to the observance of a holy Lent, by self-examination and repentance; by prayer, fasting, and self denial; and by reading and meditating on God’s holy Word…” What the Collect calls us to is: 1) to behold by faith the light of Jesus‘ countenance; 2) to be strengthened to bear our cross; and 3) to be changed into his likeness.

All the readings reinforce this call. In Exodus (24:12-18), as God bade Moses, so God invites us: “Come up to me on the mountain, and wait there…” Both the Epistle (2 Peter 1:16-21) and Gospel (Matthew 17:1-9) recount how God, before the passion, revealed God’s only-begotten Son’s glory upon the mountain: by proclaiming, “This is my Son, my Beloved, with whom I am well pleased…” The writer of 2 Peter expands on this by recommending: “You will do well to be attentive to this as to a lamp shining in a dark place, until the day dawns and the morning star rises in your hearts…” Matthew, in turn, adds one simple admonition: “...listen to him!”

In the first verse of the Gospel, Matthew writes: “Six days after Peter said that Jesus was the Christ, the Son of the living God,”, thus acknowledging in faith that in the Person of Jesus God’s reign has begun among us, “Jesus took with him Peter and James and his brother John and led them up a high mountain… And he was transfigured before them…”

We could find no better source for envisioning the implications of today’s Gospel than the magnificent painting called The Transfiguration, by Raffaello Sanzio da Urbino, known to us simply as Raphael (1483-1520). Raphael was commissioned for this painting in late 1516 or early 1517, by Cardinal Giulio de’ Medici. Though it was meant to go to the Cathedral of Narbonne, France, along with another painting. it never left Rome. By the time Raphael died in 1520 at the age of 37, it was all but completed, except for the bottom right-hand area, which was finished by others later.

Raphael’s painting has two main sections which visually summarize today’s whole Gospel story. In the topmost section a resplendent Christ, clothed in snow-white raiment, seems to float, as if suspended before the painting itself, hands raised in an almost ecstatic gesture toward the unseen divinity of the Father and the Holy Spirit, united and concentrated in himself. Jesus is flanked on either side by Moses and Elijah. Spectacular light effects blind the trio of Peter, James and John, contrasting with the darkness of the lower scene.

The bottom half of the painting, the second main section, has three distinct parts, one on the left, depicting the nine other Apostles; another on the right, showing the demon-possessed boy and others surrounding them, from the story in Luke 9; and finally in the center, the figure of a kneeling woman, separating the two groups. Next to the boy, holding him, is presumably his father, with a furrowed brow and wide open eyes looking directly to the Apostles, looking for their help with alternating hopefulness and fear.

The viewer’s eye is drawn to a blonde-haired woman, kneeling in the middle. Giorgio Vasari, a 16th century commentator on paintings, refers to her as “...the principal figure in that panel who, having knelt down before the Apostles, and turning her head towards them, stretches her arms in the direction of the maniac and points out his misery...” The figure serves the same purpose as someone addressing the group. The gesture of her gaze and pointed arm and finger “speaks”, as it were, directly to the Apostles, appealing to them to look at the demoniac boy. But, despite her striking presence, the Apostles look past her, unresponsive to the boy’s obvious need. Their inability to “see” the sick boy as a test of their faith, in effect, prevents them from being able to heal him: as the boy’s father tells Jesus later in Luke’s Gospel story, “I begged your disciples to cast [the demon] out, but they could not.” The beauty and white-shining skin of the woman suggests that she represents here on earth the divine manifestation of the compassionate, radiant, Christ; she’s a bridge figure between the Apostles and the group surrounding the boy who needs to be released from the demon.

In Matthew’s version of the demoniac boy, the Apostles privately ask Jesus why they couldn’t heal the boy. Jesus spells it out plainly: “Because of your little faith.” St. Augustine, commenting on this story, sees it as a parable for the need to exercise faith in the resplendant Christ in order to address both our own needs and those of others. This female figure, ignored by the Apostles, highlights the failure of faith to see, to understand, and to address the true challenge posed to them by people like the possessed boy.

So the Collect invites us, first of all, to behold, to see, to contemplate with the eyes of faith the radiant reality of Jesus, revealed and transfigured before us. But following Raphael’s depiction, the next step is also to behold, see, and contemplate the reality of our individual life’s suffering and pain, as well as the pain of the world, the challenge of which faces us on nearly every page of the morning paper and on every nightly newscast. The only One who can prepare us and strengthen us to bear our cross is the transfigured One, the only Person on whom we can set our hearts with utter confidence, which is really what faith means. It’s Jesus, God’s own Son, God’s Beloved, with whom God is “well pleased”, who makes this possible.

Finally, the Collect highlights our need to be changed, transformed into Christ’s likeness. It’s possible, though probably not Raphael’s intent, that the female figure in his painting could represent Wisdom = Sophia. Even in the Hebrew Scriptures, Wisdom reflects, in an earthly fashion, the fullness of God’s glory and splendor, expressed in God’s very Being as holiness, justice, mercy, love, and grace. She understands that each of us is called to be that for one another and for the creation around us, at the deepest places of each person’s need. We could picture Wisdom asking us: “To whom do you and I reach out, and how do we reach out?”: in hopefulness? in fear and anxiety? in desperation? In terms of our relationships with one another and with the whole of creation, could it be that Wisdom calls us to task for our inattentiveness, our ignorance, our insensitivity, our destructive actions and habits, and even our willful overlooking of one another’s cries for help? Perhaps she seeks to draw us into her vision, the glory and power of Godself, into genuine faith, to help us realize that we, transfigured in Christ, are “the beloved son, the beloved daughter, the chosen”, every one of us, responsible for each other.

The 40 days of Lent are given to you and me to ponder, to pray, to discern where the message of today’s liturgy might be leading us. In the Gospel Matthew notes that “a bright cloud overshadowed them”. There are only two times in Scripture when the Greek word for to cast a shade on, to envelop, is used: the first is at the Annunciation to Mary [“the power of the Most High will overshadow you”, and the second is in this Transfiguration story which is told by Matthew, Mark, and Luke. Artist Jan Richardson says that “Each tale reminds us that we cannot contain or confine God within man-made structures. When God shows up, God often appears in and through people...God makes architecture of our anatomy. God seeks to make of us a dwelling, a habitation for the holy.” After Mary is
“overshadowed”, she silently carries Jesus in her womb. After the Transfiguration, Luke says, “they kept silent…[over] the things they had seen”. And so, perhaps, might it be with us during Lent.

A great biblical scholar, Walter Brueggemann, has a prayer which could surely be addressed to the Jesus of Matthew’s Gospel and of Raphael’s Transfiguration:

You, majestic sovereign...move off the page!

Move off the page to the world,

move off the page to the trouble,

move out of your paged leisure to the turmoil of your creatures.

Move to the peace negotiations, and cancer diagnoses,

and burning churches, and lynched blacks, and abused children.

Listen to the groans and moans,

and see and hear and know and remember, and come down!

It’s only in and through you and me, “beholding by faith”, “strengthened to bear our cross”, and “changed into his likeness” that the transcendent Christ can come down in visible form for the benefit of each of us and of all creation!

Priest Paul (1757-1812)

Paul Cuffee, born in 1757, was a Shinnecock Indian and an ordained Presbyterian minister and missionary, who, like his grandfather Peter John, preached among the Indian communities of Long Island. During his youth Cuffee had been an indentured servant to a Wading River farmer who became an enthusiastic convert in his early twenties. Cuffee ministered to Native American communities, including a small reservation called Poospatuck (present day Mastic Beach); Canoe Place Hampton Bays, and in the end, Montauk. Known as "Priest Paul", large crowds attended his services in order to hear his vigorous and eloquent preaching.

Because of Cuffee's efforts, a permanent presence of Native Americans was maintained in the area, resulting in the establishment of prayer meeting grounds in several locations. These became safe havens for diplomatic talks, and places where indigenous people could practice spiritually. Many of European descent joined in the effort of ensuring that Native Americans on Long Island could retain what little land they had left. Part of Cuffee's legacy, even today, is the ceremonial "June Meeting" for the Shinnecock tribe, which includes a Christian worship service. Paul Cuffee is mentioned in Harriet Beecher Stowe's famous anti-slavery novel, Uncle Tom's Cabin.

Priest Paul is buried on a tiny plot of land at Canoe Place in Hampton Bays. His grave sits all alone  between the Long Island Railroad tracks and Highway 27, the gravesite having been diminished by development on the Long Island Railroad. It has a stone marker which is weather-worn and broken in two. There is a small white fence around it, erected by his descendants on "Good Ground" which was once all Indian land.

  

His gravestone, now difficult to read, says: 

Erected by the New York Missionary Society,

in memory of the Rev. Paul Cuffee, 

an Indian of the Shinnecock tribe,

who was employed by the Society for the last

thirteen years of his life, on the eastern part of Long Island,

where he labored with fidelity and success.

Humble, pious and indefatigable in testifying

the gospel of the grace of God,

he finished his course with joy on the 7th of March, 1812,

aged 55 years and 3 days.

 

"The Best Of All Is God Is With Us"

John Wesley (1703-1791) [photo on the left]
John Wesley was born in 1703, in Epworth rectory, England, the fifteenth of nineteen children of Samuel and Susanna Wesley. Wesley's father was a preacher, and his mother, a remarkably wise and intelligent woman. Her deep piety brought her children, from their nursery days on, into a familiarity with Bible stories.

John Wesley was a happy, normal young man, fond of games and especially of dancing. At Oxford he was a natural leader, and during the latter part of his stay there, was one of the founders of the "Holy Club," an organization of serious-minded students. His religious nature deepened through study and experience, but it was only some years after leaving the university and becoming familiar with Martin Luther's writings that he acquired a deep love and appreciation for the full riches of the Gospel.

Throughout his life, John, and his brother, Charles, remained within the Church of England as ordained persons, and insisted that his movement was well within the bounds of the Anglican tradition. His maverick use of Church policy put him at odds with many within the Church of England, though toward the end of his life he was widely respected and referred to as "the best loved man in England."

John and his brother, Charles, whose lives and careers were intimately intertwined, were sent by the Society for the Propagation of the Gospel in 1735 to Georgia in the U.S., John as a missionary and Charles as secretary to Governor James Oglethorpe. There both of them matured into powerful and effective preachers. During their journey they befriended several Moravian members of an association recently renewed through the efforts of Count Nicholas Ludwig von Zinzendorf. John Wesley notes in his diary that, during a severe storm, when the English people on board lost their "cool", the Germans impressed him by their composure and complete resignation to God. He was also impressed with their humility under shameful treatment.

When he returned to England John, through his deep spiritual experiences, as well as the continued development of his skills as a popular preacher, became a national leader. John's famous "Aldersgate experience" took place on May 24, 1738, at a Moravian meeting in Aldersgate Street, London. During the meeting he heard a reading of Martin Luther's preface to the Epistle to the Romans. He penned his now famous lines, "I felt my heart strangely warmed. I felt I did trust in Christ, Christ alone, for salvation; and an assurance was given me that he had taken away my sins, even mine, and saved me from the law of sin and death.", which revolutionized the character and method of his ministry. He was associated at this time with George Whitefield, a man of notable and marvelous eloquence, who preached in open-air meetings and greatly influenced the Wesleys. Nevertheless, they held sharply differing theological views.

In 1751, at age 48, Wesley very unhappily married a widow, Mary Vazeille, who bore no children. Vazeille left him 15 years later.

What John Wesley accomplished in his lifetime borders upon the incredible. At age 85, he thanked God that he was still almost as vigorous as ever! He attributed it, by God's grace, to the fact that he'd always slept soundly, had risen at 4:00 in the morning for 60 years, and for 50 years had preached every morning at 5:00. Seldom in all his life did he feel any pain, care, or anxiety. He preached twice each day, and often three or four times. It's been estimated that he traveled 4500 English miles every year, mostly on horseback.

Methodist preaching became popular only over long years, and amidst severe difficulties and bitter persecutions. This included, in nearly every part of England, stonings and peltings by mobs, even attempts to wound or kill the preachers, to which the civil authorities generally turned a blind eye. The Wesley brothers faced these dangers with amazing courage and astonishing calmness. John Wesley was among the first to preach for slaves rights, attracting significant opposition. Even more hurtful than physical suffering, though, was the slander and abuse heaped upon them by contemporary writers, whose books are now all but forgotten.

Both John and Charles Wesley had been high Anglican churchmen in their youth, and were always deeply devoted to the Established Church. When John found it necessary to ordain preachers (bitterly opposed by Charles), the separation of his movement from Anglicanism became inevitable. The Wesleys and their followers were soon tagged as "Methodists", because of the particular organizing power of their leader and the ingenious methods which he applied. The Wesley fellowship, which after his death grew into what we now know as the Methodist Church, was characterized by an almost military perfection of organization.

The entire management of his ever-growing fellowship rested upon John Wesley himself. He apportioned his days to his work in leading the Church, to study (he was an incessant reader), traveling, and preaching. The annual conference, established in 1744, acquired a governing power only after his death. Charles Wesley's invaluable contribution to the society were his hymns. They introduced a new era in the hymnology of the English Church.

Wesley was untiring in his efforts to disseminate useful knowledge throughout his movement. He planned for the spiritual and educational training of his traveling preachers and local exhorters, and for schools to instruct future teachers for the Church. He himself authored books for popular use on history, church history, and natural history. In this Wesley was an apostle of the proper balance between knowledge and  Christian living. He also published the best of his sermons and various theological works, whose depth and stimulation to thought, still capture people's admiration.

John Wesley was ordinary in stature, but a noble presence. His handsome features endured, even in his old age: an open brow, eagle nose, clear eyes, and a fresh complexion. Persistent, laborious love for human souls, steadfastness, and tranquillity of spirit were his most prominent characteristics. Even amid doctrinal controversies he maintained and exhibited greatest calmness. He was kind and very generous. In the last 52 years of his life, it's estimated that he preached more than 40,000 sermons.
Wesley's untiring efforts were felt not only in England, but in America and throughout continental Europe.

John Wesley died in 1791, leaving a rich legacy of tireless labor and unselfish service.

(Source: The original version of The Book of Martyrs (1563) by John Fox, edited by William Byron Forbush.)

Charles Wesley (1707-1788) [photo on the right]
Some have described Charles Wesley as the "first Methodist", pointing out that he was the one who first brought together a group of like-minded Christians to the "Holy Club" at Oxford. Three days before his brother John's famous experience of feeling his heart "strangely warmed", in 1738, Charles had a similar "strange palpitation of heart." Despite their closeness, Charles and his brother John did not always agree on questions relating to their beliefs. In particular, Charles was strongly opposed to the idea of a breach with the Church of England into which they had been ordained. Nevertheless, Charles usually deferred to John's leadership.

Nevertheless, many people today are much more familiar with some of Charles Wesley's hymns than with John Wesley's sermons. Charles not only wrote over 6000 hymns, many still sung today; he was also a poet, in fact, one of the most prolific poets in the English language.

In April 1749, Charles married the much younger Sarah Gwynne, also known as Sally. She was the daughter of a wealthy Welsh magistrate who had converted to Methodism. Sarah accompanied the Wesley brothers on their evangelistic journeys throughout Britain, until at least 1753. After 1756 Charles made no more journeys to distant parts of the country, mainly just moving between Bristol and London.

Charles and Sarah had seven children, but only three survived infancy: Charles, Jr., Samuel, and Sarah, who, like her mother, was also known as Sally. Both Samuel and Charles, Jr. were musical child prodigies and became organists and composers. Samuel Wesley's son, Samuel Sebastian Wesley, became one of the foremost British composers of the 19th century.

Charles Wesley died in 1788. He'd lived and worked in the area around St Marylebone Parish Church and, just before his death, he sent for its Rector, John Harley. Charles told him "Sir, whatever the world may say of me, I have lived, and I die, a member of the Church of England. I pray you to bury me in your churchyard." On his death, his body was carried to the church by six Anglican clergy, and a memorial stone to him stands in the gardens in Marylebone High Street, close to his burial spot.

"Ready To Step Aside For Others..."

 

Almighty God, for the peace of the Church your servant Chad relinquished cheerfully 

the honors that had been thrust upon him, only to be rewarded with equal responsibility: 

Keep us, we pray, from thinking of ourselves more highly than we ought to think, 

and ready at all times to step aside for others, that the cause of Christ may be advanced; 

through him who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, 

one God, now and for ever. Amen.

"Do The Little Things In Life"

St. David of Wales (d. possibly as early as 544 and as late as 589), known in Welsh as Dewi Sant, was a bishop during the 6th century, and later regarded as a saint and the patron saint of Wales. We know that he was a Welshman, but relatively little factual information is known about his life.

David became a pupil of Saint Illtyd. According to Rhygyfarch, the late 11th century author of the saint's life story, David was the son of "sanctus rex ceredigionis", where "Sanctus" has been interpreted as the proper name of Sandde, King of Ceredigion. However, this Latin phrase can simply be read as "holy king of Ceredigion". The king of Ceredigion around the time of David's birth would have been Usai. Sandde was the brother of the latter, so probably only a king of part of Ceredigion. They were sons of King Ceredig, founder of Ceredigion. It's said that David was conceived through violence done to his poor mother, St. Non, daughter of Lord Cynyr of Caer Goch, and gave birth to him on top of a cliff during a violent storm. The site is marked by the Chapel of St. Non. David was educated at Carmarthen under Saint Paul of Wales, or "Old Paul", a disciple of St. Illtyd, and was baptised by St. Ailbe, Bishop of Emly.

David became renowned as a teacher and preacher, eventually founding some dozen monastic settlements and churches, including the great Glastonbury and his own Menevia. He was later elected bishop, and presided over two synods, at one of which he proved to be so eloquent and knowledgeable, that Archbishop Dubricius chose him as his own successor as Primate of Wales. David also made pilgrimages to Jerusalem. St David's Cathedral stands on the site of the monastery he founded in the Glyn Rhosyn valley, in Pembrokeshire.

The monastic rule, modeled on the lives of the Desert Fathers of Egypt, which David prescribed for his monks was quite severe. It included pulling the plough themselves, without draught animals; drinking only water, for which David earned the nickname "The Waterman"; eating only bread with salt and herbs; and spending the evenings in prayer, reading and writing. No personal possessions were permitted. It was a simple and ascetical life which he lived and which he taught his followers to live.

A symbol associated with St. David and the Welsh, but for somewhat unknown reasons, is the leek. The daffodil is also associated with the Welsh -- Taffy is a colloquialism for a Welshman -- and indirectly with David's name, since it is rendered dafydd [pronounced dah-fith].

It is claimed that David lived to a ripe old age, and he died somewhere around 589. The monastery is said to have been "filled with angels as Christ received his soul." His last words to his followers were, as recorded by Rhygyfarch:  "Be joyful, and keep your faith and your creed. Do the little things that you have seen me do and heard about. I will walk the path that our fathers have trod before us." "Gwnewch y pethau bychain mewn bywyd"= "Do the little things in life" is still a very well-known Welsh phrase.

David was buried at the Cathedral at St. David's, Pembrokeshire, where his shrine was a popular place of pilgrimage throughout the Middle Ages. During the 10th and 11th centuries the Cathedral was regularly raided by Vikings. In 1275 a new shrine was constructed, the ruined base of which remains today. The relics of St. David and St. Justinian were kept in a portable casket on the stone base of the shrine, but these were lost during the 16th century Reformation. Pilgrims to St. David's shrine include William the Conqueror and King Henry II. St. David was officially recognized by Pope Callixtus II in 1120.

"A Pastor Of Souls, A Poet, and A Priest In Your Temple"

The commemoration of George Herbert (1593-1633), which I duly observe each February 27, my birthday, got lost in the shuffle this year since February 27 was a Sunday. Nevertheless, I feel at least a token nod should be given him, and I can think of no better way than to share with you one of my very favorite poems of his: Love III.

 Love bade me welcome, yet my soul drew back,

Guilty of dust and sin.

But quick-ey'd Love, observing me grow slack

From my first entrance in,

Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning

If I lack'd anything.

"A guest," I answer'd, "worthy to be here";

Love said, "You shall be he."

"I, the unkind, the ungrateful? ah my dear,

I cannot look on thee."

Love took my hand and smiling did reply,

"Who made the eyes but I?"

"Truth, Lord, but I have marr'd them; let my shame

Go where it doth deserve."

"And know you not," says Love, "who bore the blame?"

"My dear, then I will serve."

"You must sit down," says Love, "and taste my meat."

So I did sit and eat.