"Let Your Word Be 'Yes, yes' or 'No, no""

You've probably all seen the Peanuts cartoon where Lucy holds a football for Charlie Brown. Each year she holds it, and each year she jerks the ball away just at the last minute before Charlie tries to kick it. In one episode Lucy assures Charlie Brown: "I know you fell down last year. But this year I cross my heart that I won't do it..." Of course, we all know what happens: she pulls the ball again. When Charlie Brown complains, she replies: "Yes, I said 'cross my heart', but I didn't say 'and hope to die'"!

The problem here is that Lucy seems not to feel that oaths are binding. You and I know people who haven't been true to their word to us, who've outright lied to us or have been less than candid. When I was in sales work years ago and would call on a prospective client, I'd often be told, after the sales pitch: "Give me a call next week and then we can do business." Next week, of course, you could never reach the person, or you were told the person was no longer interested. Same thing with family, friends or acquaintances: parents sometimes manipulate the truth by replying to children's requests, "We'll see." All of this can leave a person feeling cheated and betrayed.

It's not a new problem. By Jesus' time the use of oaths and empty promises had become somewhat commonplace. An oath can be described as that by which a person invokes God to attest to or witness to the truth of what one says. Often a sacred object is substituted for God's name: "I swear on my mother's grave" or "I swear by my soul." Some oaths assert or attest to the truth of what we declare. Other oaths signify that we'll abide by a certain promise which we make.

The Israelites were commanded to swear by God alone. In effect, their oath was a profession of faith in God. In the Hebrew Scriptures an oath was relatively rare, and certainly not something to be taken lightly. But by Jesus' time oaths were invoked routinely. People swore by various objects, but many times the oaths weren't even legally binding. It was difficult to tell which ones were binding or non-binding.

Matthew's passage today (5:21-37) presents Jesus as the Teacher: he speaks with new authority and not as the Scribes. He's depicted as the One who proclaims God's will as it was originally intended. Jesus is, so to speak, God's mouthpiece, the authentic interpreter of God's law. His word is more radical than Moses' word, even stands above it.

Jesus' attitude toward oaths, as reflected in Matthew, is to forbid them. Possibly his reply was to a question, such as: "Which oaths are binding or not binding?" Jesus points out the hypocrisy and deceitfulness of the questioner. Why would anyone ask this unless s/he condoned telling half-truths? In the reign of God, Jesus contends, there's no room for oaths. The truthful word of God's follower is all that's needed. God is as serious about the truth, all the time, as we're serious about it when we use a binding oath. In following Jesus, however, oaths become unnecessary: a simple "Yes" or "No" is binding enough. The truth stands on its own.

Unfortunately today, we run into folks who can't distinguish truth from untruth, reality from unreality. Many lie most of the time. We call them sociopathic or pathological liars. Hopefully, none of us acts in this way. But we've all been guilty, if we're honest, of being less than truthful at times. A friend gets a new hair-do or dress and asks if it looks good. We might say, "It's interesting," when we really mean that it looks horrible. Someone at the office asks your evaluation of a fellow worker, whom you know to be really incompetent, yet you answer, "Jim is a hard worker." And there are the endless "white lies" which we all tell: when we "don't have time" to help someone, or give them a lift, etc. If we're to follow Jesus faithfully, there's always need for greater truth in our lives. God's reign demands it. An honest relationship with God and with one another demands it.

Most of us can understand how untruth or lying harms, not only ourselves, but our family members and friends. But how does it also dishonor God? Perhaps the example of Lucy and Charlie Brown gives a clue. A lie tells another person that the world is different from the way that person perceives it. Like Charlie Brown, we recognize that the world includes untrustworthy people like Lucy. The lying or untruthful Lucys of the world, often our very selves, in essence verbally remake or try to remake the world. When I lie to you I try to make you live in the world which I "create", not the world as God created it. The untruthful person tries to assume God's authority and rule. The liar attempts to portray God's world, conceived in goodness, as other than it is.

In calling us to be servants of the coming reign of God, Jesus challenges us to be straightforward,  singleminded, honest: to "tell it like it is". Further, Jesus asks us to take him at his word: to have faith, to set our hearts and lives on his word, to live by it. Those who live by faith find it unnecessary to ask Jesus to swear that He loves us, "cross his heart and hope to die". Jesus doesn't need to say "hope to die": he did die for us. He said "Yes" to us and to new life, and "No" to death-dealing falsehood and duplicity.

In the inimitable words of Edith Ann, one of Lily Tomlin's characters which you may recall from years ago: "And that's the truth!"

My Very Own Feast Day

Sometime over 15 years ago, a parishioner friend at my former parish, St. John's, Chico, Anita Psyllos, had visited Greece and returned with a wonderful gift for me: an icon of a saint whom she said was "St. Haraldobus". She'd asked around for one fitting my first name, "Harry". [Parenthetically, I've deferentially have tolerated my name, not particularly liking it, though I was close to my maternal grandfather for whom I was named.] Since at least high school, I simply accepted that "Harry" was a derivative of "Henry", which it is; also of "Harold", which is not my name. When I was ordained, the official papers recorded my name, in Latin, as "Henricus". Though Anita's icon has hung on my wall since then, and though I continued to call him "Haraldobus", some months ago I decided to search online for the feast day corresponding to "Harry".

My online search took me to an entry on Wikipedia for St. Charalampos/Harálampos = χαραλαμπος = joyful light. Another variation is Harálambos, which may be what Anita had originally been told in Greece. Interesting, too, that my last name is "Allagree" = allègre (Fr.), lively, cheerful; alegre (Sp.), joyful, glad. But then, I do recall one of my seminary English instructors, Fr. Francis Kinney, calling me "Happy Harry"! He also nicknamed me "Butterball", but we won't pursue that one! At any rate, the feast of St. Haralampos (c, 89-202) is observed today, February 10.

St. Haralampos seems to have been an early Christian priest or bishop in Magnesia, a region of Thessaly, in the diocese of the same name. He lived during the reign of Septimius Severus (193-211), when Lucian was Proconsul of Magnesia. It is believed that at the time of his martyrdom, Haralampos was 113 years old. Let's hope that I have some of his spiritual genes at least!

Haralampos was at least a priest, possibly the Bishop, at Magnesia, and spread the Gospel in that region for many years. When the acclaim of his preaching reached Lucian, the proconsul in the area, and the military commander, Lucius, Harlampos was arrested and brought to trial, where he confessed his faith in Christ and refused to offer sacrifice to idols. Despite his advanced age, he was tortured mercilessly, his body lacerated with iron hooks, and skin scraped from his body. His only comment to his tormentors was: "Thank you, my brothers, for scraping off the old body and renewing my soul for new and eternal life." Legend has it that, upon witnessing Haralampos' endurance of such tortures, two soldiers, Porphyrius and Baptus, openly confessed faith in Christ, for which they were immediately beheaded. Three women who were also watching the sufferings of Haralampos began to glorify Christ, and were summarily executed as well.

Hagiographers of the saint claim that Lucius, enraged by all this, seized the instruments of torture himself and began to torture Haralampos, only to have his forearms suddenly cut off as if by a sword. The governor Lucian then spat in the face of the saint, and immediately Lucian's head swivelled around, so that he faced backwards! Yes, you can read it all in the acta of Haralampos' martyrdom! A further note says that, surpisingly, Lucian and Lucius both experienced a dramatic conversion. They prayed for mercy, were healed through Haralampos' intercession, and became Christians themselves. Well...who knows?!

But apparently that wasn't the end of it. Even more tortures, according to the legend, were inflicted on St. Haralampos after he was brought before Septimius Severus himself. After being condemned to death and led to the place of execution, Haralampos lifted his arms to heaven and prayed: "Lord, You know that humans are flesh and blood; forgive them their sins and pour out Your blessing on all." Haralampos then gave up his soul to God even before the executioner had laid the sword to his neck. Pretty tough ole codger, at 113! According to tradition Severus' own daughter, Gallina, was also so moved by the death of Haralampos, that she was converted, and saw to it herself that Haralampos was buried.

The skull of St. Haralampos is kept at the Monastery of St. Stephen at Meteora in Greece. Many miracles are traditionally attributed to the fragments of his relics, found in many places throughout Greece and elsewhere. These miracles have made Haralampos, the most aged of all the martyrs, especially dear to the people of Greece.

The Sibling With The Greater Love

St. Benedict of Nursia was no slouch when it came to loving God. His biography is filled with stories about God's special favors granted at his intercession. Nevertheless, St. Scholastica, his sibling and possibly twin sister, seems to have had a bit of an edge, at least according to Gregory the Great in his Dialogues. As a young man, Benedict had run off to become a hermit at Subiaco, later moving to Monte Cassino, when Scholastica was very young. Surely she admired and was influenced by the commitment and holiness which she saw in her big brother. Still at home, she consecrated herself to God, the implication of that being that she must even then have exhibited an advanced degree of love of God.

Gregory relates the oft-told story of Benedict's last meeting with Scholastica before she died. Since her nunnery at Plombariola was located only about five miles from Monte Cassino, Scholastica and Benedict annually visited with one another at a gatehouse outside Benedict's monastery where they would pray together and converse about holy things. Scholastica's health had been failing at the time of the visit about which Gregory the Great wrote, and perhaps she had an intuition that this could be the last time she and Benedict would be together here on earth. She obviously wanted to make the best of it.

Along with Benedict's companions, Scholastica and Benedict had spent the day singing praises to God and talking about the spiritual life. As darkness was settling in, they continued their dialogue over a meal together until it grew quite late. Scholastica, realizing this, begged Benedict and the others to stay the night. Benedict, not one to transgress a Rule he himself had written, reminded his sister that that wasn't possible because they weren't to be away from their monastery overnight. Whereupon Scholastica quietly folded her hands on the table, resting her head on them, and fell into deep prayer. When she finally looked up, a clap of thunder startled the group, and torrential rains began to fall.

Benedict was immediately savvy as to what had taken place. "God forgive you, sister, what have you done?"Her innocent reply was, "When I appealed to you, you would not listen to me. So I turned to my God and he heard my prayer. Leave now if you can...go back to your monastery." A typical sibling squabble! And one might imagine Scholastica's coy smile. Benedict, of course, knew that he'd been "had", not only by his little sister, but also by the God whom they both loved so selflessly. One can only wonder about the deep things of the spirit which they must've discussed for the rest of the night. Whatever it was, Gregory the Great notes that "both of them derived great profit from the holy converse they had..."

Gregory, however, seems unable to let Scholastica's action and words simply go by without further comment: "We need not be surprised that in this instance the woman proved mightier than her brother. Do we not read in St. John that God is love? Surely it is no more than right that her influence was greater than his, since hers was the greater love." Turns out that both she and Gregory made the right call, for only three days later Scholastica died. Benedict is said to have seen her soul entering heaven in the form of a dove. He had his brothers go down and fetch her body and, after the funeral rites, had them bury his beloved sister in the tomb which he had prepared for himself. Gregory concludes with a final observation: "The bodies of these two were now to share a common resting place just as in life their souls had always been one in God."

The Devotion of Friends

The second reading for the Morning Office today (2 Timothy 1:15-2:13) is touching excerpt from St. Paul to his "beloved child", Timothy.

"You are aware that all who are in Asia have turned away from me, including Phygelus and Hermogenes. May the Lord grant mercy to the household of Onesiphorus, because he often refreshed me and was not ashamed of my chain; when he arrived in Rome, he eagerly searched for me and found me—may the Lord grant that he will find mercy from the Lord on that day! And you know very well how much service he rendered in Ephesus."
How hard it is for all of us when people whom you counted as friends "turn away" from you. It seems that, most of the time, the differences which separate us are extremely petty things, or at least thing which could be mutually worked through with a little patience and rationality. Sometimes the separations are because of deeply-felt, cherished or ingrained convictions and beliefs. Even here, I believe one could find ways to "agree to disagree" and maintain at least a basic friendship. Whatever it was between Paul and Phygelus and Hermogenes, it was serious and those departing felt that they had good reason. Shakespeare holds that "Parting is such sweet sorrow...". If it does nothing else, it helps us appreciate the ones in our lives who do care, people committed to sticking with us through thick and thin. Paul intimates that his friend, Onesiphorus, possibly recently deceased from what Paul intimates, was such a person. Not only was he not ashamed of Paul when Paul fell on hard times: he sought Paul out, "eagerly", and came to his aid. 



"You then, my child, be strong in the grace that is in Christ Jesus; and what you have heard from me through many witnesses entrust to faithful people who will be able to teach others as well. Share in suffering like a good soldier of Christ Jesus. No one serving in the army gets entangled in everyday affairs; the soldier’s aim is to please the enlisting officer. And in the case of an athlete, no one is crowned without competing according to the rules. It is the farmer who does the work who ought to have the first share of the crops. Think over what I say, for the Lord will give you understanding in all things."
Paul then addresses his friend and disciple, Timothy, and encourages him to continue to be the kind of friend to Paul that Onesiphorus was. Paul, though absent, urges and encourages Timothy in his ministry to depend, not on his own strength, but on the power of Christ Jesus. He wants Timothy to continue Paul's own work of passing on, entrusting, the living Word of good news to receptive people, "faithful" people, people on whom Timothy can count to, in their turn, pass on and entrust and teach the message of God's reign to others. Paul is very direct about the cost: Timothy will suffer. He'll need to struggle to keep focused on essentials and avoid getting bogged down in mundane, peripheral things. Like an athelete, in order to be successful, Timothy needs to operate according to "the rules". It will entail hard work, such as a farmer experiences when the push is on to sow, to tend, and then to gather in the crops. Devotion is what Timothy needs to develop and nurture, and that will come, Paul says, from God who is the source of it "in all things".

Remember Jesus Christ, raised from the dead, a descendant of David—that is my gospel, for which I suffer hardship, even to the point of being chained like a criminal. But the word of God is not chained. Therefore I endure everything for the sake of the elect, so that they may also obtain the salvation that is in Christ Jesus, with eternal glory. The saying is sure:

If we have died with him, we will also live with him;

if we endure, we will also reign with him;

if we deny him, he will also deny us;

if we are faithless, he remains faithful—

for he cannot deny himself."

 For Paul the "gospel" is not just a message, a word, but a Person: Jesus Christ, someone who was truly a human being: in fact, one whose forbear was the great King David himself; and someone who is the Risen Christ, who died and lives, who endured suffering and now reigns, whose very essence is faithfulness, dependability, friendship and love. In essence, Paul is reminding Timothy: "What a friend we have in Jesus...", unlike Phygelus and Hermogenes, but so like Onesiphorus, one who'll never turn away.

"Even To Death Itself..."

O God our Father, source of strength to all your saints, you

brought the holy martyrs of Japan through the suffering of

the cross to the joys of eternal life: Grant that we,

encouraged by their example, may hold fast the faith we

profess, even to death itself; through Jesus Christ our Lord,

who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God,

now and for ever. Amen.

The Jesuits, led by St. Francis Xavier, then the Franciscans introduced Christianity to Japan in the 16th century. It's estimated that, by the end of the century, there were some 300,000 baptized Christians there.

Humans, however, being as they are, so frequently have minds of their own. Though Jesus said, "Wherever two or three are gathered together, there I am in the midst of them," more often than not human beings find ways to drive him out of their midst through jealousy, competition, turf-protecting, politics, and just plain meanness of spirit. So it was in Japan following the heroic efforts and self-giving of the early Christian missionaries. The Spanish vied with the Portuguese, and both vied with the Japanese. For a half century the powerful Tokugawa shoguns at least tolerated Christianity, but finally outlawed it, inflicting violent persecution and suppression.

20 converts and 6 Franciscan friars were the first to die at their hands, crucified at Nagasaki on February 5, 1597. Within 35 years Christians in Japan had been driven underground. Remarkably, in the 1880's it was discovered that many laity and clergy had admirably preserved a semblance of the Christian faith through many generations.

The recent witness of the citizens of Cairo, using their God-given rights of assembly and free speech to denounce oppression and injustice inflicted by civil rulers, have inspired many of us. They've demonstrated, sometimes painfully, very much like the Martyrs of Nagasaki, that there are some principles worth fighting and suffering for, "even to death itself".  Would we who profess to be Christians in our own country have the same determination and faith? Who knows but that there could come a time?...

"In Much Fear and Trembling"

Three phrases jump out from the Epistle (1 Corinthians 2:1-16) and Gospel (Matthew 5-13-20) for this Sunday, Epiphany 5: 1) "fear and trembling; 2) "the salt of the earth"; 3) "the light of the world". The first one conjures up in my mind a well-worn joke which tells of a Jewish rabbi, a Roman Catholic priest, and an Episcopalian traveling together on a jetliner. In midair the plane suddenly drops some 1000 ft. within a few seconds, then stabilizes, and eventually lands safely. The news of the incident has preceded them to their destination, and a local news reporter is waiting at the gate to interview them and get their reactions to what happened. The Jewish rabbi explains that he prayed fervently to the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. The Roman priest tells the reporter that he prayed with almost equal gusto to the Blessed Virgin Mary to intercede with the Lord. "And to which denomination do you belong?" the reporter asks the third man. "I'm an E...copalian: I was an Episcopalian when I boarded the flight, but when the plane fell 1000 ft. in five seconds, that which is between the 'E' and the 'copalian' was sacred out of me, and now I'm an E...copalian!"

The passage from Paul's letter to the Corinthian community is particularly rich theologically and quite touching. "When I came to you, brothers and sisters, I did not come proclaiming to you the testimony of God in lofty words or wisdom. For I decided to know nothing among you except Jesus Christ and him crucified. And I was with you in weakness and in much fear and trembling..." One would have to look hard to find a more eloquent expression of humility, as well as an accurate summary and personal confession of Christian faith. For Paul, the vehicle for expressing such a deep reality was something far beyond any human "speech" or "message" or "plausible words of wisdom". For him only a "demonstration of the Spirit and of power" would do, in order that "your faith  might...rest...in the power of God."

None of the "rulers of this age" comprehend this. The powers that be in every age simply don't operate in that "universe" or according to those categories. The very fact that Jesus, "the Lord of glory", was crucified, murdered, in the way that he was is evidence of this. Paul then makes an astounding statement: that"'what no eye has seen, nor ear heard, nor the heart of man conceived, what God has prepared for those who love him', God has revealed to us through the Spirit...Now we have received...the Spirit which is from God, that we might understand the gifts bestowed on us by God. And we impart this in words not taught by human wisdom but taught by the Spirit, interpreting spiritual truths to those who possess the Spirit..."

In other words, sent to this community of believers in Jesus, Paul comes embodying in his person lowliness, weakness, inadequacy, yet also firm in the conviction that, by the power of the Spirit of Jesus, given as sheer gift from the Father, he, Paul, also embodies in his person an understanding of God's gift of "a secret and hidden wisdom", which he's passing on to them whose hearts have been open enough to receive and possess that same Spirit of power. They now, and this is where today's Epistle and Gospel connect, become "salt of the earth", "light to the world", embodying the same gift in themselves, called and commissioned to share it with those around them. To the powers that be and to those who fail to grasp this, these realities are the utmost "folly".

In this passage, Paul uses the word "wisdom" some six times. Scholars and theologians through the centuries, among them some of the great Russian writers and, of course, Thomas Merton in our own time, have sought to comprehend the meaning of "Holy Wisdom". Christopher Pramuk, in his recent book Sophia: The Hidden Christ of Thomas Merton, has provided, to my mind, one of the clearest synopses of that term.  He says: "Who then is Hagia Sophia [Holy Wisdom]? She is the Spirit of Christ but more than Christ. She is the Love joining the Father, Son, and Spirit that longs for incarnation from before the very beginning. She is Jesus our mother, and Mary, the Theotokos. She is the 'pivot' (le point vierge) of nature, Natura naturans, and all creation in God from the beginning. Perhaps most of all, Merton's Sophia is our 'true self', when we (like Mary, seat of Wisdom) allow Christ to be birthed in us, and so realize the hidden ground of mercy, creativity, and presence in our very selves, the mystical Body of Christ..."

Paul understood, by the Spirit's enlightening, that Jesus' passion and death embodies a mystery which can be approached only in the realm of paradox, as a reality which Merton terms "negatively positive". In his Contemplation In a World of Action, Merton says that we must approach the cross "humbly and resolutely, following the call of God and obedient to the divine Spirit, like Moses approaching the burning bush, removing the 'shoes' of opinion and rationalization." In the ongoing act of creation God's Self-giving is both Self-emptying and Life-giving. Jesus, too, is non-violent "even to death on a cross", reconciling humans with God and with one another, ever inviting them to repent and change, asking forgiveness even for the very ones who killed him. In Merton's words, "Love cannot come of emptiness. It is full of reality."(Emblems of a Season of Fury)

Matthew's Jesus speaks of his disciples as "salt of the earth" and "light of the world". He makes clear that if the salt is flat, it's useless. There needs to be new salt. And if you're hiding your light from others, for whatever reason, you're violating the nature of light. Under normal circumstances, for example, it's impossible for an inhabited city on a hill to be hidden: you can see it in daylight and the lights at night give it away. Likewise, you don't light a lamp, then try to keep it hidden, but you elevate it so that the light can pervade the surrounding area. So with the disciples: if people can't see the "light" of good works embodied in you, the Father's free and lavish gifts, which those good works are, won't be celebrated and held up for imitation. In fact, their lack will put shame back on the Father.

Living according to the "spiritual wisdom" which Paul talks about is the real "Law of Christ", not human regulations or expectations. We who have been given the gifts of God's Wisdom must do and teach, else we can never claim to be participants in the reign of God in Christ.

The issues with which the Scriptures today challenge you and me are truly profound, if you think about them. Who wouldn't experience some semblance of "fear and trembling", mostly because we may begin to plumb the depths of the vast chasm between the Divine and us? We become vividly aware of how unequal to the task we might be. Sometimes, too, we're fearful simply that God may ask something of us, and we're fearful at what or how much God might ask.

Daniel Evans writes this about fear:
"It's so easy to be afraid, to be made afraid. Once it has happened, we find it difficult to ease back into the confidence that cancels fear and its power...

My little boy staggers to my bedside in the middle of the night, crying. A dream, a noise, a shadow has awakened him and awakened fear in him. I say 'Don't be afraid: it won't hurt you.' But I wonder if he believes me. I lead him back into the dark room, and the lonely bed seems so far away from mine. Can I love away the noise, the shadow, the dream in those silent, sleepy moments? Can I love the fear away?

When shall we awaken to the knowledge that that is what God has done for us? God has met us in the awful night. God wraps us in sympathizing love and assures us that we can trust the love of the Eternal more than all the darkness."

Courage In the "Day of Small Things"

St. Anskar [Ansgarius/Ansgar] (c. 801-865) was one of the first missionaries to the notorious Vikings, though he was himself a native of Picardy. Nevertheless, he's highly honored today by Danish, Swedish and Norwegian descendants of the Vikings, particularly in Sweden where he's said to have established the first Christian church in the 830's.

Anskar was orphaned at age 4, upon the death of his mother, and sent to the Monastery of Corbie, near Amiens. At the tender age of 13 he made his monastic profession and was educated there. Apparently he showed outstanding teaching skills because he was chosen as master of the New Corbie monastery school in Saxon Germany when he was 21. For years even before this, however, Anskar had experienced the desire and call to be a missionary. As it turned out, it wasn't he who actively searched out missionary opportunities. Rather, according to his biographer and friend, Rimbert/Rembert, the call came from various civil leaders, first King Harold of Denmark, and later Emperor Louis and others.

In 826 Anskar was invited to come to Denmark by King Harold, who had met Anskar when he stopped at the monastery while returning from exile. Anskar was able to establish a school and a mission in Denmark, and became noted as a popular preacher and holy man. Around 829, at the invitation of King Björn, Anskar journeyed to a merchant settlement, Birka, located in what is now the country of Sweden. Here, along with his faithful companion, Rimbert, he established the first Swedish church on the property of Herigar, a man whom he had converted.

Soon after, in 831, the Emperor Louis, by his own authority, appointed Anskar as abbot of New Corbie Monastery, then named him and had him consecrated as the first archbishop of Hamburg in 832. He also traveled to Rome that same year, where Pope Gregory IV appointed him as the papal legate of all the Scandinavian countries. He worked tirelessly for the next 14 years at Hamburg, establishing missions, building churches and libraries, in North Germany, Denmark, Sweden and Norway.

The Vikings overran the Scandinavian countries in 845, essentially decimating Hamburg and all that Anskar had: his church, monastery, library, etc. He transferred his operation to Bremen, over which the Pope also appointed him bishop, and continued his missionary efforts from there for the next 20 years.

The thing that particularly intrigues me about the feast of St. Anskar is the Collect for the day: "Almighty and everlasting God, you sent your servant Anskar as an apostle to the people of Scandinavia, and enabled him to lay a firm foundation for their conversion, though he did not see the results of his labors: Keep your Church from discouragement in the day of small things, knowing that when you have begun a good work you will bring it to a fruitful conclusion; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen."
Most of us don't ever really see the results of our efforts. How easy it is to become discouraged when trying to live according to the Gospel each day. We lose sight of the fact that, after all, it's God's whose work is given to us and God who oversees the outcome and any "fruitful conclusion". Anskar had every human reason to gripe and complain and bemoan all his unappreciated years of missionizing people who didn't seem very open to it. Yet he courageously persisted "in the day of small things".

Rimbert writes this in his biography of Anskar: "...it is clear that there are two kinds of martyrdom: one occurs when the Church is at peace and is hidden from sight; the other occurs during times of persecution and is visible to all. Anskar desired both kinds of martyrdom, but in the end only attained one. For day after day, with tears, vigils, fasts, disciplining the flesh and mortifying his bodily desires, he offered up to God a sacrifice on the altar of his heart, and in so doing attained a martyrdom as far as is possible in a time of peace...He was indeed a martyr because the word 'martyr' means 'witness'. and he was a witness of God's word and of the name of Christ..."