Monks, Saints, and Birds Falling from the Sky

As a little Baptist girl, I did not associate with monks, nuns or saints.

“Jesus, only Jesus” was my creed (still is!) and I looked with nervous suspicion on icons, religious statues and stories about humans performing miracles.

So fearful were we Protestants that we might accidentally worship Mary that we barely acknowledged her at all.

I never prayed to St. Jude to help me find what I had lost nor to St. Joseph to help me locate a job or a home. I enjoyed a direct line to the Almighty and any stained-glass saint only seemed like extraneous clutter that might distract me from hearing the voice of God or worse, tempt me to worship that which is not God.

My Puritan ancestors weighed heavily on my young conscience.

Being a good Baptist girl also meant that I didn’t knock on wood, fear the number thirteen, or tremble around black cats. In fact, I sought out ladders under which to walk just so I could bear witness to the fact that God alone controls my fate, not two metal stilts with rungs.

Anything that smacked of “high church” fell into some parallel category to secular superstitions so I avoided it all the way I avoided supermarket tabloids, Rocky Horror Picture Show and vans with painted windows.

So, color me surprised when in the past few years, I developed an appreciation for the writing of Celtic Christians and monastics who came before me and tried, as I do, to take this Jesus show on the road of my everyday life.

I think what I love most is the direct honesty many of them practiced as they pulled on faith like a pair of wading boots and wandered out into the deep water of life.

They spoke with God like Tevye from Fiddler on the Roof – carrying on a conversation that didn’t end when they closed their morning devotional but continued in the cow barn, on the street corner and in the midst of community life. Like Tevye, they weren’t shy about letting God know how hard His ways can be on the back, the knees, the ego and the heart.

In my morning devotions Wednesday (which I read just as Jay Leno was starting his monologue) was this verse from Paul:

Philippians 4:12-13 “I know what it is to be in need, and I know what it is to have plenty. I have learned the secret of being content in any and every situation, whether well fed or hungry, whether living in plenty or in want. I can do everything through him who gives me strength.”

Funny how scripture can be comforting and annoying at the same time.

Surrounded by boxes, the guts of my house scattered around me like kelp at low tide, and no new residence nailed down, I feel about as close to knowing Paul’s secret as I am to knowing Victoria’s secret.

I am packing for an unknown destination so, while I have flashes of contentment, I must confess it’s not my overriding mood.
The daily meditation in the devotions was infinitely more relatable to me. It is one of my favorite passages by the Franciscan author, Murray Bodo and is inspired by St. Francis of Assisi (one of the few crossover saints – adored and respected by Catholics and Protestants in equal measure – especially since the Franco Zefferelli film).

Here is a fellow adventurer, one who aimed, as I aim, for the bulls-eye of God’s heart in Jesus Christ, and yet was transparent and vulnerable in the process.

It made me marvel, again, at the Body of Christ, the Church. We are truly One. We can speak with one another across borders, time zones, centuries, and cultures and find our hearts beating with the singular rhythm of Jesus Christ.

Today I am grateful that I am not an only child in Jesus Christ. I have a legacy of fellow travelers who came before and I am in good present company on the narrow road.

The prayers and encouragement of the saints, both living and dead, fortify me so that I can pack one more box in faith, even on the day I disassemble my writing nook,

even on days when thousands of birds fall from the sky.

(Which brings us back to not worrying about tomorrow right? Because His eye is on the sparrow and “Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father’s care. And even the very hairs of your head are all numbered. So don’t be afraid; you are worth more than many sparrows.” Matthew 10: 29-31

Monks, saints, sparrows and me – all in God’s view. I want to live out the verse from Philippians. An old Franciscan monk helps me rest in that, along with a first century apostle and the prayers of twenty-first century saints.

Hug another Christian today and thank God you’re not alone in this long walk of faith!