Lent Madness

In what seems to be shaping up as the Year of the Martyr, today’s pairing involves not a whit of martyrdom. The first bishop of the Episcopal Church faces a 7th- century monastic leader and both died of natural causes!

Yesterday, in a most lopsided match-up, Oscar Romero made quick work of Elizabeth Ann Seton defeating her 68% to 32% with nearly 4,500 votes cast. Interestingly the comments were split fairly evenly between the two even if the votes were not.

Many of you, especially those new to Lent Madness (welcome aboard the SS Madness!), have asked how the official bracket is formulated. In this brief video filmed last Eastertide, Scott and Tim give you a peek behind the purple curtain of Lent Madness. You might be surprised at the “scientific/holy” methods used to create our special blend of saintly absurdity.

Samuel Seabury

Samuel Seabury (November 30, 1729 – February 25, 1796) was the First Bishop of The Episcopal Church, consecrated as the Bishop of Connecticut on November 14, 1784.

Seabury was born in Groton, Connecticut in 1729. He attended Yale College, and studied theology with his father. From a young age, he had felt a call to ordained ministry; however, canonical age restrictions prevented his ordination following his university studies. To pass the time, Seabury moved to Scotland, where he studied medicine in Edinburgh. In 1753, at age 24, he was ordained as a priest.

Seabury returned to the United States, where he served as rector of several parishes from 1754 onward. It was during his time as Rector of St. Peter’s, Westchester (now the Bronx), that the American Revolution erupted. Seabury proved himself a staunch defender of the crown, writing several tracts under the pen name of “A. W. Farmer” (an exceptionally uncreative acronym for “A Westchester Farmer”). In 1775, Seabury was arrested and imprisoned by local Patriots. During this period, Seabury’s family was beaten, his possessions ransacked – and his wife ultimately died. Seabury faced the possibility of exile in England.

In March, 1783, ten Episcopal clergymen, meeting in Woodbury, Connecticut, elected Seabury as their second choice to be Bishop. When the first choice declined, Seabury sailed to London in July of that year to be consecrated bishop. But after a year of negotiation, Seabury was unable to obtain episcopal orders from the Church of England, since, as an American citizen, he could not give the canonically required oath of allegiance to the King. Seabury turned to Scotland, whose non-juring bishops did not require an oath of allegiance. In return for reception of episcopal orders from the Scottish Church, Seabury signed a concordat agreeing to incorporate elements of the Scottish Eucharistic Liturgy – most notably the invocation of the Holy Spirit (or epiclesis) – into the new American Liturgy. In November, 1784, he was consecrated bishop. Seabury’s consecration as bishop by the Scottish church ultimately spooked the English Parliament enough to make provision for the consecration of foreign bishops: in 1786, William White and Samuel Provoost would ultimately receive their episcopal orders from the Church of England. Seabury returned to New London, Connecticut, where he served as Rector of St. James Church, and Bishop of Connecticut; in 1789, his ordination was recognized by the first General Convention of the Episcopal Church; in 1792, he joined in the first ordination to the Episcopate on American soil when he, White, and Provoost ordained John Claggett of Maryland.

Seabury was ahead of his time in many of his liturgical persuasions – some of which made him a polarizing figure within the church of his day. Today, the innovations don’t seem quite as controversial and instead ahead of their time: Seabury advocated for weekly celebrations of the Holy Communion and was among the first post-Reformation bishops to wear a mitre.

Seabury died in February, 1796, and is buried at St. James Church, New London, Connecticut.

Collect for the Consecration of Samuel Seabury
We give you thanks, O Lord our God, for your goodness in bestowing upon this Church the gift of the episcopate, which we celebrate in this remembrance of the consecration of Samuel Seabury; and we pray that, joined together in unity with our bishops, and nourished by your holy Sacraments, we may proclaim the Gospel of redemption with apostolic zeal; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

— David Sibley

Hilda of Whitby

Hilda was born into nobility, the grandniece of King Edwin, and was baptized on Easter Day in 627 with the entire noble court of the King. We know almost nothing about the first half of her life. Presumably she did not marry, and after King Edwin was killed in battle, she went to live with her sister in East Anglia. She then planned to join her widowed sister in a convent in Chelles in Gaul, but Bishop Aidan of Lindisfarne changed her plans, as bishops tend to do. He asked her to settle in Northumbria to be part of a monastic community there. With her companions in this monastery, she lived in the Celtic Christian tradition Aidan brought from Iona. A year later, Aidan asked Hilda to found  a double monastery (which accepted both women and men) in Hartlepool. After several years there, Aidan again asked Hilda to take her monastic show on the road and establish a monastery in Whitby in 657. It, too, was a double monastery where men and women prayed, served, and learned together in community.

The Venerable Bede writes of Hilda that she established a regular life in Whitby and “taught the obedience of righteousness, mercy, purity, and other virtues, but especially peace and charity. After the example of the primitive Church, no one there was rich, no one was needy, for everything was held in common and nothing was considered to be anyone’s personal property.” Hilda was called “mother” by all who knew her.

Hilda was an early spiritual director and diplomat. Common people as well as kings and others in power came to her for advice in their spiritual challenges and questions of life. She would have eschewed the title (because she was a big fan of humility and equality) but she was most certainly a Cardinal Mother. Her monastery at Whitby produced five bishops and Caedmon, an early English holy poet who wrote in (shockingly enough) vernacular English, a first in literature of the day. Because of Hilda’s support and encouragement of his poetry and education, she is also called a mother of English literature.

As if being a Cardinal Mother, the founder of several successful monasteries, and the mother of English literature wasn’t enough, Hilda’s denouement in her life of faith occurred at the Synod of Whitby. The male leaders of the day got together to decide (argue) whether the Church in England would follow Aidan’s Celtic Christian lead or fall in line with the more Roman expression of Christianity. The big controversy between the two was not women’s ordination or the full inclusion of lesbians or gays, or the use of incense, but the date of Easter (I know, clutch your pearls). Hilda favored the Celtic tradition, but when the Synod decided to follow the Roman tradition, she spoke passionately and as one with authority that she would be obedient to the Synod’s decision and expected others to do the same.

She died in 680, surrounded by those who called her monastery home. Her last words were not of church power or ecclesiastical wealth, but of faithfully following a Gospel of love and peace. Always.

Collect for Hilda of Whitby
O God of peace, by whose grace the abbess Hilda was endowed with gifts of justice, prudence, and strength to rule as a wise mother over the nuns and monks of her household, and to become a trusted and reconciling friend to leaders of the Church:  Give us the grace to recognize and accept the varied gifts you bestow on men and women, that our common life may be enriched and your gracious will be done; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever. Amen.

 — Laurie Brock

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Today’s matchup features two Roman Catholics, the martyred archbishop of El Salvador and an American nun known for her charity and educational work. See, we’re doing our part for Christian unity here at Lent Madness. However, lest you think this was a diabolical attempt to pit them against one another, don’t forget Dorothy Day is yet to come.

Yesterday, Janani Luwum trounced Thomas Tallis 69% to 31% and will face fellow martyr Jonathan Daniels in the Round of the Saintly Sixteen. While Archbishop Luwum was a virtual Lent Madness unknown, his inspiring story clearly touched many in profound ways.

Perhaps the biggest story in Lent Madness circles was the resolution of the 2013 Mug Controversy. That collective sigh of relief heard ’round the world was confirmation that Tim finally received his Lent Madness mug, thereby preserving the Lenten Detente between the two members of the Supreme Executive Committee.

Oscar Romero

Oscar Romero was born in Cuidad Barrios, El Salvador, on August 15, 1917. He wanted to be a priest, but his family, like almost everyone else, was poor. He had to drop out of seminary several times before he was ordained, to work as a carpenter. But he finished, he excelled, and he was named a bishop of the Roman Catholic Church in 1967.

Romero was known as a quiet, academic type. He had studied at the Vatican in Rome. He was conservative, unlikely to make waves or to upset the status quo. Because of this reputation, in 1977, he was elevated to archbishop of San Salvador, the highest church office in the country.

At the time in El Salvador, 90% of the population lived on less than $100 a year. 200 families owned 75% of the farmable land. A quarter of the children died before the age of five and the average life expectancy was 46 years old. All labor unions were forbidden by law.

A number of the Catholic priests and nuns had begun to question this, to ask what the Christ who healed the leper and befriended the impoverished would make of this situation. Romero’s conversion process had begun when he worked with the poor as a local bishop, but when a dear friend was assassinated by a death squad, it was complete.

Weeks after becoming archbishop, Romero called a meeting of all the clergy, priests and nuns, in the country, to figure out how to respond to the assassination of clergy. He canceled all Catholic services in the country, save the funeral mass at the cathedral in San Salvador where he was preaching. This forced everyone, rich and poor alike to attend the same mass, or commit a major sin.

From this time forward, he broadcast every mass from the cathedral on the radio. Everyone heard his sermons, and he became known as the “Voice of the Voiceless.”  He called on the government to stop the death squads. He called on the soldiers to disobey orders to kill. He called on the rich to support reform. He established a permanent diocesan commission to discover and document human rights abuses in the country. Again and again, he used his authority and power as archbishop to throw the considerable weight of the church behind the oppressed and the victimized.

On March 24, 1980, he was celebrating mass in a small hospital chapel, when he was shot by an assassin whose identity remains unknown. At his funeral, bombs exploded among the 50,000 mourners, killing at least 40, and making Romero’s last sermon even more poignant: “Those who surrender to the service of the poor through love of Christ will live like the grain of wheat that dies…The harvest comes because of the grain that dies.”

Collect for Oscar Romero
Almighty God, you called your servant Oscar Romero to be a voice for the voiceless poor, and to give his life as a seed of freedom and a sign of hope: Grant that, inspired by his sacrifice and the example of the martyrs of El Salvador, we may without fear or favor, witness to your Word who abides, your Word who is life, even Jesus Christ our Lord, to whom with you and the Holy Spirit, be praise and glory, now and forever. Amen.

— Megan Castellan

Elizabeth Ann Seton

Born in 1774 into a prominent Episcopal family (her maternal grandfather was rector of St. Andrew’s, Staten Island), Elizabeth Ann Seton grew up a devout Episcopalian. Her spiritual director while a member at Trinity Wall Street was John Henry Hobart, later Bishop of New York, and her wedding was performed by Bishop Sam Provoost. In 1797, as a 23-year-old wife and socialite, she was one of the founders of the Society for the Relief of Poor Widows with Small Children, the first private charitable organization in New York City, serving as its treasurer.

In 1798, her husband, William Seton, took over the Seton family shipping and mercantile business, which fell on hard times. Facing both bankruptcy and tuberculosis, in 1803 William took Elizabeth and the eldest of their five children, Anna Maria, to Italy in hopes of regaining his health and connecting with a former business connection, Filippo Filicchi. Unfortunately, as news reached Italy of Yellow Fever in New York, instead of recovering in the Italian sun, Seton and his wife and daughter were quarantined in stone barracks. Days after the family left quarantine, William died, leaving Elizabeth, now 29, a poor widow with five small children.

Staying with the Filicchi family, Elizabeth was introduced to Roman Catholicism and found herself drawn to its sacraments and worship. As she wrote to her sister-in-law, “[Y]ou know how we were laughed at for running from one church to another, sacrament Sundays, that we might receive as often as we could; well, here people that love God…can go every day.”

Returning to New York City, she was received by the Roman Catholic Church but rejected by her friends and family, some of whom disinherited her. An impoverished single mother, she ran a boarding house for boys attached to St. Mark’s, New York, but parents withdrew their children upon learning of her religion. After the conversion of Elizabeth’s young sister-in-law to Catholicism, even Bishop Hobart warned others to cut off any communication with her.

Invited to Baltimore to begin a school, in 1810 Elizabeth founded St. Joseph’s Academy and Free School in Emmitsburg, Maryland. This school for girls from poor families as well as paid boarders became the foundation for the parochial school system in America. She trained the sisters to be teachers and wrote the textbooks. In 1812, she established the first religious order for women in America, the Sisters of Charity, which under Mother Seton’s leadership established orphanages in Philadelphia and New York City. She also worked to assist Baltimore’s poor and sick all while continuing to care for her own children. She died in 1821 at the age of 46.

Collect for Elizabeth Ann Seton
Holy God, you blessed Elizabeth Seton with your grace as wife, mother, educator and founder, that she might spend her life in service to your people: Help us, by her example, to express our love for you in love of others; through Jesus Christ our Redeemer, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

— Laura Toepfer

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The (Lent) Madness continues with another surreal pairing — this time between an influential 16th-century church musician and a 20th-century Ugandan archbishop and martyr. This match-up even has the holy odds-makers in Vegas shaking their collective heads.

Yesterday, Luke outpaced Absalom Jones by a wide margin, 61% to 39% with over 4,500 votes cast, though many commented on Jones’ inspirational story in bidding him farewell. For some commentary on why these pairings are often so difficult, make sure to watch the most recent version of Monday Madness with Tim and Scott. This, along with many other mysteries such as where Scott likes to stay when in Silver Spring, Maryland, and how he copes without his trusty Lent Madness 2013 mug, will be revealed.

In other news, we passed the 4,000 “like” mark on our Facebook page. Don’t forget to like us if you haven’t yet done so and encourage your friends to go and do likewise. There’s no finder’s fee for getting people to join in the Madness; you’ll just have to be content with the knowledge that your reward will be in heaven.

Finally, stay tuned for a major announcement on the whereabouts of Tim’s missing Lent Madness mug sometime soon.

Collect for Thomas Tallis (and some others)
O God most glorious, whose praises are sung night and day by your saints and angels in heaven: We give you thanks for William Byrd, John Merbecke, and Thomas Tallis, whose music has enriched the praise that your Church offers you here on earth. Grant, we pray, to all who are touched by the power of music such glimpses of eternity that we may be made ready to join your saints in heaven and behold your glory unveiled for evermore; through Jesus Christ our Lord, who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

 — Laurie Brock

Janani Luwum

Above the Great West Doors of Westminster Abbey are ten statues of martyrs from the twentieth century. One of those statues depicts an African named Janani Luwum (1922-1977). He was a convert to Christianity and an Anglican priest. He eventually became the Archbishop of Uganda, Rwanda, Burundi, and Boga-Zaire. And he died for his faith thirty-six years ago last Sunday because he spoke out on behalf of others in the name of Christ. He gave a voice to those who could not speak for themselves. In the midst of Ugandan dictator Idi Amin’s brutal regime, Luwum warned the Church not to conform to “the powers of darkness.”

The story of Luwum’s death was told to me in the sermon at my ordination to the priesthood by someone who knew him well. This is how his friend and former colleague described it:

“He was a tall and very taciturn man. And if it had not been for the twinkle in his eye, you would have thought him perhaps even mean. But he was a kindly, large, and very strong man. One morning he was awakened early in his house by soldiers, who accused him of storing arms – which they never found – the purpose of which was to overthrow General Amin’s government.

“He was taken to a large amphitheatre in the middle of Kampala, where Amin had assembled his private guard, and where he was jeered. He was then taken by automobile to Luzira Prison, some five miles outside the city. And there he was tortured, and he was asked to confess his crime. His only response was to pray, ‘Our Father, who art in heaven, hallowed be thy Name, thy kingdom come, thy will be done…’ He prayed this prayer constantly for some time under the leader. And finally, in a rage, Amin pulled out a pistol and shot him twice – once in the head and once in the chest.

“Surely here is a witness to Christ’s suffering. And surely here even more is a life that partakes of the glory that is to be revealed. And here is the shadow of what we hope for. And surely here is a life in which we can recognize the suffering and the glory which belong to God’s entire flock. Here is a life in which we can see ourselves as we are destined by grace to be.”

That is the story of Janani Luwum as it was told to me. It reminds me that in every time and place there are people like him – people empowered by the Holy Spirit – who would be willing to speak on our behalf if we were in need and could not speak for ourselves.

Collect for Janani Luwum
O God, whose Son the Good Shepherd laid down his life for the sheep: We give you thanks for your faithful shepherd Janani Luwum, who after his Savior’s example, gave up his life for the people of Uganda. Grant us to be so inspired by his witness that we make no peace with oppression, but live as those who are sealed with the cross of Christ, who died and rose again, and now lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever. Amen.

— Neil Alan Willard

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