Today is the celebration of the martyrdom of Saints Cornelius and Cyprian, very early martyrs of the Church (250 AD).  As I completed the morning office, I questioned my own martyrdom.  To what am I giving my own life?  What cause or crusade have I joined that places me in a position to where I can give up my life for Christ?  I look at my life now and say, “I haven’t given anything to the cause.”  But the voice of the One who speaks to me simply said, “The martyrdom of work.” 

Saints Cornelius and Cyprian were faithful not only to the life of Christ but also to the life in the Church.  That Church required a consistent, on-going and especially a loyal devotion to its continued existence.  It more than likely demanded that they “showed up” every day.  It required them to do the liturgy, the work, of the people of God.  It drew from them their very life blood in ways that were essentially the everyday faithfulness to their tasks.  I would like to think that if they preached a good homily that this act contributed to their martyrdom, but I would also like to think that when they swept the floors of the gathering space after the liturgy, that that too also contributed heavily to their martyrdom. 

In our American society today we rarely hear about people giving up their lives for the faith, because we live in a safe and protected society.  Would we be as secure if we lived in Somalia, Iraq or China and continued to practice a Christian faith?  Would we be able to be physically martyred in the name of Jesus?  I feel that would be a tremendous struggle for me.

But God asks us not to do the spectacular things, but asks us to be faithful.  Each morning that I arise from bed I say to myself, “Boy, it would be good to sleep in today and not have to go and face my obligations” and I get ready to go to the office and serve my patients anyway, I now believe that that is an act of martyrdom.  I have turned away from my false self and remained faithful to the doctrine of service to others.  Does that act place me in danger of being killed for my faithfulness?  I would like to think so because no one takes my life away from me, I give it up freely. 

The everyday acts of martyrdom such as facing the lifeless computer screens for eight hours a day, watching a lathe turn out a tool part hour after hour, drive the monotonous interstate highways in a semi truck for days, or scrub out sinks in toilets in motel rooms for a full work shift are acts of martyrdom.  It takes away our lifeblood one drop at a time day after day after day.  But in reality, we give that blood away because we know that we can remain faithful. 

One day I would like to hear, “Well done good and faithful servant.”  Amen.

There are whispers in the media (take them as they are) that we may be seeing a light at the end of the tunnel in regards to the economic recession.  The economy of Japan has now moved into a positive trend (however they measure these things) and there are hushed voices talking about a recovery.  Since this recession was one of the most severe in our generation (the tail end of the baby boomers) I have been mulling over the question that has come into my mind namely, what have we learned from this?

My parent’s generation witnessed and lived through the Great Depression where markets failed, industry closed, environmental disaster occurred (the dust bowl) and families were driven apart and separated.  My mom and dad lived through this disaster, but it was not easy.  My dad’s family grew up on a farm where they were essentially self-sufficient, providing for the family through the earth and the animals that they were stewards of.  My mother lived in a small village where the family struggled to put food on the table.  They walked the mainline of the Pennsylvania Railroad to pick up the coal that tumbled from the hoppers as they bumped along the track, just to warm the home.  They knew how to eat any food that was presentable, moldy bread, rotted fruit, soured milk and lard sandwiches.  They both learned lessons that were to be valuable in their later lives namely, to be self-sufficient and to offer themselves to others.  My dad was able to tear down and put together any mechanical contraption that broke down on the farm.  He was able to make a set of electrical contact points for our water pump out of a nickel sawn in half (which lasted longer than the original parts).  My mother knew how to can vegetables that grew in the garden and there were many winter days when I was warmed with fresh fruit and vegetables from those beloved Ball jars (the wild strawberry jam was exquisite).  Our home was open to all in the family.  I considered it normal to have my uncle live in our house, to put up other aunts and uncles and cousins in our home until they could get on their feet.  There were always people around to whom I was directly related.  They were changed by surviving the crisis.

Am I?  I fear that I may backslide away from the life lessons that we have experienced in this economy.  Will I go back to driving hither and yon just to get some Chinese food?  Will I fall back into spending my hard earned dollars on silly things for my computer that tend to drive me crazy?  Will I be able to remain in a state of life without the full package on my satellite TV?  I fear that I can’t. 

What I need to learn from this is to come back to what will always remain, what I will never ever lose, to what is always dependable and will never break down, that is always fresh and gives me life.  It is my relationship to God.  God will never need to re-boot.  God will never need to be filled up just to keep going.  God will always be on.  God will always be open 24/7.  God is always there and here.  God is always at home.  God will never need a monthly payment for us to remain in His house.  Maybe, only maybe, I can learn to be self-sufficient and be able to give myself away.  If my mom and dad could do it, by God’s grace, I may be able to, too. 

Theology can also be studied in the cradle and in the grave.  I have two cradle degrees in theology one named Katherine (we call her Katie) and another called Katrina (A.K.A. Trina).  I have been learning from both of these colleges for the past 25 and 20 years respectively.  I have learned that the major focus of study in these colleges is responsibility.  The sensation of responsibility began as we discovered that we were pregnant, when I cut the umbilical cords, when I held the small human being in my arms for the first time, when I lost sleep as the colic had its way, when I saw them go by themselves on the big yellow bus to school, when I saw them ride a bike and drive a car for the first time and when I will surrender them to their own domus ecclesia in the near future.  This college is very hard on the emotions and is a tempering furnace for these emotions including pride, anguish, joy, worry, concern and peace.  These colleges are also the training ground for attentiveness, particularly at times when you may have other “better” things to do, you have to be attentive to their most important needs, even if I consider it trivial.  For what is trivial to one person, is life and death for another.  Raising children, particularly in our culture today, is not a cake walk.  Many parents can fail in this effort.  I can only thank God for his constant presence to guide my judgment and my hand in raising my kids.

Death is the great teacher of life.  It is the college of faith and of eternal life.  I am learning from this college in personal ways, from the death of my parents to the recent loss of my oldest brother.  Death has a strong hand and is the hardest of professors.  Death can surprise us at any time, and we had better be ready for the test.  Death can also place us into the netherworld of extended time.  We may be witness to a death that may be years in the making, forming us in this place we call patience.  It is a school of prayer.  Some have experienced the death of a spouse, the death of children, which I cannot imagine, but in which I must be prepared in its eventuality.  It is a college that no one particularly likes but in which we must all participate and learn. 

So, theology has many schools, many colleges, many teachers, and many experiences.  All of life is theology and all of theology is life.  Can a person, ordained or not, speak to others in a homily in very effective ways and make the scripture of our forefathers in faith and in the scripture of Jesus come alive in our hearts? Yes, definitely.  Do they have to have academic degrees in theology?  No, not at all.  For the experience of life is enough for us to know God in his fullness and allows each one of us to speak through Him and with Him and in Him.