ST. FRANCIS OF ASSISI

October 4 is the feast day of St. Francis – not his birthday, but the date of his death; for the faithful, it is the end of life, its consummation, and reaching its final destination, that matters. I am unsure what to say in such short space about Francis. For me, Francis has been a deeply personal journey, from my first visit to Assisi, through times I have taken family and groups there, to daily thought and prayer, icons of him hanging in my home and office… I wrote a book about Francis and my interactions with him… and when people ask me What is your favorite among the books you’ve written? I’m inclined to pick this one.

Recently I received a handwritten note from Murray Bodo, a priest and wonderful author who has shaped my thinking about Francis. In one of his lovely books, he pinpointed why Francis matters to me: “Francis dares to live the Gospel the way I would like to live it, and he loves Jesus the way anyone would like to be loved… It is easier to rationalize and dismiss Jesus than Francis, because Jesus, after all, is divine and so far above us. But Francis is only human like us. What he is, we can become… What is so unique about Francis is that he does what we would like to do, and he does it in such a simple, ingenuous way that we know we could do the same if only we would.”

Francis wasn’t an ordained minister! and he could just barely read and write. We do not need to be Francis; but we do need to be the person God calls us to be. Another intriguing writer about Francis is Gerard Straub, a former soap opera producer! He thought about the saint’s last words: “Francis said, ‘I have done what was mine to do; may Christ teach you what you are to do.’ Do not seek to follow in the footsteps of the men of old; seek what they sought.”

Francis sought God, with an intensity and constancy that might be instructive. After being seriously wounded as a soldier, he was trying to piece his life back together; every day, at length, he knelt before a crucifix in a little broken down church and prayed these words, over and over: O most high, glorious God, Enlighten the darkness of my heart, and give me a correct faith, certain hope, and perfect charity, wisdom and perception, that I may do, O Lord, Your most true and holy will. I made this the centerpiece of my book on The Will of God.

For Francis, knowing the will of God became almost embarrassingly obvious, and simple: he listened to the Bible being read, carried a copy of the Gospels around with him, and thought he was supposed to do whatever it said. Jesus said “Give all you have to the poor,” and instead of rationalizing or being puzzled, Francis just went out and gave what he had to the poor. Francis “took the Bible literally,” not in the sense of arguing about historical accuracy, but taking its words as his to-do list for the day.

He wanted to do the things of which the Bible spoke – but at the heart of it all was his desire to be like Jesus. Whatever Jesus did, Francis wanted to imitate. Jesus was poor, so Francis became poor. Jesus touched lepers, so Francis bought a building and opened a hospital for lepers. His first biographer summed up his life: He was always with Jesus: Jesus in his heart, Jesus in his mouth, Jesus in his ears, Jesus in his eyes, Jesus in his hands; he bore Jesus always in his whole body.

Not surprisingly, Francis’s father, Pietro Bernardone, who had huge ambitions for his son, was chagrined, and infuriated. Francis was squandering a career in the cloth merchant business, and giving away precious family possessions! So, in a famous scene, Pietro sued his son Francis, who returned even the very clothes off his back, with the courageous, tragic yet faithful words, “No longer do I call Pietro ‘my father,’ but from now on I will only speak of ‘our Father in heaven.” Jesus had said his presence would divide families, and Francis knew that pain – as did his father. I think my best thoughts in Conversations with St. Francis are my guesses about how this felt to father and son.

Francis had been sent on a mission by the God he’d prayed to repeatedly. After seeking God’s will, Jesus spoke to Francis and said “Go, rebuild my church, for as you can see, it is falling into ruin.” Francis thought Jesus meant the very building in which he was kneeling; so he used masonry skills he’d learned as an aspiring knight and repaired it! But it was the Church, all of it, which had become listless, pompous, and frankly too rich, that Francis was to rebuild.

But he was never a critic of the Church: Francis loved the Church, and would not act with the approval of the bishop, and the pope. He visited Rome, and at first the pope refused to see such a poor, dirty little man. But he had a dream that the great Lateran basilica was falling to the ground, propped up only by a poor, dirty little man. So he summoned Francis back to the basilica and blessed his work.

Statues of Francis are often placed in gardens. He was a lover of nature – but for the same reason he was a great lover of people: whatever God made, he treasured. One of the witty quotes from G.K. Chesterton’s eloquent book on Francis is this: “Francis seemed to have liked everybody, but especially those other people disliked him for liking. Francis had all his life a great liking for people who had been put hopelessly in the wrong.” Indeed, Francis saw the creative work of God in every person, and in flowers, birds, fish, trees, and rocks; he slept out of doors, even on hard stones, partly to experience the discomforts Jesus must have known, and partly to be as close as possible to what God had made.

Because of this, Francis was history’s greatest peacemaker, and may have a few things to teach us about the tensions in our world. Francis lived during the violent decades of the Crusades, when Christian armies battled Muslim armies. Francis wanted to meet the sultan, so he marched off with the Crusading armies, and trudged out, unarmed, to the camp of the Muslims – who started to kill him, but as he was unarmed and so different from other Christians they had ever seen, they took him to the sultan. For several days they conversed, and became friends; one version of the story says the sultan was prepared to convert! He gave Francis a horn made from an elephant tusk, used to call warriors to battle; Francis brought it home and used it to call his friends to prayer. A new book I just finished reading explores this whole episode, and what it might mean for how we could conceivably rethink political hostility in today’s world. Other stories from Francis’s life, such as the charming “wolf of Gubbio” incident, boggle our minds, and show us a better way.

Francis’s health was never good after his war injuries. Nearly blind, and having endured brutal surgeries, suffering malaria and other maladies, in the thick of misery, Francis wrote some of the most beautiful poetry praising God ever conceived. He also became even more determined, late in life, to be like Christ. Devoted all his life to crucifixes and the beauty of Christ’s love for us on the cross, Francis began to pray,

My Lord Jesus Christ, two graces I ask of you before I die: the first is that in my life I may feel, in my soul and body, as far as possible, that sorrow which you, tender Jesus, underwent in the hour of your most bitter passion; the second is that I may feel in my heart, as far as possible, the abundance of love with which you, son of God, were inflamed, so as willingly to undergo such a great passion for us sinners.

On a mountain northwest of Assisi, Francis experienced a painful but wonderful encounter with God, and came away with wounds in his hands, feet and side – which bled intermittently, and which he hid out of humility. Since Francis, history has witnessed many “stigmatics,” people who have had such wounds appear spontaneously on their bodies out of their devotion to Christ.

Ironically, and sadly in a way, Francis was buried in a splendid basilica he would not have wanted built. The beautiful basilica houses his body and those of his closest friends, and features stunning frescoes depicting dramatic moments in the saint’s life. Henri Nouwen once reflected on the many challenges facing Christians in today’s world, and asked “Who will be the St. Francis of our day?”

GANDHI

Why have so many Christians pointed to Gandhi – a lifelong Hindu! – as the most Christlike figure they have ever known? Gandhi obviously had a decisive impact on the history of India; but if we consider has influence on America’s Civil Rights movement, Dietrich Bonhoeffer’s campaign against Hitler, Nelson Mandela’s toppling of Apartheid in South Africa, and the way Christian missionaries in Asia do what they do, we realize his life bears much reflection – especially as we move toward World Communion Sunday.

The outline of his life is familiar enough, and Hollywood even bequeathed to us a superb film on his life (starring Ben Kingsley), winning the 1982 Oscar for best picture. Born in 1869, Gandhi grew up in a fine family with stellar political connections, and studied law with distinction in London. His work as a barrister took him to South Africa, where he first got involved in the early combat against racial prejudice. With that experience under his belt, he returned to India in 1915, and organized mass protests against excessive taxation and discrimination, most famously with the Salt march of 1930. He was a pioneer in nonviolent political protest (or an imitator of Jesus!): donning a loincloth and armed with a bamboo walking stick, Gandhi waged peaceful war against the greatest world empire in history.

But he had the advantage of an idea: he could match his capacity to suffer against others’ capacity to inflict suffering; he refused to hate, but he refused to obey unjust laws. As the famous Christian missionary E. Stanley Jones put it, “He marched into the soul of humanity in the most triumphal march that any man ever made since the death and resurrection of the Son of God.”

Jones could not help seeing parallels between Gandhi and Christ: when Gandhi was assassinated in 1948, Stanley, who had become a close friend of Gandhi, sadly wrote, “Never did a death more fittingly crown a life, save only one – that of the Son of God. On the human level this was the greatest and most befitting climax: a man on the way to a prayer meeting where he would pray for himself and his people, and where he would give his daily counsel, dies a martyr for an Indian for all.”

Our interest in Gandhi is from this kind of Christian perspective. This lifelong Hindu studied Christianity in considerable depth, although never considered conversion: “I like your Christ, but I do not like your Christians. Your Christians are so unlike your Christ.” Gandhi believed the Christians have “inoculated the world with a mild form of Christianity, so that it is now proof against the real thing.”

Missionaries sought his counsel – and his advice to foreign missionaries might be taken to heart by those of us back home: “First, I would suggest that all of you Christians, missionaries and all, must begin to live more like Jesus Christ. Second, practice your religion without adulterating it or toning it down. Third, emphasize love and make it your working force, for live is central in Christianity. Fourth, study the non-Christian religions more sympathetically to find the good.”
Jones reflected on the wisdom of this, and saw everything with new eyes: “Too often our evangelism has been verbal instead of vital – an evangelism of the lips instead of evangelism of the life. The whole life has not spoken the message… In penance for this we might very well impose silence upon our lips until our lives have caught up with their testimony.”

Gandhi’s most powerful message was, curiously his silence. He was no spellbinding orator; he was childlike in a way, humble, soft-spoken, more likely to be caught at his spinning wheel than behind a microphone rallying the forces. As we think about our world, Gandhi reminds us we could use more love and less talk.

In a way, we might grasp the subtle truth that he gave the loveliest conceivable expression of Hinduism, and perhaps as he did so, Christians noticed in him an illustration of what Christ was about; this coincidence can draw people together from differing religions and viewpoints and can help them make peace with each other. His dual life mission was 1. freedom, and 2. unity. He was killed because he wanted India to be a safe home not only for Hindus and Christians but also Muslims – and there is something about the nonviolent protester who won’t play by the might makes right rules that elicits the rage of killers, like James Earl Ray, the assassins of Anwar Sadat and Yitzhak Rabin, Oscar Romero, those medical missionaries in Afghanistan… and Pontius Pilate.

JULIAN OF NORWICH

Julian of Norwich was one of the greatest spiritual mystics of the Middle Ages. Born in 1342 in Norwich, which was the second largest city in England in those days, she grew up during the most daunting, challenging times in all of history. When she was just six, the great plague broke out all over Europe. Three-fourths of Norwich’s population perished! So her earliest days were haunted by the specter of constant, inexplicable suffering and sorrow.

Politically, England was in turmoil, as was the Church, as two rival popes battled for supremacy. John Wyclif campaigned to reform Church and society, but faced violent opposition. Then, during a fierce galestorm, the towering steeple of the cathedral in Julian's hometown of Norwich toppled to the ground – and citizens regarded this catastrophe as an ominous sign of God’s judgment.

Julian’s own health was poor, and as a young woman she was lingering near death – when she began to have startling visions. She gazed on a crucifix, and it came to life; she found herself in open conversation with Jesus, listening, talking, questions, answers, reflections. After contemplating the content and meaning of these “showings” for many years, even though she felt inadequate as a person and as a writer, she felt she had to share what had been given her by God.

The result is the first book written by a woman in the English language. English, oddly enough, was suspect as a language in the Church; the Catholics tried to stamp out its usage, and if you were found with an English Bible (John Wyclif was the one laboring to get it translated!), you could be executed.

In such intimidating, treacherous, grief-filled and fearful times, Julian wrote of the great joy and peace that Christ gives. With steeple stones still piled on the ground, the city a shell of its former self, recent graves outnumbering the living by three to one, the economy in shambles, where did Julian look for security? “Thus will I love, and thus do I love, and thus I am safe” – for her conversations with Christ were all about love, his for her, hers for him, his for the city, and all of God’s people.
Julian wrote, “The Soul must perform two duties. One is that we reverently marvel. The other is that we humbly endure, and take pleasure in God.” To recover our ability to “marvel,” to be awed by the greatness of God, the sheer mercy in Christ’s grace! and then to endure, to be patient, to find joy in God no matter the circumstance. This was Julian’s secret in her own life: “God wants us to know that he keeps us equally safe, in woe as in well-being.”

Having been granted peculiar, wonderful visions of Christ, Julian lived the rest of her life in a small stone room with three windows – which matched her threefold desire: for contrition (grief over her sin), compassion (for Christ and for the hurting), and longing for God. Think of this: Julian longed to long for God! For her, “seeking is better than seeing.” Like many great spiritual writers through history, she understood that, theologically speaking, questions are better than answers; if we get a glimpse of God or learn some truth, more questions are provoked; we never figure God out, but take immense delight in the never-ending quest to learn more, to draw closer.

The Christ she loved was the Christ who suffered. It was a crucifix that came alive, and much like St. Francis of Assisi, Julian wanted to feel what Christ felt in the hour of his suffering for us. In her visions, Jesus showed her the wound in his side – and she saw in it “the entire kingdom of heaven.” She suffered much, but she did not see God as the cause of her suffering: “All that is good our Lord does; all that is evil our Lord suffers.” Her suffering brought her closer to the Lord, who suffers what we suffer. But the peace and joy of the Lord’s presence transform everything: Julian’s most famous words were, “All shall be well, and all shall be well; all manner of things shall be well.” This is no sunny optimism about tomorrow being a more chipper day; this is hope, the vested confidence that when all is said and done, the love of God will triumph over plagues, storms, illness, a crumbled Church, political machinations, and even death itself.

People from the town and surrounding villages came to her stone room, bringing her food and other essentials – and gave her these in return for her prayers and counsel. Imagine a world where there is a woman so holy, so close to God, that we would travel to her, simply to hear her speak of God, and to ask how to live. Julian taught them to offer their desires to God, as she had. She wanted what was not of God to be purged from her soul: “Lord, you know what I want. If it is your will for me to have it, let me have it. If not, do not be displeased, for I only want what you will.”

* Recommended book - Amy Frykholm, Julian of Norwich: A Contemplative Biography

* Julian's classic book: Showings

* a great book on Wyclif and the battle to translate the Bible into English? Benson Bobrick, Wide as the Waters

DIETRICH BONHOEFFER

On February 4, 1906, Dietrich Bonhoeffer was born, ten minutes before his twin sister, Sabine, to Karl and Paula Bonhoeffer, who had 8 children altogether. His father was a psychiatrist, and was somewhat disappointed his son chose to go into theology instead of music, for he regarded the church as a “poor, feeble, boring, petty institution.” “In that case,” said Dietrich, “I shall have to reform it!”

Bonhoeffer was a brilliant student, and swiftly drew much acclaim as a budding young scholar; but he underwent an amazing personal transformation: after earning advanced degrees in theology, after ordination, and even after writing books we still admire, he said he “finally became a Christian”! “For the first time I discovered the Bible… I had seen a great deal of the church – but I had not yet become a Christian. I had been turning the doctrine of Jesus Christ into something of personal advantage for myself… I pray that will never happen again. Also I had never prayed, or prayed only very little. For all my loneliness, I was quite pleased with myself. Then the Bible, and in particular the Sermon on the Mount, freed me from that. Since then everything has changed. I have felt this plainly, and so have other people about me.”

From a family of means, Bonhoeffer travelled widely, lived in Barcelona, London and New York for spells. A serious young man, his call was to urge the Church to get serious about its faith – which is simply a recognition of the truth about who Jesus was, and is: “One cannot give Christ only a small compartment of life, but everything – or nothing. I can live with or without Jesus if he is just a religious genius, ethicist, or a gentleman.” Religion in many ways is the “enemy” of Christianity because it can unwittingly present the false notion that somehow a bit of moral goodness is sufficient.

He was especially appalled by Christianity in the United States. “In New York they preach about virtually everything; only one thing is not addressed, or is addressed so rarely that I have as yet been unable to hear it, namely, the gospel of Jesus Christ, the cross, sin and forgiveness, death and life.” What did he hear in the great pulpits of America? “An ethical and social idealism borne by a faith in progress that – who knows how? – claims the right to call itself ‘Christian.’” Religion in America struck him as self-indulgent, self-satisfied, vapid, mere idolatry – and his words, sadly, portray much of what we still see in 2010. He was, however, impressed by the vital African American congregations he visited, like the Abyssinian Baptist Church in Harlem.

Clearly the gathering clouds of history demanded a seriousness. Hitler had seized dictatorial powers in Germany, and the pulpits that questioned the government were violently silenced. Bonhoeffer had every good opportunity to escape safely, as he was a scholar on the rise, with job offers in London and New York. But his calling was to return to Germany, to try to do something, anything… He spoke out boldly, denouncing Hitler’s arrogance, his unlawfulness, his crass manipulation of religion in his political maneuverings, and most of all his hatred of the Jews. For the first time in history, a handful of Christians (although the majority failed!) spoke up on behalf of Judaism: “Only he who cries out for the Jews may sing Gregorian chants.”

As the Church in Germany was being corrupted or silenced, Bonhoeffer started an underground seminary at Finkenwalde, donating his own library, leading students not only in studies but also daily prayer and hymn singing. He wanted there, and everywhere, to create a fellowship, a community – nothing idealized, but with real people. We love our fellows in the Church no matter who they are; we never speak of someone who isn’t present; we enter into community not as demanding consumers, but as thankful followers of Christ; we are diligent about forgiveness, as we put “Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us” into action. Life Together is a readable, inspiring book about how Christians live together as the Body.

Bonhoeffer popularized the idea of “religionless” Christianity. He wasn’t against the Church at all; but he was zealous in his campaign against a thin, superficial religion that reduces “religion” to a mere garment thrown occasionally around an otherwise untouched life. He saw the whole world as God’s good creation; there is no sacred/secular distinction. Only a worldly, robust Christianity that can embrace all of life will do, given our need for God, and who God really is.

Probably, Bonhoeffer’s most famous message is voiced in The Cost of Discipleship, written in 1937 (just before being a Christian in Germany might get you imprisoned), with its haunting first sentence: “Cheap grace is the deadly enemy of our Church.” Grace was costly to Christ and thus is costly to us, but we prefer cheap grace, “sold on the market like cheapjacks’ wares. The sacraments, the forgiveness of sin, and the consolations of religion are thrown away at cut prices. Cheap grace is the forgiveness without repentance, baptism without discipline, Communion without confession, absolution without confession. Cheap grace is grace without Jesus Christ, living and incarnate. Costly grace is the gospel which must be sought again and again, the gift which must be asked for, the door at which a man must knock. Such grace is costly because it calls us to follow, and it is grace because it calls us to follow Jesus Christ. It is costly because it costs a man his life, and it is grace because it gives a man the only true life.”

Bonhoeffer soon discovered a new wrinkle in this cost: he played a small part in the plot to assassinate Hitler – and for this he was arrested, imprisoned for eighteen months in a Gestapo cell, and finally executed just four days before the Allies liberated the Flossenbürg prison camp. In prison, his witness to Christ was profound. One fellow inmate wrote, “He was always good-tempered, always of the same kindliness towards everybody, so that to my surprise, within a short time, he had won over even the guards. He was always hopeful; he always cheered me up and comforted me, he never tired of repeating that the only fight which is lost is that which we give up. Many little notes he slipped into my hands on which he had written biblical words of comfort and hope. Bonhoeffer was very happy during the whole the time I knew him, and did a great deal to keep some of the weaker brethren from depression and anxiety.”

Bonhoeffer kept a prison diary (Letters & Papers From Prison) that has become a best-seller – and we may cherish his reflections. He learned a deeper sense of communion with the natural world, being enclosed behind bars! He learned to appreciate people, noting how “separation first makes it clear that often we take too little trouble to get together in normal times.” Like never before, he grasped our common need for quiet and solitude: “You need to get right down to fundamentals, to come to terms with life, and for that you need plenty of time to yourself.”

Bonhoeffer can teach us about suffering, solitude, and freedom: “We have to learn that personal suffering is a more effective key, a more rewarding principle for exploring the world in thought and action than personal good fortune.” “We can have abundant life, even though many wishes remain unfulfilled.” “Nothing that we despise in the other person is entirely absent from ourselves… We must learn to regard people less in the light of what they do or omit to do, and more in the light of what they suffer.”

The prison camp’s doctor overheard his last words (“This is the end, but for me the beginning of life”), and later testified: “I was most deeply moved by the way this lovable man prayed, so devout and so certain that God heard his prayer… In the almost fifty years that I worked as a doctor, I have hardly ever seen a man die so entirely submissive to the will of God.”

Bonhoeffer had written eloquently on prayer: “We confuse wishes…with prayer. Prayer does not mean simply to pour out one’s heart. It means rather to find the way to God and to speak with him, whether the heart is full or empty.” Or again, “If we are to pray aright, perhaps it is quite necessary that we pray contrary to our own heart. Not what we want to pray is important, but what God wants us to pray. The richness of the Word of God ought to determine our prayer, not the poverty of our heart.” As such, the Psalms were a treasure to him; he saw that “they cast every difficulty and agony upon God: ‘We can no longer bear it, take it from us and bear it yourself, you alone can handle suffering.’”

Bonhoeffer’s life is powerful evidence about the way we misunderstand the will of God! When the Stauffenberg bomb plot failed, Hitler declared “It was Providence that spared me… This proves that I’m on the right track. I feel that this is the confirmation of all my work. Providence protects me and we no longer have to fear our enemies.” Indeed, Bonhoeffer understood the will of God as something we do, with diligence and courage. Some people prefer simply being good – but we are called by God not to be about our own goodness, but the will of God; instead of keeping our hands clean, we may be called to get our hands dirty in the service of God.”

***Recommended new biography! by Eric Metaxas, Bonhoeffer: Pastor, Martyr, Prophet, Spy

Albert Schweitzer

Way back in 1962, Daniel Boorstin prophetically spoke of the day when we would have people who are famous for no other reason than that they are famous. Once upon a time, some people were famous because they were extraordinary human beings – and perhaps none towers over the twentieth century so high as Albert Schweitzer. No mere vapid celebrity, Schweitzer was a man of astonishing ability, achievement, and notoriety – and his grandest accomplishment was giving up a life of fame and acclaim to serve the poorest people on earth.

Born on January 14, 1875 in a little village on the border between France and Germany, where Catholics and Protestants worshipped in the same building – something Schweitzer remembered with pride. Freedom from religious prejudice was a hallmark of his life. Brilliant in all his studies, he had a flair for the organ, although his teacher, Eugene Münich, complained that he was “the thorn in my flesh,” for he improvised new music instead of practicing what was prescribed. So great was his talent that the famous organist, Charles-Marie Widor (of the popular “Toccata”) offered to give him free lessons. A brilliant performer who crisscrossed Europe giving sellout concerts, Schweitzer was the preeminent organ scholar of his day, editing The Complete Organ Works of J.S. Bach, and writing definitive books like Organ Building and Organ Playing in Germany and France.

Schweitzer also became a leading theologian, preaching in Strasbourg: “How wonderful to be allowed to address a congregation every Sunday about the deepest questions of life.” His lectures at the university altered the landscape of New Testament study: his Quest for the Historical Jesus is still read by seminarians today and is the reference point for scholars. Its final paragraph poetically describes Jesus’ mission – which became Schweitzer’s summons: “He comes to us as One unknown, without a name, as of old, by the lake side, He came to those men who knew Him not. He speaks to us the same word: ‘Follow me!’ and sets us to the tasks which He has to fulfill for our time. He commands. And to those who obey Him, whether they be wise or simple, He will reveal Himself in the toils, the conflicts, the sufferings which they shall pass through in His fellowship, and, as an ineffable mystery, they shall learn in their own experience Who He is.”

This approach of Jesus, and Schweitzer’s wish to obey, his passion for absolute truth, his sense of worship, and his keen mind fostered a restlessness, a keen determination to repay life, and God, for all goodness he had enjoyed. Instead of merely talking about Christ, or lauding him from the organ bench, or trying in any other way to persuade people to be attentive to the goodness of life and the wonder of Christ’s mission, Schweitzer made a revolutionary decision: “I decided that I would make my life my argument. I would advocate the things I believed in terms of the life I lived and what I did.”

He had been reading about mission work in the Congo, and was moved by the desperate need among Africans for medical care. So what did Schweitzer do? He resigned his faculty position in theology, and put aside his music career, and enrolled as a medical student. The fact that he was 30, and was walking away from fame and fortune, troubled everyone; his father was devastated, his colleagues shocked. Marshall and Poling wrote, “What irritated Schweitzer more than anything else was the unexpected shallowness of so many Christian friends and acquaintances. These people were active concerned churchmen. Yet they were aghast that anyone would seriously respond to the words of Jesus Christ… He felt he had to prove his faith by living it – the only method that would, in the end redeem Christianity from its inward, ingrown journey and take it out into the world for the practice of it desired by God.”

His studies focused on tropical medicine, and he began purchasing supplies from his own funds. No mission society would pay his salary, so he simply went as a volunteer, at age 38, to Lambarene, where he established a hospital and lived most of the rest of his life. He cured, and then used his late night hours to reflect and write; his well-known “reverence for life” was first published in his Philosophy of Civilization. Over time, a new kind of fame attached to his stunning life. Albert Einstein befriended him, and wrote, “I have scarcely ever known personally a single individual, in whom goodness and the need for beauty are merged to such a degree of unity as in the case of Albert Schweitzer.” Awarded the Nobel Peace Prize in 1952, Schweitzer lived on in Africa until 1965, when he read the Bible, and played his old piano, weathered by the tropical climate, and died, and was buried in a grave marked by a cross he had made with his own hands.

Here is a sampling of his wisdom: “I cannot but have reverence for all that is life. I cannot avoid compassion for everything that is called life. That is the beginning and foundation of morality.” “The great secret of success is to go through life as a man who never gets used up.” “The most valuable knowledge we can have is to how to deal with disappointments.” “Never say there is nothing beautiful in the world anymore. There is always something to make you wonder in the shape of a tree, the trembling of a leaf.” “As we acquire more knowledge, things do not become more comprehensible but more mysterious.” “Any religion or philosophy which is not based on a respect for life is not a true religion or philosophy.” “In the hope of reaching the moon men fail to see the flowers that blossom at their feet.” “Whoever is spared pain must feel himself called to help in diminishing the pain of others.” “There are no heroes of action, only heroes of renunciation and suffering.”