[vc_row][vc_column][vc_column_text]He\u2019s one of my new favorite saints.<\/p>\n
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I seem drawn to the odd ones, and this one was certainly odd. I have said before how I long for the return of odd saints; for their oddness, I believe, will renew the Church. Anyway, I\u2019ve come across another odd one I want to tell you about. This one was named St. Maximos the Hutburner. He was what the tradition calls a \u201choly fool.\u201d<\/p>\n
You can imagine why he was thought to be a holy fool, what with the epithet \u201cHutburner.\u201d He began life in the fourteenth century as a monk; he spent time, among other places, on Mount Athos, at the Great Lavra there, until he eventually felt the urge to become a hermit, to move away from other people, to live truly alone. I don\u2019t think Maximos was much of a people person; he just wanted to be by himself with God, apart by himself. But he was holy\u2014a little anti-social though he was\u2014and so people just wouldn\u2019t leave him alone; which is where the hut-burning comes in.<\/p>\n
Maximos would build a tiny hut for himself out of a few sticks and some grass; that\u2019s all he needed and wanted for shelter. He would always dig a grave next to his hut too, and every morning he\u2019d sing funeral hymns so as to contemplate his own death (remember he was a holy fool). But people kept showing up wanting a holy word or a blessing or just to be near this strange, holy man. And so, Maximos would burn down his hut; he\u2019d set it ablaze, frustrated, and wander off deeper into the wilderness hoping no one would follow. But they followed, and then he\u2019d have to burn down another hut, then another, then another. Poor Maximos just couldn\u2019t get away no matter how many huts he burned down.<\/p>\n
But then he had an encounter with another saint, famous in his time: St. Gregory of Sinai. And Gregory told the Hutburner simply to stop it\u2014to stop burning huts and stop avoiding people, for it is better when spiritual wisdom is shared. And for some reason Maximos took that word to heart; I don\u2019t know why. But he stopped burning huts, stopped wandering around. He found a spot just outside the monastery he had left. He still had a hermit\u2019s heart, but now he welcomed people; he welcomed community. The people would share a meal with him; he became a godly light of friendship, this beautiful, holy fool; all once he stopped burning his huts and wandering all around.[1]<\/a><\/p>\n Now I share this new favorite saint of mine with you, one, simply because I like talking about the weird and the wild and the holy that used to inhabit our Church before we tamed the Church. But also, because he teaches a lesson quite applicable to me and to you and to us\u2014about what we\u2019re doing as Christians in the parish, about what Christians do in community. Which, of course, is a miracle given to us as a gift this night, in the Mass of the Lord\u2019s Supper.<\/p>\n Please follow me. It’s beautiful what we\u2019ve been trying here at St. Rita, however imperfectly. It\u2019s beautiful the community we\u2019re trying to rebuild and build and keep alive and make thrive. It is very simple what we\u2019re doing: we\u2019re simply trying to gather ourselves into a community of friends and believers, lovers of God and neighbor. It\u2019s not rocket science. We\u2019re trying to gather to worship the one true God, to worship the Father in Christ by the power of the Holy Spirit; that\u2019s what we do every day and Sunday by Sunday. Which makes us sisters and brothers\u2014by the faith of it and the sacraments of it\u2014which gives us the impulse to live a common life as much as we possibly can. Which means\u2014again, very simply\u2014that we spend time together, we become friends with one another, help each other, welcome each other.<\/p>\n Which is what we do in all we do in this parish. This altar, this table, is surrounded by every table in this parish: your kitchen table at home, the tables we set up on Wednesday nights, the tables of Bible studies and book studies and women\u2019s ministry and men\u2019s ministry, the tables we stack an obscene amount of pizza on for our youth, the table you set your coffee on when you check on that friend, when you give your time simply to listen to someone who needs to be heard. You see what I\u2019m saying? You see how beautiful that is? That\u2019s what our dear, strange friend, Maximos the Hutburner, learned: that to dwell in that sort of unity is a gift from God, a true miracle.[2]<\/a> And it\u2019s an invitation to each of us to stop burning our huts and running away, to find community, to find a parish, to find friends. Because again, that\u2019s simply a beautiful thing God has given us.<\/p>\n And really, all I want to say are two things about this. First is that this gift of community just may be the medicine we need for the loneliness we suffer. I wrote about this for the Dallas Morning News<\/em> a few weeks back; many have written about it, from the Surgeon General to sociologists and psychologists and journalists: we are a lonely society. From our isolating screens to pandemics and fear, we have become lonely people. And we may think we should burn our huts and run farther away from others, but that\u2019s not the way. Gathering as the family of God is the way. Again, it\u2019s not rocket science; it\u2019s very simple. And this really is behind everything we do in this parish. This is the good we serve.<\/p>\n But it\u2019s also a good that becomes holy, sacred, which is also\u2014believe it or not\u2014the beginning of heaven. Which is why I\u2019m talking about all this tonight, on Holy Thursday, because what we are and what we do began on this night\u2014in the Upper Room, the disciples gathered with the Lord, a simple community, a new family together around a table in a dark and frightening world. Just as the Hebrews gathered in their humble homes in Egypt, together with their meal and the blood across the door, so Jesus gives us the same liberating gift. And Jesus himself is the lamb, the food and the blood.[3]<\/a> And here we see how the Church, this parish of St. Rita in her daily gatherings and in her play and her friendships is not just some club or organization (although some sadly see it as only that) but a community that is the threshold of heaven, the beginning of it, a community wherein God is present. Which is the only true fix for our loneliness, our fear, our earth\u2014God in Jesus Christ offered and given on this altar, the same offering again and again; and again, for you and me. Which again is what\u2019s so beautiful: how and how much God loves us in the Eucharist and how it reminds us how much we\u2019re meant to love each other and the grace it gives us to love each other. I hope you see it. I hope you see how wonderful it is that we are here together, for it is what God is doing in a still-frightening world.<\/p>\n But, of course, it will be hard sometimes\u2014our gathering as Church, as parish. For the world is dark; the betrayer is at work. We will follow the Lord at the end of this Mass into the garden where he sweat blood. Tomorrow he\u2019ll be crucified. If you\u2019re not busy, you\u2019ll sing with us \u201cWere you There?\u201d. But it\u2019ll be okay; the world will not destroy you; the darkness will not conquer you. Because you know where this table is, this altar. And you know what gift is given to us tonight, how beautiful it is, and what it means. \u201cI have conquered the world,\u201d Jesus said on this night.[4]<\/a> And we are conquerors too\u2014as John saw in Revelation\u2014having conquered by the \u201cblood of the Lamb.\u201d[5]<\/a> Blood shed tomorrow but given in mystery tonight\u2014all to become his family in Christ, the people of God, you and me and us. Amen<\/em>.<\/p>\n [1]<\/a> Alice-Mary Talbot, Varieties of Monastic Experience in Byzantium, 800-1453<\/em>, 109-111, 125<\/p>\n [2]<\/a> Psalm 133:1<\/p>\n [3]<\/a> Joseph Ratzinger (Benedict XVI), Behold the Pierced One<\/em>, 103-104<\/p>\n