
<p><span style="line-height: 1.3em;">As for the first one, Raniero was an early member of Fonte Avellana. We don't know whether he was a hermit or a cenobite, since both lived together comfortably there. But we do know that Fonte Avellana was a place of rigorous monastic observance given the legacy of Saint Peter Damian, that other monk prelate. Then, again similar to Peter Damian, Raniero had to face being bishop, in the diocese of Cagli, of a disobedient clergy because their "excessive lifestyle often left them overwhelmed by the care of property and possessions" (as Lino Vigilucci tells it), <em>the greed that is actually idolatry</em>,<sup>1</sup> as Paul calls it. I was reminded of a story from when I was in seminary. There was a bishop on campus one day, and one of the sacristans who kind of liked playing dress-up, snuck in the back and tried on the bishop's miter, when suddenly, unbeknownst to him, the bishop came in, and caught him admiring himself in the mirror. And the bishop said, "I hope you can feel the crown of thorns underneath that miter." There are all kinds of martyrdom. It might have been a real honor and the crowning glory of his career for Saint Raniero to be named bishop, but I think we could easily suspect that it might have been a real martyrdom too. He might have wanted to stay within the environs of the cloister, since that was the first vocation that he chose. But maybe that is what the third good of our congregation, that is always supposed to inspire our lives, really is anyway: absolute availability, to God, to the Church, to the world, to our community. This too is a kind of martyrdom, unconditional acceptance of the will of God.</span></p>
<p>We speak of different kinds of martyrdom: the red martyrdom––shedding your blood for the sake of Christ, and then white martyrdom which the renunciation of the monastic life is meant to be; and even green martyrdom such as some of the Irish monks practiced, being exiled and wandering without a home. But there ought to be another martyrdom––I am not sure what color––the ordinary everyday martyrdom of stepping up to the plate and getting the job done no matter what the cost, just because it needs to get done and<em> Here I am Lord; I come to do your will</em>.<sup>2</sup> And the cost was in this case that after his martyrdom of service to the church, after being driven out of his first diocese due to the recalcitrant clergy, Bishop Raniero was sent up to modern Croatia––a kind of green martyrdom of exile, perhaps––where things didn't get any better, and he actually did receive the crown of red martyrdom. He was murdered for standing up to the princes while trying to safeguard the church's property that was meant to go toward sustaining those who were needy, in other words, he was protecting the poor and helpless from the rich and powerful.</p>
<p>It is sort of ironic in this context to hear this gospel passage (Lk 17:22-27), at least the way the Church presents it to us today. We first have those few sentences where Jesus is predicting his death, and<em> they were overwhelmed with grief</em>; and then in the next passage they are haggling with the tax collectors of the temple tax. I think<em> my</em> reaction might have been, "Who cares?! This is not what matters! Pay the tax! I'm being led to my death here!" When one is facing sure death, these kinds of questions must seem rather trivial. Once when Saint Peter Damian was challenged about a monk, someone who was supposed to have died to the world, being in a position of leadership in the church, he replied, "Who better to lead than someone who has already died to the world?"</p>
<p>We are none of us probably going to be called upon to reform a recalcitrant clergy or face death over defending the poor against greedy princes, but I love that Emanuele adds that beautiful line: perhaps we are not called to the shedding of blood but we are all called at least to the martyrdom of unconditional love. And maybe that is just another way of saying that we are all called to "<em>Circumcise our hearts</em>" as Moses tells the people of Israel. Perhaps that is also another way of saying what unconditional love means: we don't need outward signs of religion as much as we need visible signs of mercy and compassion and justice and kindness made manifest in our lives––like <em>executing justice for the orphan and the widow, befriending aliens, feeding and clothing them</em>. (Dt 10) These are things that matter¬¬—not the temple tax! And this is our martyrdom¬¬—doing justice; this is our witness that we are children of the God of Abraham and Sarah, and followers of the gospel of Jesus Christ.</p>
<p>There are all kinds of martyrdom, but somehow they are all only one martyrdom––that one to which we are all called, the martyrdom of unconditional love, the martyrdom of absolute availability, the martyrdom of servant leadership that serves without serving up a bill, the martyrdom of love that gives without asking for anything in return. It's that absolute availability of the circumcised heart, the unconditional love that asks nothing in return, that resolves the tensions and provides the continuity between antitheses. "Love––unconditionally––and do what you will," that whatever we do will witness to the gospel and to the God of mercy and compassion.</p>
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<p><em><sup>1</sup> Col 3:10<br /><sup>2</sup> Ps 40:8</em></p>