Theologian's Almanac for Week of April 26, 2026
Welcome to SALT’s “Theologian’s Almanac,” a weekly selection of important birthdays, holidays, and other upcoming milestones worth marking — specially created for a) writing sermons and prayers, b) creating content for social media channels, and c) enriching your devotional life.
For the week of Sunday, April 26:
April 26 is the birthday of French-American ornithologist and painter John James Audubon, born in Haiti in 1785. His classic book of ornithological paintings, Birds of America, is still regarded as one of the finest, most ambitious picture books ever made. In response to a critic who “expressed some doubts as to my views respecting the affection and love of pigeons, as if I made it human, and raised the possessors quite above the brutes,” Audubon wrote: “I presume the love of the mothers for their young is much the same as the love of woman for her offspring. There is but one kind of love; God is love, and all his creatures derive theirs from his; only it is modified by the different degrees of intelligence in different beings and creatures.”
At the same time, as celebrated as Audubon is for his contributions to ornithology and environmental protection, he also enslaved African Americans and held white supremacist views. Some have tried to diminish these aspects of his legacy as products “of his time,” but of course some of Audubon’s contemporaries were staunch, vocal abolitionists. To their credit, the National Audubon Society has opted in recent years to highlight and grapple with this dimension of their namesake’s life and work, and use it as part of the organization’s efforts to help build a world of racial equity.
April 27 is the feast day of St. Zita, a thirteenth-century servant in the city of Lucca, in Tuscany, Italy. She had the exasperating habit of giving away her wealthy employer’s stuff to impoverished people, including her employer’s meals and, on one celebrated occasion, his luxurious fur coat, which she gave to a shivering beggar outside a church on Christmas Eve. The beggar returned the coat to her employer later that evening, the story goes — and when the confused recipient looked up again from the coat in his arms, the beggar had vanished into thin air. In one of Zita’s ecstatic visions, an angel baked her bread, and accordingly, she’s now considered the patron saint of bakers, as well as of homemakers and household employees. She’s also invoked by those who have lost their keys!
April 29 is the feast day of Catherine of Siena, a fourteenth-century daughter of a wool-dyer. She eventually became one of the most influential theologians and church diplomats of her day, and was the second woman to be declared Doctor of the Church (the first was Teresa of Ávila; “Doctor” here means exalted teacher). Her extensive theological writings explore a mystical, ecstatic vision of Christian faith, in which God is the wellspring of all being, as well as a “sea, in which we are fish.” Her work also profoundly influenced Italian literature. She is the patron saint of Siena, Italy (with Francis), and of Europe.
April 30 is the birthday of Annie Dillard, American non-fiction writer and novelist. After finishing a master’s thesis on Thoreau’s Walden, she set about writing a memoir of her time living along a creek in Virginia’s Blue Ridge Mountains. She wove first-hand observations and marvelous facts about the natural world with reflections on theology and literature, and the result, A Pilgrim at Tinker Creek, won the Pulitzer Prize for nonfiction in 1975. Dillard was 29 years old.
Here’s how the book begins: “I live by a creek, Tinker Creek, in a valley in Virginia’s Blue Ridge. An anchorite’s hermitage is called an anchor-hold; some anchor-holds were simple sheds clamped to the side of a church like a barnacle or a rock. I think of this house clamped to the side of Tinker Creek as an anchor-hold. It holds me at anchor to the rock bottom of the creek itself and keeps me steadied in the current, as a sea anchor does, facing the stream of light pouring down. It’s a good place to live; there’s a lot to think about.”
But here’s the kicker: Dillard decided to omit from her masterpiece several things about her life, including the fact that she lived in the house with her husband (a writing professor), and that the house wasn’t a Walden-in-the-woods, much less a hermitage, but rather was located in a conventional suburban development in Roanoke, with a backyard that sloped down to a little stream. Many reviewers (and readers) mistakenly assumed Dillard wrote while living alone in a remote cabin in the wilderness. In the end, this isn’t sleight-of-hand so much as a splendid act of imagination and insight: through Dillard’s eyes, we can see how “wilderness” — and the quality of mind wilderness can provide — is actually all around us, even in suburbia!
You can read some of Dillard’s thoughts on creativity and writing here.
May 1 is May Day, a date with a host of holidays in its history. The Celts of the British Isles considered it the day that divided the year in half, between light and dark, with May Day marking the return of life and fertility. Ancient Romans devoted the day to celebrating Flora, the goddess of flowers. And in the mid-nineteenth century, the international movement for workers’ rights — including the movement for the eight-hour work day — claimed May 1st as Labor Day. After the 1894 Pullman Strike, President Grover Cleveland officially moved Labor Day to September in order to disassociate it from May Day’s historic connections to the rights of workers. Today, May 1st is still a day of rallies and protest in many parts of the world, and in 2006, May Day demonstrations returned to the United States, calling attention to the rights of immigrants.