Elizabeth of Hungary

Elizabeth of Hungary, Princess, 1231

Wartburg Castle, in Eisenach, sits in the Thuringia region of Germany.  I have visited this castle several times.  To Lutherans, it is something of a Mecca, being the place where Martin Luther hid out from the Pope after he was excommunicated.  While there, Luther translated the New Testament into German for the first time.  So it’s kind of a big deal for Lutherans.  On my many visits, I have always been taken aback by the mosaics that cover the walls and ceiling of what was once Elizabeth’s bedroom in the castle.  Dating from 1904, they really are quite stunning, as befits the bedroom of a princess.

But as one looks closer at the details of the mosaics, you see that they do not depict the life of most princesses, riding horses and doing cross stitch.  Rather, they show poverty and disease, and Elizabeth doing her best to tend to those in need.  They are beautiful, and colorful, and tragic, and surprising.  In short: they depict a life well lived.

As we heard in her hagiography, Elizabeth was a literal princess, being the daughter of the King of Hungary.  And yet she showed concern for the poor at an early age.  She married the Landgrave of Thuringia, which only elevated her position, and moved into Wartburg Castle where she could have lived a lavish life of luxury.  Instead, she began giving away her dowry and possessions to feed and nurse the desperate peasants living around her.

Her generous acts were deemed “extravagances” by those at the Wartburg, and she was forced to leave the castle.  Extravagances.  When you and I hear that word, we probably think of a bedroom needlessly covered in mosaics.  We might say it is extravagant to buy expensive jewelry, not sell it to build a hospital for the poor.  We think of extravagance as wasteful spending, not overwhelming generosity.

Is it extravagant to save hungry children, or to care for the needs of the dying?  Before we answer “NO!” we should consider where our money actually goes: as a nation, as a congregation, as individuals.
Is it extravagant to feed children and build hospitals?  The court at Wartburg thought so.  Do we?  Does our parish?  Does our government?  It’s an uncomfortable thing to ponder.  What at first seems obvious isn’t necessarily the case on closer inspection.

Which brings us back to those mosaics covering the walls and ceilings of Elizabeth’s bedroom in Germany.  Though they seem extravagant—maybe even wasteful—on closer inspection, they show a life of intentional poverty, giving up riches in order to save the lives of the poor and outcast.  
And maybe that’s the key to seeing God at work in the life of Elizabeth and those like her.  Beautiful mosaics created to show us true selfless giving.  A woman born into the lap of luxury pouring out her life to serve her neighbors.  Are these wasteful or extravagant?  Certainly not, especially if they inspire us to go and do the same.

Which in a way points to our Eucharistic meal.  Beautiful precious chalices pouring out the blood of the crucified Jesus.  Gorgeous architecture dedicated to proclaiming the unconditional love of One who gave up his life for us.  

From a distance, these extravagant beautiful things might seem wasteful.  But if they inspire us to serve our neighbors as Elizabeth did, then they are no extravagance at all.  They almost seem too humble, given what they offer to the world.  May Elizabeth’s life inspire us all toward extravagant, selfless giving: of ourselves, of our time, and of our possessions.