SAINTS

THE SAINTS GO MARCHIN’ ON

FREE FLOWING GOODNESS                     During the Second World War, six million Jews perished in the Nazi death camps. That number would have been greater, but happily, at least 500,000 were rescued or protected by ordinary people. Most of the rescuers have died since; to date, about 75 are still alive. There was a survey that lasted eight years during which those rescuers, about 150 then, were interviewed. It emerged that they were quite ordinary people, in fact, for the most part, individualists  -  they did not usually do what society demanded, for example, to share in the almost universal hatred of the Jews. Not constrained by the expectations of the group, they were better able to act on their own. Many of them had a history of doing good deeds before the war  -  some visiting the sick in hospital, others collecting books for the poor, still others taking care of stray cats and dogs and birds. Most of them never planned on being rescuers or belong to the caring professions. They just got into the habit of doing good, finding themselves responding first to a need and only second to the danger, and believing that the gift of goodness could be passed on. If they had not perceived that pattern as natural, they might have been paralysed into inaction.

                                    There is a universal hunger for examples of goodness and bravery, and it needs to be nourished and cultivated. Children are spontaneous with goodness and love. God’s kingdom is the place of natural, easy-flowing goodness. That is the stuff of sainthood, or at least the beginning of it. The saints began that way, too, finding out the truth about themselves, the world and God.  For that priceless pearl they marched out of step with the assumptions of their society. They marched to a different drummer, named Jesus Christ. “Blessed are the poor, the meek, and those who suffer for justice sake.” The world considers these mad slogans, because the order of the day is pleasure, excitement, evasion of duty, the race for power, and a refusal to face the truth. Society is sick, not the saints mad !

ENCOUNTERING THE LORD                                  Sainthood is the result of a decisive encounter with Jesus Christ. Some encounters were shattering, like that of the fisherman, Simon, and Saul, the tentmaker. Think of the sudden change of Levi, the collector, and Zacheus, the extortioner, Augustine, the sensualist. When Jesus came upon them, they realised that they had been missing out in life. Other saints gave up lucrative careers to become poor in the Lord, like Francis Xavier who was a proud and brilliant professor at the Sorbonne in Paris, but became a great missionary. One can think of the young troubadour Francesco, son of Don Bernadone, a wealthy cloth merchant in Assisi. He was out for “la dolce vita”. But one day, under divine inspiration, he embraced what revulsed him most, a victim of Hansen’s disease, and it was Francesco who was healed. He is known as “the sweet saint” who discovered what “la dolce vita” meant when lived with the Lord. Other saints simply lived by their convictions and remained steadfast in challenging circumstances. Thus, Thomas More, who had received Catholic education like any other lad, and lived  by it even if it meant  disagreeing with King Henry VIII’s contention of the invalidity of his marriage to Catherine of Aragon. Charles Borromeo was a good man. When he looked with horror at the putrefying face of his  beautiful aunt in death, he raised his mind to values higher than those he had been pursuing. In the case of Teresa of Avila, irresistible womanly grace was swept up into godly virtue, precipitated by a bout of near death illness. From the ashes of Teresa da Ahumada rose the great Teresa of Jesus.

HUMAN,  INDEED                            The saints teach us the old virtues that are ever new: the gentleness of Francis de Sales, the simplicity and detachment of Francis of Assisi, the pastoral zeal of John Mary Vianney, the intensity of Ignatius of Loyola, the learning of Thomas Aquinas, the joyous humour of Philip Neri, the contrition of Augustine, the simple way of love of Thérèse of Lisieux. Examples are forever forthcoming, and we are not alone. We belong to their company in the communion of saints,  without ceasing to being human. Teresa of Avila had great feminine charm, and unashamedly admitted to feelings of hurt when her love was not returned; annoyed and angry at times even with her friend and advisor, the great little mystic, John of the Cross, whom she called “my saint and a half.” The saints were human, indeed. Jesus has shown that the divine and the human can run on the same tether, so that body and spirit pull in the same direction, and the human can live perfectly in the presence of the divine. From mere dust the body, energised by the spirit, becomes star dust !  Saints’ lives have taught people to change from being mere receivers to great givers. And the saints cared chiefly for the best kind of giving which is called thanksgiving. They knew that the praise of God stands on the strongest ground when it stands on nothing; and God is too great for anything but gratitude.

“The mercies of the Lord I will sing forever.”