Oh When The Saints.....

Coming from a family largely Irish by trade, I was born both a Roman Catholic and a Democrat. I was not consulted. My parents gave me absolutely no say in the matter.  And thru such circumstance, much of life is channeled at birth.

I attended public elementary school, but for reasons that now rest with them, my parents shuffled me off to a Catholic high school.  At least the name of the school had the word “Academy” attached to it, which I suppose gave it some kind of real or imagined predominance and status.

Thus, I spent arguably the four most pivotal years of my life in the embrace of the Sisters of St. Joseph. Those good nuns used the time honored methods of the day in their dispensing of knowledge to our eager, yet wandering minds…the clicker, the ruler, and the rote.

I was deathly afraid of those black and whites, and attempted to fly way under the radar during my time there.  But early on, one of the first things that caused me to sit straight up and take notice was the “nine first Fridays” perk (as I saw it) of my faith. My interpretation of this short cut to heaven was:  if I made the nine first Fridays, my salvation would be assured. My future status of  “toes up” would become the only requirement for punching my ticket on the express to Heaven. No fool from Liverpool, I immediately made this goal my first priority.  Saved, no matter what else I did in life.  Now that was a load off. I contentedly awaited my future.

But I digress.  Among many other things, we also learned about saints. You know,  saint – a person formally recognized or canonized by the Church after death, who may be the object of veneration and prayers for intercession.  Saints, we were told, were very powerful, capable of extraordinary deeds.

There is, as I vaguely remember, more than one way to achieve “sainthood.”  Martyrdom (dying for the faith) brings instant salvation.   No surer way to fast track oneself to everlasting bliss, although the act required could be a tad painful and prolonged. Personally, I would not recommend this road.

The road most of us are familiar with is: miracles.  If a saint-to-be can be shown to have performed 2 (I believe), miracles, then they were, as a nun once told me, “as good as in.”  These miracles usually take the form of curing people of  terminal illness or a fatal medical condition, where it can conclusively be shown that there was no medical or rational basis for the cure, save the intervention by the saint-to-be.  And how to approach the saint-to-be, or saint?  Prayer. 

In most cases, prayers are simply directed to saints in general.  In some cases, one prays to a particular saint, as they all have a specialty. Tooth problem?  St. Antipas.  Your cat need help?  St. Gertrude of Nivelles can purr for you.  A tinge of VD got you depressed, then St. Fiacre is your go to guy.  Aspiring comedian?  St. Vitus awaits your prayers.  Afraid of wasps?  St. Friard can ward them off. Fledgling poet with writer’s block?  Look to St. David for inspiration. A bout of dysentery got you feeling low? Dial up St. Lucy of Syracuse. Even beggars have a protector in St. Alexius.  I am not making this up folks! 

(…..To Be Continued)

Mark Twain Quote:  “I have never seen what to me seemed an atom of truth that there is a future life..and yet—I am strongly inclined to expect one.”