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.”
