Living Radically

We Catholics adore the radical. We thrive on extreme examples of faith; on stories of saints who were crucified, roasted alive, caught deadly diseases in the line of priestly duty; on tales of saints who floated and bi-located, had mystical visions, foretold the future, and ordered around kings and Popes. This should not be cause for astonishment. When you love someone, you want to serve them radically. When you love something, you want to throw yourself heart and soul into it until there is either nothing left to throw, or nothing left to throw at. And I would certainly hope that we Catholics love Christ and our Faith!

Yet, even as we are attracted to this radical love of God, we are often frightened by it. Is it surprising that, in the face of the holiness and extraordinariness of Padre Pio, my mother declared that he made her feel scared, because she could never be that holy? Is it any wonder that a forum friend of mine did not wish to read about Mother Teresa, because then she might feel obliged to make such a great sacrifice…and she did not think she could handle that? Sometimes, we stand in awe and admiration of the Radical Love and lives of the saints. At other times, we run away; not unlike Jonah. Often, it moves us to despair that we will ever be “so holy,” and we feel this way whether we gave up at the mere thought of being radical, or put forth a good effort and still failed to begin a Mother Teresa-like movement.

If you guessed that this is not a good thing, congratulations. You have a brain. While it is only fitting to admire complete, total, radical self-gift, we must not fall into a very common mistake.

We must not confuse radical with big, or vice versa.

We all too often do this, and in the face of obvious radicalness, we come to see small, everyday acts as lesser. Would Saint Gianna Molla mean as much to us if she had not died (despite the fact that her choice for Life was technically completely unrelated to her cause of death, anyway)? Probably not. Her death adds drama her story, the apparent radicalness we Catholics like. A surgery—no matter how risky—is not quite as interesting as dying. Thus we hear more about her death than we do about her life (which, in my opinion, was rather more a testament to her faith and charity). We look at Mother Teresa, all the people she touched and the movement she began, and Saint Therese of the Little Flower seems to pale in comparison.

I think that we need to remind ourselves that it is not the drama which made the saints great. It was their love shown in the little things. Even Mother Teresa’s life was not big. We see her actions as one unified whole, something big and grand. Yet this is not so. We only see it this way because we are on the outside looking in. To Mother Teresa, every poor person, every hug, every look, every word was individual. It was a small everyday thing. Small things just piled up to a point where they looked like something big. Her life was one, long, Little Way. She is no different from Saint Therese. She realized what we so often forget:

There are no great things. There are simply bunches of small things. There are only repetitive, every day, ordinary things done with repetitive, every day, extraordinary love.

I think we should remember this next time the fire we have to go out and “convert all the peoples” dies down and we find that we have seemingly done nothing big. I think we should remember this when we cower before the greatness of Padre Pio and despair that we will ever be that holy. I know I need to remember:

When we make all the little things radical, only then can we really live our faith radically. Only by bringing the little, everyday things in our lives to God can we bring our entire lives to Him.

Radical is Small.

A Prayer to Saint Francis

Father Francis, you were known during your life on this earth for your Joy. Even now, long after your exile here has ended, you are still known for your Joy. You are the saint who befriended all of the birds, and tamed the wolves. You are the saint who preached on the street corners to anyone and everyone. You are the one who kissed a leper.

We know and admire you for your constant happiness...yet we also know you for your suffering. You embraced Lady Poverty with a will and exuberance that I can hardly imagine. You owned nothing, not even your next meal. You suffered through many long and difficult journeys, through the desert and across the borders of nations. You struggled with scorn and ridicule and disrespect both from within and from without your own Order. And you bore the Stigmata.

In my world, Father Francis, joy and suffering--joy in suffering--is rarely heard of. We lose ourselves in a million mundane, meaningless, and even harmful things, drowning joy in happiness, and mistaking the latter for the former. We are too afraid to face the pain that must be gone through to attain true joy: the pain of self-denial, self-giving, selflessness. Little Father, please teach us your secret. Please teach us how to find joy in suffering, and through suffering, joy.

Little Playthings

"I had offered myself...to the Child Jesus as His little plaything.  I told Him not to use me as a valuable toy children are content to look at but dare not touch, but to use me like a little ball of no value which He could throw on the ground, push with His foot, pierce, leave in a corner, or press to His Heart if it pleased Him." 

Well, as you can see, I am still here.
Writing, not entering.
A student insread of a postulant.

Others are beginning to notice.  Just today one of my former students came to me and asked, "Aren't you gong to be a nun?"

The honest answer is, conventiently enough, also the shortest:  I don't know. 
Quite a while ago God told me to wait...and wait...and wait...  Now, it seems as though I am not just waiting to know what to do about my future and my vocation, but as though my entire life is on hold.  This quote from Saint Therese has always been one of my favorites from her, and it has been much on my mind lately.  It really feels as though God has "left me in a corner". 

Saint Therese, please help me to truthfully make your request my own.  I want to offer myself--my entire will--to Jesus, for Him to do with me as He pleases.  I want to Love whatever circumstances or position He sees fit to place me in, and not merely resign myself to His Will.  However, this takes a humility and patience which I just do not have, and it is so very hard.  Please teach me your childlike trust, your simple Love of Jesus and lack of self, so that I, too, may happily be His little "plaything".

Saint Gianna Molla

Today, April 28th, is the feast day of my patron saint, Gianna Beretta Molla. 
I chose her as my Confirmation saint because, at the time of my Confirmation, I was very heavily and actively involved in Pro-Life work (I still am involved, though my ministry has taken the form of prayer more than anything else, lately).  And who is a better example for a Pro-Lifer than Gianna Molla?

I am sure most of you already know the main focus of her story; how she was a doctor, wife, and mother who was diagnosed whith a uterine tumor when she was pregnant with her fourth child.  How she refused proper treatment because she refused to harm her baby.  How she died when that baby was only one week old...

Therefore, I am going to speak of something less often mentioned about Gianna: her interaction, as a doctor, with patients who had had or who intended to have, an abortion. 

Gianna's stance on abortion was very firm.  She viewed all human life as ineffably precious, and illustrated her views where words could not express them by being unfailingly charitable, caring and loving to everyone, and by never failing to do what it took to save her patients.  Her sacrifice is a testament to her reverence of life.  Gianna was well aware of the fact that abortion involves the ending of a new yet equally important human life, and so her views on the subject are rather obvious.  She was greatly grieved when one of her patients considered abortion, and would talk to them about their decision, discussing with them the value of life and encouraging them to rethink their options.  Nevertheless, no woman ever met any sort of condemnation or intolerance from her.  She was motherly toward them, and treated them with the utmost compassion no matter her strict stance. 

"Once, a young woman asked Gianna to come to her home because of some "mysterious" hemorrhaging, which was actually the result of an attempted abortion.  Gianna treated her compassionately, but firmly, urging her to seriously consider what she had done.  ...On another occasion, Gianna treated a young woman who had had an abortion.  With particular kindness, Gianna offered the young woman some words on the sacredness of human life, which the patient listened to attentively.  Gianan gently encouraged the woman to face the seriousness of her act and to realize that what she had done was not only an act of offense against her child, but also against God.  Gianna invited her patient to be reconciled with the Lord, and she encouraged her to embrace God's infinite mercy." [A Woman's Life, by Guiliana Pelucchi, p. 59-60]

I hear often from Pro-"Choicers" that those who are against abortion are also against women.  That they just wish to make women's lives more difficult, that they only hurt women by making them feel guilty.  That they don't care for women, even hate and kill them, etc. etc.  Gianna is proof that that is not what being Pro-Life is about.  Being Pro-Life is being Pro-LIFE.  She talked of God's mercy as much as she did the wrongness of abortion and the value of human life.  She supported women during and after their pregnancy, caring for them and their children often without accepting payment.  Gianna cared no less for the lives of the mothers in her care than for the lives of their children; of that her actions left no room for doubt.   Everyone who knew her liked her, and cries for her Cause arose soon after her untimely death.  Her example is a brilliant one, one which I strive always to follow.  Gianna was Pro-Life.  For that cause she gave her entire life and even her death.  Even those who had had an abortion acknowledged and appreciated her.  What better saint could I have chosen for this day and age?

Saint Gianna, pray for us!

Saint Francis Wasn't Vegan

Today is October 4th, the feast day of Saint Francis of Assisi and so, being a Franciscan at heart, I just had to write blog post about him. Everyone, I think, is familiar with Saint Francis; common iconography depicts the friar in a brown robe, looking gentle and sweet, as doves flock around him. Stories are told of how he preached to his feathered friends and tamed a wild wolf. He is portrayed merely as a quiet and simple man who loved animals and nature. As an eighth grade catechism booklet I had the misfortune of picking up once said: he’s the patron saint of Environmentalism… right? No. Yet, to my immense disappointment, this seems to be an impression not at all rare. Lots of people miss the entire “point” of Saint Francis. Hence, this blog post.


Saint Francis was born in Assisi in 1182 and was named Giovanni Bernardone by his mother, after Saint John the Baptist. However, his father, Peter Bernardone, was a wealthy cloth merchant who despised his son being named after a wandering hermit in rags. Therefore, little Giovanni was granted the nickname “Francesco,” after the country in which Peter made his fortune— France.

Francesco was a very materialistic young man, and was encouraged in this by his father. However, one day while pursuing a worldly dream of obtaining glory in battle, Francesco was subject to a vision. He heard a voice ask him where he intended to go. As Francesco began to describe his grandiose plans, the voice interrupted him.

“Who can do more good for you—the master or the servant?”
“The master,” Francesco replied.
“Then why are you abandoning the master for the servant, the patron for the client?”
“Sir, what do you want me to do?”
“Go back to your own home and you will be told what to do. You must understand in another way the vision you had.”

Another marvelous exchange followed the first, and while the young man was praying in a dilapidated church known as San Damiano the crucifix above the abandoned altar came alive. The crucified Christ spoke to the twenty three year old, saying. "Francesco, don’t you see that my house is being destroyed? Go, then, and rebuild it for me."
Taking this literally, Francesco began a somewhat eccentric mission to do just that, taking and selling some of his father's cloth to raise money for San Damiano. Tension within the family grew as Peter Bernardone became increasingly angry with his son, whom he considered a thief and whose religious fervor he viewed as an embarrassment. To abbreviate a lengthy series of events, I’ll only say that it ended with Francesco disinheriting himself. There is no evidence that Francesco was ever reconciled with his family.


Thus began the second life of Francesco Bernardone, the life of a holy beggar. And thus we see the first virtue worthy of imitation in Francis: poverty.
Possessionless and content that way, he wore a plain brown robe with no shoes. He did not own anything, even the smallest shelter, but slept in doorways and under the starry sky. When other men began to follow him and it became necessary to find a more permanent place to sleep, even then did Francesco insist that the buildings and land not be theirs. His followers--known as the Friars Minor--were not permitted to beg for more than what they would require for that day. The life of these missionaries was a life of extreme poverty. I would like to think that I could live that way (though I probably couldn't) because there is so much to gain from owning nothing. We cannot rely on our own material wealth, but are forced to depend on God for our daily bread. The poor must trust in the Lord much more than the rich! Also, we are free from distractions--like facebook and television and worry--and have more time for Our Lord. Francesco would often remove himself from the world to meditate and to pray. How holy would we be if we could leave behind work and family to spend time in Adoration each day and night? Francesco also practiced poverty of education. Though he was more learned than most in his time, he was never well educated. He also did not permit his Friars to own books and, according to tradition, did not wish to join the Friars Minors with the Order of Preachers because he did not want his Brothers to be very educated. Education is a sore temptation. Oh, yes, God gave us our minds and our reason, and we most certainly should use them. However, education can be a grave hindrance to one’s spiritual well being. Here’s my logic: if one is extremely educated, they may come to believe that they know everything there is to know. A person who is used to knowing everything will be hard-pressed to admit that they are wrong, or that there is something they are ignorant of. Can you see how trust in God would be difficult, then? Perhaps that is why so many atheists seem such educated men: their education has led to a pride which keeps them from admitting that they do not know all and that there could be certain mysteries they will never understand.





Francesco was not only a model of poverty; he was a model of suffering. Self-imposed suffering, like that of poverty and fasting and being exposed to the elements, were everyday trials for him. In addition, he was often struck down by recurrent bouts of malaria, chronic gastritis, a gastric ulcer that refused to heal, a terrible eye infection and bad eyesight, and, some say, leprosy. He also had the Stigmata—and for those of you who don’t know what that is, it is the wounds of Christ in one’s hands, feet, and side. Saint Padre Pio had the Stigmata as well, and since he lived more recently, we have pictures:


Saint Francesco, like Padre Pio, received his Stigmata during a vision, in 1224. Some accounts say he not only bore the wounds of Christ in his feet, but also the nails themselves. Saint Francis lived with the Stigmata for two years, until his death at the age of 44. His suffering provides us with other examples of holiness and virtue. The first is patience. A man who is ill-burdened in life, weighted down by his personal cross, must be patient in order to endure. The second is humility. This is most obvious in illnesses which, like Francesco's as the end, require one to be cared for by others. This dependency shows us how weak we truly are as human beings, and helps us to learn dependency on God as well. Suffering also provides the cross-bearer with sympathy for his fellow man, the weak, and the struggling. Finally, the best part of suffering as Saint Francis did is that one is able to teach others these virtues. And if people don't pay attention? No matter. Offer the graces up for the souls in Purgatory, women considering abortions, priests, the conversion of sinners, etc. How many people one can help by giving to others the graces they have earned! From Saint Francis, we can learn to suffer well. If we do as he did, we will learn the above virtues, too!

Now, is the point of this post to say that Saint Francis didn't really like animals? No, not at all. I'm sure he did. But I think it would be wrong to say that he loved animals for their sake. Francesco liked animals because they were God’s creatures. Just as an artist reveals himself through his artwork, so does God reveal Himself through His Creation. One can come to know certain aspects of God by studying the animals, then, and trees, and bugs, etc. Francesco also used the animals to make a point. When the people wouldn’t listen to him, he’d turn to the animals and preach. “See! Even the dumb birds know their Creator and praise Him! Why don’t you?” So, the animals weren’t valuable in themselves; they were valuable insofar as they taught human beings about God, and I maintain that view today. There was very little tree-hugging in Francesco’s day, and Saint Francis wasn’t vegan. That is the point of this post. There is so much to learn from Saint Francis that it would be silly to know him as only the effeminate dude who talked to the birdies.



______________________________________
If you’d like to know more about Saint Francis, I suggest:
“The perfect Joy of Saint Francis,” by Felix Timmermans
“Reluctant Saint,” by Daniel Spoto
“Novena,” by Barbara Calamari & Sandra DiPasqua
And of course “The Rule of Saint Francis,” by the man himself