Earthly saints can brighten a day

SOUL FOOD

“The world is bright with the joyous saints who love to do Jesus’

will ... “

from “I sing a song of the

saints of God,” by Lesbia Scott

I can remember singing these words when I was a child without

giving much thought to how true they might be. In the moment we sang

them, I recall, the world was bright indeed. The tune itself is

snappy and bright. The verses paint a cheerful picture.

“They lived not only in ages past; there are hundreds of thousands

still. You can meet them in school, or in lanes, or at sea, in

church, or in trains, or in shops, or at tea,” the song invokes.

Standing in a pew on Sunday morning, washed by morning light

pouring in through stained-glass windows and the warmth of

candelabrum on the altar, I imagined myself greeted by kindly,

patient faces everywhere I’d go. But, on Monday morning, there were

still bullies on the playground and at times weary, demanding

teachers in the classroom. The light of saints is not like the sun.

It doesn’t wash away the dark, leaving only shadows. Like a star or

vigil candle, saintly light shines brightest where the darkness is

greatest.

I once met a pastor in the Denver airport who told me that the

amount of sheer evil we see in the world should not surprise us,

least of all surprise Christians. The Bible, this man said, tells us

that the world has for a time been given over to the devil to entice

as many as will to follow him in his self-serving ways.

What is remarkable, this pastor insisted, is how much good there

still is in the world, how many still follow or seek after God, how

many know or sense that God is good, how many try to do his will.

These folks, to this pastor, are the saints of God.

I find myself thinking about saints a lot lately. I can’t really

tell you why. I wrote about saints in this column last week. Later in

the week, I looked up the word in the Oxford English Dictionary. In

one sense, a saint is “a holy person formally recognized by the

Church as living with God in heaven after death.” St. Rita of Cascia,

the patron saint of impossible cases, one of the saints I wrote about

last week, is this kind of saint.

In another sense, “saint” is simply another name for a Christian.

Colloquially speaking, a saint is “a very good or long-suffering

person.” This is the sort of saint we are blessed to meet in school

or on the street, in an airport, or -- as my friend Kristen Twedt did

-- in McDonald’s.

“Selflessness and humility are as rare as a slow minute for most

of us,” Kristen wrote in her column for The Hattiesburg American. “We

busy ourselves with getting ahead, being first and leaving everyone

in the dust. So few of us have time to be last.”

Jesus often taught that in the kingdom of God “the last will be

first, and the first last.” When his disciples argued among

themselves about who would have the honor of sitting on his the right

hand and on his left hand in his kingdom, he took them to task:

“Whoever desires to become great among you, let him be your servant,”

he said.

When Kristen was eight months pregnant, standing in a long line in

a crowded McDonald’s with a hungry 2-year-old on her hip who wailed

impatiently for “fench fies” and dug his heels into her side, she met

a saint. A man standing before a cashier at the front of a line,

ready to place his order, beckoned Kristen with a gesture. He traded

his place for hers and brought her napkins and straws.

“There are saints in the most unlikely places. It is their actions

that speak so loudly, even above the din of a fast food mob,” Kristen

wrote about the encounter. Her world was brightened by the joy of one

saint, even under the glare of fluorescent lights. It’s been food for

thought.

* MICHELE MARR is a freelance writer from Huntington Beach. She

can be reached at [email protected].