That sharp-tongued genius G. K. Chesterton once said, “The
Christian ideal has not been tried and found wanting. It has been found
difficult and left untried.”[1]
Well, not quite. There are a few who have actually tried it,
but such a few it should make us blush to celebrate the feast of All Saints. So
what is a saint and what manner of people are those we call saints?
First is the way that we speak of exemplary people of faith.
In the strict sense, “saints” as the Christian Church uses the term, are those
people who have been exemplary in the way they have lived the Christian life. They
are the people that have believed when it would have been easier to lose faith,
those who have persevered when it would have been easier to give up, who have
loved when it would have been more natural to hate, who have given generously
when everyone said it was foolish, who have risked life and limb when it would
have been easier to run for safety, who have stood for justice when the mass of
people cried out for vengeance, who have been cheerful when everything in them
knew that their situation was desperate, and who have never asked for credit,
who have seldom been recognized as particularly good until they were dead, and
who have honestly thought of themselves as quite ordinary people following a
quite extraordinary God. It has never been easy and it still is not.
Dancing Saints Church of St. Gregory of Nyssa, Episcopal San Francisco |
A second use of the word saint is associated with persons
who have endured great suffering. The Book of Revelation, reflecting an age of persecution
in which it was composed, speaks of “those who have come out of the great
ordeal; they have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the
Lamb.” In that sense, saints are martyrs, and martyr means “witness.” They have
borne witness to the Power of the Crucified Lamb of God, and they have paid for
their witness with their lives. So they are before the throne of God and
worship God day and night with palm branches of victory in their hands. Indeed
they are a polyglot bunch, from every family, language, people and nation.
And a third use of the word “saints” or “holy ones,” the ‘αγιοι of the New Testament, is to denote
the entire people of God. You see this usage when St. Paul, for example, begins
an epistle by saying, “Paul…to all the saints who are
Church of St. Gregory of Nyssa |
at Ephesus,” or some such
place. He means the entire assembly of Christians there.
It is pretty clear that All Saints celebrates all three
categories of persons. But precisely
because saints are seen to be moral and religious exemplars, most of us are
generally uncomfortable with the idea that we could seriously think of
ourselves as saints. And perhaps that is not altogether bad. Because if we
walked around thinking of ourselves as any more exemplary than we already do
(in some cases, not in all), we would have one huge problem of a world even fuller
of inflated egos.
Yet there is a
great big fly in the ointment. The irony is that the more reticent we are to
see ourselves as holy, the more likely we are to give ourselves permission to
oppose not just holiness but goodness as well. Drink that in for a moment. The
more reticent we are to see ourselves as saints, as holy people, the more
likely we are to give ourselves permission to oppose not just holiness but
goodness as well.
How so? You and I
both know that we have seen individuals, including our very own selves, who can
be shockingly insensitive, downright mean and nasty, perfectly hateful one
minute, and turn around the next and do something generous or nice or helpful. One
of the mysterious qualities of many of us is that we can be as sweet as pie on
an individual level—never coming close to doing something cruel or unkind to a
person we can actually see—but then turn out to be virulent haters of people
who are different from us that we deem unworthy of ordinary human decency, let
alone mercy. We continue to imagine that people who are personally congenial
and polite to friends and close associates wouldn’t think of lying or cheating
or stealing or taking advantage of the vulnerable or powerless. The truth of
the matter is that much of the time good behavior is popular because it is
socially approved, not because of some notion that it is connected with
holiness or sanctity. We are good generally because it pays to be good, and we
get complimented when we are. We are trained to be good and most of us are—to a
point. More bluntly, we are ready to be good when it suits us to be, but ready
to excuse ourselves from goodness when we find it inconvenient or taxing.
But are we saintly?
Holy? Not only are we reluctant to see ourselves as either of those things, but
few of us aspire to be much different from what we already are. Unless, of
course, what we are is so uncomfortable for us that improvement seems to be the
better course. What would it mean to be saintly? To be holy? To take seriously
our vocation to live—dare we say it?—as the baptized
persons we actually are?
Christ dancing, Church of St. Gregory of Nyssa |
That is actually
how saints are made: by baptism. But not because baptism is something magical that
transmutes common people immediately into examples of holiness. It is because
to be a baptized person is to be on a lifelong pilgrimage to explore what the
Life of God is all about and how we can embody that life as Jesus did. You see,
Jesus was not about pointing to himself as an object of worship, but rather
modeling for humanity what a life lived in union with God is truly like. That
is what holiness or sanctity really
is: taking on the characteristics of the heavenly One, and living as nearly as
possible as God is. That is why, by
the way, that Jesus is so indispensable to the would-be lover of God sharing
God’s life: he demonstrates in his words, life, and death just what it is for a
human being to embody God. Impossible? Of course. But in and with God, all
things are possible, even the transformation of quite ordinary people into very
extraordinary human beings.
In the Baptismal
Covenant we answer five questions after we have confessed our faith.
· Will we continue in that faith, the apostles’
teaching and fellowship, in the breaking of bread, and in the prayers of the
Church?
· Will we, whenever we fall into sin, repent
and return to the Lord?
· Will we proclaim not only by word but also
by example the Good News of God in Christ?
· Will we seek and serve Christ in all
persons loving our neighbors as ourselves?
· Will we strive for justice and peace among
all people and respect the dignity of every human being?[2]
Baptized in the River Jordan |
St. Dallán Forgaill |
One way to put it
is to let the vision of God be your vision for yourself. That is far from
having an ego two sizes or more too large. It is indeed a way of losing your
life—that is your cramped, false self—in exchange for the true Self that
amounts to becoming the Christ who already lives within you. There once was a
man known as a saint who left the world some words that have inspired thousands
since they first were spoken and written in the 8th century, or maybe as early
as the 6th, and translated into English and other languages in the early 20th
century. Their supposed author is Saint Dallán Forgaill, who was said to be
have been blind, which would make them even a more powerful prayer, since they
are about true vision.
Be thou my vision, O Lord of my heart,
Naught be all else to me, save that thou art,
Thou my best thought by day or by night,
Waking or sleeping they presence my light.
Be thou my wisdom, and thou my true Word,
Thou ever with me and I with thee, Lord,
Thou my great Father, thine own may I be,
Thou in me dwelling and I one with thee.
Be thou my breastplate, my sword for the fight,
Be thou my whole armor, be thou my true might,
Be thou my soul’s shelter, be thou my strong tower,
O raise thou me heavenward, great Power of my power.
Riches I heed not, nor the world’s empty praise,
Be thou mine inheritance now and always,
Be thou and thou only the first in my heart,
O Sovereign of heaven, my treasure thou art.
High King of Heaven, when victory is won,
May I reach heaven’s joy, bright heaven’s Sun.
Great heart of my own heart, whatever befall,
Still be thou my vision, O ruler of all.[3]
Eastern Orthodox Baptism: candidates are naked and fully immersed symbolizing union with Christ's death, burial, and resurrection |
[1]
Quoted at https://www.crosswalk.com/faith/spiritual-life/inspiring-quotes/20-wise-quotes-from-g-k-chesterton.html,
accessed November 4, 2017.
[2] The Book of Common Prayer (New York: Church
Publishing Company, 1979), 305-306.
[3]
“Be thou my vision,” Irish ca. 8th century, translated by Mary Byrne
(1880-1931), versified by Eleanor Hull (1860-1935), as found in The New English Hymnal (Norwich: The
Canterbury Press, 1986, 1997), 339, and adapted by comparison with the text in The Hymnal 1982 (New York: The Church
Hymnal Corporation, 1982), 488, and other translations. A history of the text
may be found on the internet at https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Be_Thou_My_Vision,
accessed November 4, 2017.
1 comment:
Greetings from the UK. I enjoyed reading. God bless you.
Thank you. Love love, Andrew. Bye.
Post a Comment