Why not be a saint? : Christ's call to all


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WHY NOT
BE A

SAINT?

Qhnsi^s £all to oAll

by

JOHN A. O’BRIEN. Ph. D.
The University of

Notre Dame

THE QUEEN’S WORK
3742 West Pine Boulevard

ST. LOUIS 8, MO.



Nihil ohstat:

Rev. J. E. Dillon

Censor Lihrorum

Imprimatur:

John Francis Noll

Bishop of Fort Wayne

August 15, 1943

First printing, March 1944

Any financial profit made by
the Central Office of the Sodality

will he used for the advancement

of the Sodality Movement and the
cause of Catholic Action.

Copyright, 1944

John A. O’Brien

O0sicwiiii0tf



Be you therefore perfect, as also your
heavenly Father is perfect

Matthew, 5, xlviii

WHY not be a saint?You shrug your shoulders and say:
'That may be all right for some pious

women who can spend the whole day on
their knees in prayer. That may be all
right for some unusual souls who climb the
lonely mountain path up to the summit, far
removed from mortals like me. That may
be all right for some singular individuals
who have no zest for this world, its pleas-
ures and its fun.

"But not for me. Fm not cut out to be
one of those alabaster saints with their eyes

always turned up toward heaven, disdain-
ing all the beauty of this world, scorning

all its joys. I like life. I like people. I like

fun. Include me outV^
Such is the reaction of many people,

young and old, in the world today. They
turn away from the most interesting,
romantic, fascinating, thrilling enterprise in

all the world. Why? Largely because they
do not understand what sainthood means.
They react unfavorably to the caricature
of sainthood which they have in their minds.

A Sissy?
.

They turn a deaf ear to the invitation of
the divine master: "Be you therefore
perfect, as also your heavenly Father is
perfect.’^ They think the career of a saint
is all right for pious women and nuns and



priests who have renounced the world and
its pleasures. But not for red-blooded,
vivacious young men and women. They
know the world has its dangers. They are
not ready however, like the saints, to run
away from these dangers. They have the
courage to face them, and they are con-
fident they can win without retreating.

Back in the minds of many young people
is the notion—often not expressed but pres-
ent nonetheless—that a saint is a sissy. He
flees the world, fearful of the thorns that

nestle among the flowers of life’s joys and
pleasures. He shies away from attractive
young people, fearful that he might fall in
love with them. He is forever running away
from danger. Many young people thus have
the idea that courage is not especially con-

spicuous among those who are called saints.
Today as perhaps never before courage is
in the forefront of all the virtues receiving

the world’s applause.

We will undertake to show that among
the most courageous of all people are the
saints of God. Never is courage lacking in
any saint. Always is it present to a supreme
degree. True the manner in which it ex-
presses itself may be different. But the
virtue is there in abundance. First of all

however let us consider the true ideal of
sainthood.

What Is a Saint?

What do we mean by a saint? An unat-
tractive, lackluster person who rarely, if
ever, smiles and who has little interest in
his fellows? A joy killer, solemn and dry,

1 -



who is forever wearying people with his
jeremiads about the vanities of the world

and frightening them with his predictions
of divine wrath? These seem to be the com-
mon conceptions. They are however carica-
tures which have little resemblance to the

reality, caricatures which cause people to

shy away from the ideal of sainthood be-
cause they find it so unappealing.

Contrary to this too prevalent misconcep-

tion a saint is the most attractive and
likable of all people. He is filled with a
constant love of God and of all His children.
He is joyous, serene, and considerate. In
his veins runs the milk of human kindness.
True he retains his individual characteris-
tics. For sanctity shines through the
stained-glass windows of human nature with
its unending variations in temperament and
personality.

Undoubtedly the distinguishing mark of
eminent holiness is an all-embracing love
which harbors no resentments and knows
no grudges. In the countenances of all men
—white, black, yellow, brown—it sees the
lineaments of the face of Christ. Sanctity

means putting into practice the implica-
tions of the mighty truths of the Father-
hood of God and the brotherhood of man.
The supreme joy in life is the quest for
sainthood. The supreme tragedy is the loss
of it.

No other truth needs to be driven home
more urgently to the masses of people than
the real nature of sanctity. The widespread
impression that a saint is some kind of

— 5 ^



queer individual who holds himself aloof
from the interests and joys of human life
and radiates gloom has undoubtedly alien-
ated the ideal of sainthood from many peo-
ple. It is time to point out that healthy

common sense, cheerfulness, kindliness,
courage, and unfailing love are the authen-
tic marks of sainthood. In fact saintliness
may be defined simply as common sense
raised to the nth degree. There is no
pathology in genuine holiness but only in

its masquerade.

A Hierarchy of Values

Saints are invariably men and women of
outstanding courage. Why? Because they
keep close to the source of all courage, God
Himself. They do this because they have
worked out a coherent scheme of values
which is the essence of a philosophy of life.

The failure of many lives is traceable to
these people^s neglect to establish a rational

hierarchy of values and to make their
actions conform to that scale.

With the saints the hierarchy of values is
clearly defined. There are things of physical
value. These minister to the needs of the

body and the pleasures of the senses. They
are not to be depreciated. But their limits
are marked. The mistake which many
worldings make is to esteem these things
objects of supreme value, the goals of their
lifelong striving. The inevitable end of such
a quest is dust and ashes.

Of higher value are the things which
minister to the mind of man. As the mind

— 6 —



is superior to the body, the things which

conduce to the growth and development of
the mind rank above the objects of physical
value. The search for beauty and truth
distinguishes homo sapiens from the brute
animals, who never rise higher than the
pursuit of food and drink and the satisfac-
tion of the physical appetites. Knowledge,

beauty, truth, wisdom are the objectives of
man’s long intellectual quest. While they
are intangible and are unamenable to being
measured by any mechanical measuring
rods and scales, they are of enormous im-
portance in enabling a man to be truly
human, to live in that category of the mind
and imagination whither the brutes never
enter.

Higher still in the scale of values are
those things which minister to man’s spirit-
ual growth and progress. Justice, righteous-
ness, mercy, honor, love . . . Who will weigh
their worth or set limits to their value?
The achievement of these ethical values
renders man a being of unique dignity and
transcendental worth. They make his face
to shine with a divine radiance and with a
glory brighter than that of setting suns.

It is the possession of these spiritual values

which makes a man godlike — the human
image of the divine.

The Important Thing

Life presents a miscellany of values. The
person who is to achieve integration of
character must single out the highest of
these values and commit himself to them

— 7 —



through thick and thin. He cannot espouse
them all but must learn to put first things
first. The initial task therefore in the form-
ing of a philosophy of life is that of selec-

tion. “The seeker of his truest, strongest,
deepest self,” points out William James,

“must review the list carefully and pick out
the one on which to stake his salvation.” It
is upon the validity of the spiritual values
that the saint stakes his all.

A friend once wrote to the Russian novel-
ist Ivan Turgenev: “It seems to me that to
put oneself in the second place is the whole
significance of life.” Turgenev thought
otherwise. “It seems to me,” he replied, “to

discover what to put before oneself in the
first place is the whole problem of life.”

Christ is the being whom all the saints put
before themselves. They commit themselves
without reserve to the spiritual values which

were embodied in their fullness in His min-
istry of redemptive love and sacrificial serv-
ice for mankind. It is loyalty to Christ that

pulls the trigger of the energy of their

minds and hearts and souls, issuing in deeds
of kindliness and love. Surrendering him-
self to the highest, the prayer of every

heart is:

Make me a captive. Lord,
And then I shall he free;
Force me to render up my sword.
And I shall conqWor he.

It is the distinction of saints that they

not only profess such a hierarchical code of

values but also translate it into action.

They organize the mob of conflicting appe-

— 8



tites into orderly battalions which respect

the commands of superiors. With saints
there is no disparagement of physical and
intellectual goods.

There is however a refusal to sacrifice a
spiritual good for either of these and an
unwavering insistence upon the sovereignty
of the spiritual. That is why martyrs before
they went forth to the arena, the swords-
man’s block, or the fire were able to say
with deadly earnestness to their followers:

‘‘Fear not those who can destroy only the
body. Fear God alone. For only He has
dominion over both body and soul.” The
life of every saint illustrates the truth of

Professor Alfred Whitehead’s observation:

“True courage is, not the brutal force of
vulgar heroes, but the firm resolve of virtue

and reason.”

St. Augustine

Though St. Augustine had for some years
past given theoretical assent to such a

hierarchy of values, he had not been able
to put it into practice. His conversion sig-

nalizes his emancipation from the chains
of physical passion and the pride of intel-
lect. His story of his emancipation is an

epic in will power and in courage. His two
^vills, “one old, one new,” he wrote, “one

of the spirit, one of the flesh, fought angrily

together, and my soul was on the rack.”

A companion read the “Life of St.
Anthony” to him. “Thou, Lord,” continues
St. Augustine, “in his words wast twisting
me back to myself . . . wast setting me

— 9



before my own face, that I might see how
foul I was, how distorted and filthy, how
soiled and ulcered. And if I tried to turn
my gaze from myself, the reader went on
reading, and thou didst thrust myself once
more before my own eyes . . . till I lay
naked to myself . . . and I kept saying : Let
it be now! Let it be now! And as I spoke,
I made towards the resolve, and I was all
but doing it, and I did it not. ... Yet I
stepped not wholly back, but I would stand
still hard by, and draw breath. And again I
would try . . . and all but—all but, I reached
and I held; and lo, I was not there. . . .
Those vanities, my loves of yore, kept
plucking softly at my robe of flesh, and
softly whispering—Wilt thou dismiss us?
and from this moment shall not this and
that be allowed to thee any more for ever?^'

On the other side there seemed to stand
the army of the chaste, the strong, saying:
‘‘What these could do, cannot you?^^ The
words continued to haunt him. Then one
day as he sat in his garden, with the inner
conflict still raging, he heard a child’s voice

singing some nursery rhyme : “Take it, read
it; take it, read it.” Opening the Scriptures,
he read: “Not in rioting and drunkenness
. . . and impurities . . . but put ye on the
Lord Jesus Christ, and make not provision
for the flesh in its concupiscences.”

Here then was the challenge.. Would he
be courageous enough to accept it? His
smoldering courage rose to a mighty flame

as he seized the gauntlet flung down to him.
His decision was made, his course was set

— 10 —



as he left that garden. He was to become
a towering hero in the vanguard of the
Lord and make Africa fragrant with the
sweet odor of his virtue. What a new com-
plexion courage puts on every situation in

life!

St. Francis Xavier

Consider the role that courage played in

the life of St. Francis Xavier. Born of a
noble family and accustomed to the com-
forts of the wealthy, Francis answered the
plea for missionaries to the Orient. Sailing

from Lisbon in April, 1539, Francis did not
reach India till May of the next year, after
a ghastly voyage. The emigrants on the boat
were the very scum of Portugal. For these
rude, profane, and panic-stricken people
Francis, though sick himself, sacrificed all

—his food, his clothing, his cabin.
With indefatigable zeal he labored among

the natives of Goa, India, sharing their

meager food and primitive conditions of
living. He brought the tidings of Christ’s
Gospel to laborers at the Paravar pearl
fisheries and exemplified those teachings in
his own life. From 1542 to 1544, Francis
made the six-hundred-mile journey to Cape
Comorin and back thirteen times. He moved
in a world of dysentery, malaria, elephanti-
asis, enduring every hardship with a smile.

So effective were his labors that some thirty-
thousand converts were won for Christ by
1545. Thence he carried the banner of
Christ to Ceylon, to sensuous Malacca, to

the Papuan natives, to the head-hunters of

— 11 —



Borneo, to the cannibals of Ceram, and to
the superstitious pagans in the Moluccas.

The Greatest Happiness

Worn out by his long traveling, thrice
shipwrecked, attacked by Mohammedans,
forced to hide in the bush, he often starved.

Did he complain or whimper about his hard
lot, his torturing isolation from the cultured
companions of his European homeland?

^‘Never,^^ he wrote, “have I been happier
elsewhere, nor more continuously.’^

The intimate companionship of Christ
transmuted all these sufferings into joy and
kindled a courage that quailed before no
odds. “Who is he that can hurt you,” he
was accustomed to ask, in the words of
St. Peter, “if you be zealous of good?”
Here is the transparent source of that flam-
ing courage which wrote the name of Christ
high in the skies of the Orient and deeper
still in the hearts of its children.

Francis was not yet ready however to
rest upon his oars. There were the islands
of Japan which still renfained to be brought
under the sweet yoke of Christ. With
meticulous care he prepared for that con-

quest. He studied the language and trans-
lated St. Matthew’s Gospel into the
Japanese and learned it by heart. Then like
a modern Godfrey de Bouillon advancing
to attack a Saracen stronghold, Francis

marched on singlehanded for the conquest
of the land of the Rising Sun. So deeply

did he plant the faith of Christ in the hearts

of the Nipponese that neither the attrition

— 12 —



of four centuries of circumambient pagan-

ism nor the persecution of Shinto emperors

has been able to eradicate that ancient

Christian colony.

A Symbol of Courage

There still loomed up before Francis
however the land of China with its teeming
millions. How ardently Francis yearned to
bring to them the life-giving Gospel of
Christ. At last in 1552 he sailed for China
but was able to reach only the island of
Sancian, off the coast of the Chinese main-

land. Sick with fever and attacked by
shivering fits, he grew too weak to continue.

“Shall I reach China?” he wrote. “I do
not know. Everything is against it.”

Alone, with only a Malabar servant and
a Chinese boy, his condition became worse.
Though bled and rebled, he passed into
delirium. He now reverted to the language
of his childhood, Basque. Constantly on his

lips was the name he loved most of all

—

the name of Jesus. Under his black cassock
were the signatures of his dear friends in
distant Spain and Rome, signatures he had
cut from their letters and which along with
a copy of the vows he had made to Christ
he wore next to his heart.

In His Service

My friend Father Charles C. Martindale,
S. J., of Oxford, in his book “What Are
Saints?” sketches thus vividly the deathbed
scene of this bold warrior for Christ: “Im-
agine a mere frame-work of a hut, the palm-
leaf thatch in fragments; the vind, setting

- 13 —



the little lamp flaring and flickering; the
ceaseless sound of waves

; the Crucifix,

fastened up by the Chinaman, with China
invisible behind it, and the white face and
shining eyes of Francis, who was all but
speechless now, seeing nothing but the
Crucifix, the memorial of Christ and of His
death. Now were the maps rolled up; now
was the travelling done with. Now was
Ignatius, far away at his desk in Rome, now
was even he bidden a last farewell. Now
was the thrill of Paris, and now was the
home in Spain—since which he had known
no home—handed over to God, and left
there. ^Into Thy hands’ I commend it all;
my life and my eternity. The night of
December 2 passed by. Only the Chinaman
watched by the dying Saint. At 2 o’clock
on the 3rd, when the winds and the waters
grew restless, Francis, too, stirred. The
unmistakable and ultimate change touched
him. The vigilant Native rose, put a lighted
candle into the hand of Francis, and held
it there. Perhaps, in the breeze of the dawn,

it expired. But at that same hour, all alone,
save for the Chinaman and the companion-
ship of Christ Crucified, Francis Xavier

died.”

Probably no other man since the days of
St. Paul won so many souls for Christ as
did this dauntless soldier of the Lord.

Despite the lapse of nearly four centuries

Christians of Goa, Travancore, Ceylon,

Mailapur, Japan, and the islands of Malay
Archipelago still thrill at the mention of his

name.

— 14 —



His coffin at Goa shows that he was small
in stature, having been only about five feet

tall, but he had the courage of a giant.
With St. Paul he was able to say: all
things we suffer tribulation, but are not dis-
tressed

;
we are straitened, but are not

destitute.’’ With the Psalmist too he could
say: ‘‘Though I should walk in the midst
of the shadow of death, I will fear no evils,
for thou art with me.” Soldier of peace,

athlete of God, conqueror of the Orient for

Christ, St. Francis Xavier stands as a sym-

bol of a courage that never waned in the
doing of gallant deeds of service for the

divine master.

Peter Claver

Apostle of Negro Slaves

The great apostle of Negro slaves is St.
Peter Claver. Graduated from the Uni-
versity of Barcelona, Peter decided to

devote his life to the service of the Lord.

Learning the sad plight of the slaves, Peter

cast his lot with them. In 1610 he landed
at Cartegena, where for forty-four years
he was the servant and the protector of the
unfortunate blacks who were torn away
from their homes in Africa to be beasts of
burden for the white man.

Early in the seventeenth century the

masters of Central and South America
needed laborers to cultivate the soil and
exploit the gold mines. The coasts of
Guinea, the Congo, the Angola became the
market for slave dealers. To these traf-
fickers petty kings sold their subjects and

— 15 --



their prisoners. Because of its position in
the Caribbean Sea, Cartagena became the
chief slave mart of the New World.

Each month saw a thousand or more
brought to its port. The slaves were bought
for a dollar and sold for two-hundred dol-
lars. Even though half the cargo might die,
the traffic remained enormously profitable.
Neither the censures of the Pope nor the
protests of churchmen could prevail against
the greed of the merchants. Unable to sup-
press the vile traffic, the missionaries strove

to alleviate it.

‘‘Black Cattle’’

Foremost among these missionaries was
Peter Claver. He met each boat and took
the fear-crazed slaves under his special care.
Their condition was pitiable' in the extreme.
They had been packed in bundles of six,
with chains around their necks and ankles,
wedged under decks where no sunshine ever
penetrated and in a stench into which no
white officer would put his head for fear
of his fainting. Once in twenty-four hours
^hey would be given water and maize. They
were called ^^black cattle’" and treated as
such. About a third died on board. Out of
one cargo of five hundred there died one
hundred and twenty in a single night.

When they arrived, they were covered
with sores, vermin, and filth. Frantically
homesick, half-crazed by fear because of
the brutal way in which they were treated,
and terror-stricken at the prospect of worse

evils in store for them, they were indeed

-16



objects of pity. Despite their awful stench,
Peter washed them, dressed their sores,
made beds for them, clothed them, spoke
words of kindness to them. Beneath the
repulsive countenance of each of them
Peter saw the lineaments of the gentle face
of Christ, and he caught an echo of the
divine voice whispering: ‘‘Amen I say to
you, as long as you did it to one of these
my least brethren, you did it to me.” If
each of them had been a king, Peter could
not have been kinder to them.

His solicitude was not limited to their
physical needs but embraced their spiritual
wants as well. He instructed them in the
teachings of Christ and baptized them. He
inquired of the needs of each and defended
them against their oppressors. He visited
the villages into which the slaves were sent
and continued to minister to them and to
attempt to curb the brutality of their

masters.

The Basic Truth

Opposition came not only from slave
traders but also from so-called Christians
who thought that Peter profaned the sacra-
ments by his administering them to these
“black cattle,” who, they intimated, scarcely
possessed a soul. Fashionable women of
Cartagena refused to enter the churches
where Peter conducted services for the
slaves. Thus was he caught between the
fire of the greedy slave merchants and that
of influential members of the Christian
community.

— 17 =-



Here a strange thing happened. Peter
had been of a timid and nonassertive
nature. But now that danger was threaten-
ing his flock, his latent courage rose to a

flame. Manfully did he stand his ground
and continue to blaze a new trail of kindli-
ness and mercy for the downtrodden and
enslaved black man. Engaging in no
recrimination, bearing his humiliations
patiently, Peter worked harder than ever

—

if that were possible—to win for his flock
in the eyes of all the essential dignity of

human personalities made in the image of
God.

Peter knew that if that basic truth could
be driven home to the conscience of all
Christians its implications would inevitably
trace themselves out in the amelioration of

the black men’s lot and in their eventual
emancipation. In his long ministry among
them he is said to have baptized more than
three hundred thousand slaves, raising them
to the high dignity of children of God and
heirs of heaven.

A Slave Made King

In addition to ministering to the Negro
slaves, Peter also labored for those other

afflicted creatures, the lepers at St. Lazarus.

Thither he would bring lint, bandages, oint-
ments, material for mosquito curtains. He
would assist in the dressing of their sores,
and the mantle of his cassock he was con-
tinually giving as a robe for the leprous, a

veil for lupus-gnawed faces, and a pillow

for the dying.



From the hospital Peter went to the
prisons. He would visit each inmate and
say a word of mercy and hope. He made it
a custom to be with the condemned man at
the time of his execution and also sought
to reconcile him beforehand with his God.
When ocassionally the rope would break,
he would take the shrieking victim in his
arms and hold him to his heart.

Toward the end of his life he was so
worn out and exhausted from his ceaseless
labors that he had to be strapped to his
horse when he made his rounds of the har-
bor, the prison, and the leper house. The
bottom edge of his cassock was always in
rags, as the slaves, prisoners, and lepers
tore shreds from it and venerated them as
the relics of a saint. They cut his signature
from certificates and fought for the very
hair the barber clipped from his head. The
towels stained with the blood that doctors

had drawn from him when he was sick
were treasured beyond all price. They were
regarded as were those cloths and kerchiefs
which were carried from the body of St.
Peter, as is recorded in the Acts of the

Apostles.

''St. Peter ClaveP'

Sometimes when a mob of Negroes were
running amuck, Peter would be sent for in
haste, and his very presence would quell
the riot. When an entire population was
fleeing from the vicinity of a volcano, Peter
would send them a message to remain there
till he arrived on the next day. They did
so. Then he led the Negroes, who were still

— 19 —



quivering with panic, around the still-active
crater and planted a cross on its lips. No
one was hurt. “The hesitating youth,'' says
his biographer, “had become the indomi-
table man, and walked serene along the
very razor-edge of peril."

When news of his death, on September
8, 1654, spread throughout the city, the
people rushed in throngs to his home. There
he lay, holding in his clenched hand his
little picture of the lay brother Alphonsus
Rodriguez, who first told him of the crying
needs of the West Indies missions. It was
Peter's way of saying thanks to the humble
doorkeeper at Majorca for his having
pointed to a field so ripe for service to the

most unfortunate of all God's creatures.
Then children filled the streets, refusing to
move, calling for “St. Peter Claver." Then
a new army assembled: It was an army of
the Negroes, who pushed their way through
all the throngs and broke through the guard
at the door to gaze for the last time upon
the face of their shepherd and their de-
fender, dearer to them than all the world.

Wellspring of Love

They stooped and kissed the floor of the
room that held his body, so sure were they
that he was a man filled full of God and
now His saint. No king expiring upon the
silken cushions of his regal bed ever left
such emptiness in the hearts of his subjects

as did Peter Claver in the hearts of the

Negro slaves, the prisoners, and the lepers
of Cartagena. He had declared himself “the

— 20



slave of the Negroes forever.” They made
him their uncrovmed king.

Peter Claver felled no enemy with his
sword, struck no one; even when abused,
he did not strike back. Yet his life was
filled with courageous deeds. It was not
mere sentiment that brought him hurrying
to meet each shipload of vermin-infested,
stinking slaves. It was courage and love.

So dreadful was the ordeal of washing
these Negroes and caring for them that
when the tolling bell sounded the arrival of
a new ship Peter would break out in a cold
sweat as he remembered the previous ex-
perience. Yet back and back and back again
he went during forty-four years. There is
the courage which rested for its support,

not upon flying banners or martial airs or
the plaudits of cheering multitudes, but

upon the principles of the nobility of serv-
ice to the downtrodden and the afflicted,
service done in the name of Jesus.

It was the courage of loving those who
were ugly, filthy, and stinking, and loving
them with all his heart, mind, soul, and
strength. It was the courage of fulfilling
Christas law of love when it was most dif-
ficult to do so. For an ounce of courage
that springs from hate, a ton flows from
the mighty wellspring of love. Love trans-
formed a hesitant, timid youth into a bold
and gallant servant of God, causing him to
blaze new trails through the dank, dark
jungles of our prejudice and greed, trails
which lead to the dawning of a new day of
social altruism and human brotherhood.

— 21 —



“Love Casteth Out Fear''

More and more psychologists, psychia-
trists, psychoanalysts, and all others who
deal with the problems of human behavior
are coming to recognize the supreme service
of love in the washing away of the mul-
titudinous mental quirks and complexes
which fear breeds. Love achieves the sim-
plest and the most effective catharsis of all
such phobias. It builds self-confidence and
courage.

Writing, not as a moralist, but as a good
psychologist, William James in his ‘‘The
Varieties of Religious Experience” ob-
served: “‘Love your enemies!^ Mark you,
not simply those who happen not to be your
friends, but your enemies, your positive
and active enemies. Either this is a mere
Oriental hyperbole, a bit of verbal extrava-

gance meaning only that we should, as far
as we can, abate our animosities, or else it
is sincere and literal.

“Outside of certain cases of intimate in-

dividual relation, it seldom has been taken

literally. Yet it makes one ask the ques-
tion: Can there in general be a level of
emotion so unifying, so obliterative of dif-

ferences between man and man, that even
enmity may come to be an irrevelant cir-
cumstance and fail to inhibit the friendlier
interests aroused? If positive well-wishing

could attain so supreme a degree of excite-

ment, those who are swayed by it might
well seem superhuman beings. Their life
would be morally discrete from the life of
other men, and there is no saying . . . what

— 22 —



the effects might be; they might conceiv-

ably transform the world.”

Saints like Peter Claver have played their

part in transforming the world from the
slavery-approving civilization of the seven-

teenth century to one that finds it abhorrent

in every way.

Christ and Statesmanship

Saints are people whose dominant motiva-
tion is, not fear, but love. That love extends

to ^11 mankind, even to one’s enemies. Love
dries up the pus pockets of hatred and
cauterizes them with deeds of kindly serv-
ice. “Fear is not in love,” says St. John,
the beloved disciple of Our Lord, “but per-
fect love casteth out fear, because fear

doth imply punishment, and he that feareth
is not perfected in love.” In that brief

utterance St. John has expressed a pro-
found psychological truth whose therapeutic
implications psychiatrists will be unraveling

to the end of time. The best way, both
morally and psychologically, to overcome
one’s enemies is to love them. Lincoln

perceived this truth and practiced it.

At a dinner in Washington he spoke
kindly and even in endearing terms of some
of the Confederates.

“I am surprised, Mr. President,” said an
elderly lady near by, “to hear you speak of
our enemies in such a kind way. I should

think you would seek to destroy them in-
stead of trying to love them.”

“But do I not destroy them as enemies,”



replied Lincoln, ‘‘when I make them our
friends

Such a procedure is not only good Chris-
tianity but good statesmanship as well.

Love rejoices in the excellence of others
and wishes them well. Jealousy is a per-
version of that capacity, twisting the sensi-

tiveness of the other’s superiority from its
legitimate path of rejoicing and into the
pathological tangents of petulance, peevish-

ness, anger, fear. “Against the superiority
of another,” said Goethe, “the only remedy
is love.”

Love enables a man to open wide his
eyes to another’s excellence, to admire and
rejoice in it; and thus he enriches himself
through his frank recognition. He shares
through appreciation in that excellence.
Excellence in others, like great works of
art, enriches all who view it with admira-
tion. The saints, with their supreme capacity
for loving all mankind and scorning all
temptations toward pettiness, envy, or self-
ishness, are thus like the immortal works

of art which enrich every generation, which

open the eyes of men to beauty.

Faith Breeds Courage

The saints are people of great faith. God
and the invisible realities of the spiritual
world are more vivid and real to them than
are the material objects which impinge upon
their senses. They are not bitten by doubts
which paralyze the nerves of action; nor

are they palsied with questionings which

transform forthright conduct into endless

vacillations. They are not fissured person-



alities but well-balanced, integrated per-

sonalities. They know where they are going
and how to get there. They are willing to
face opposition and endure hardship and
suffering in order to achieve their goal.

They know that as long as they have God
on their side they cannot lose. For God and
one constitute a majority.

In thus affording one a consciousness of

the presence of God, religious faith is a

source of courage. The doubter, the skeptic,
is exposed to a devastating sense of loneli-

ness and isolation. He feels like a seques-
tered being in an alien world. “How lonely
we are,” observ^es Thackeray, “in the world!
how selfish and secret ! everybody ! . . . Ah,
sir; a distinct universe walks about under
your hat and under mine; all things in
nature are different to each; the woman we
look at has not the same features, the dish
we eat from has not the same taste to the
one and the other; you and I are but a pair
of infinite isolations, with some fellow-
islands a little more or less near to us.”

While this feeling of isolation may come
at times to everyone, it is the skeptic who
is particularly haunted with this sense of

cosmic loneliness. To the believer dark skies
and rainy days may come, but he knows
they will pass and soon the sun will shine
again. He is at home in his Father’s vast
temple and knows that he can never wander
beyond the reach of the everlasting arms.

The Maid of Orleans

St. Joan of Arc offers a striking illustra-
tion. of the courage that springs from a



deep religious faith—her faith in the mis-
sion which she believed to have been
entrusted to her by God. A simple peasant
girl rides forth to drive the English from
Orleans and to crown the Dauphin Charles
king of France. In February of 1429, ac-
companied by six men-at-arms, she sets
forth on her perilous mission to the court
of the dauphin at Chinon. Her calm assur-
ance of the success of her mission overcomes
the doubts of Charles, who outfits for her
an army of about five thousand men.

Clothed in a coat of mail, armed with the
sword with which Charles Martel had van-
quished the Saracens, she rides at the head
of the army. She inspires them with her
confidence and fearlessness and leads them
to a brilliant victory at Orleans, forcing the

English to flee. All are agreed that the

victory is traceable chiefly to Joan’s ex-

traordinary pluck and daring leadership. In

a single week, with victories at Jargeau,

Beaugency, and Patay, the English are
driven beyond the Loire. Joan has now
made it possible for Charles to be crowned
king of France. On July 17, 1429, holding
the sacred banner, she stands beside Charles

at his coronation in the Cathedral of Reims.

In an unbelievably short time Joan’s
courage and determination have achieved

the impossible.

Patriotism and Religion

Neither did her pluck and bravery desert

her when, her mission accomplished, tribu-

lation fell like rain upon her. Condemned



as a heretic and a witch and about to be
burned at the stake in the street of Rouen,
she displayed the same calm demeanor, the
same fearless scorn of danger. Even when
the flames mounted around her, there were
no shrieking cries, no agonized pleading for

release from the flery death meted out to
her by the people whose country she had
freed and whose monarch she had crowned.
Here was a courage which eclipsed even her
spectacular victory at Orleans. ‘‘Courage in

strife,^’ observes H. M. Tomlinson, “is com-
mon enough; even the dogs have it. But
the courage which can face the ultimate
defeat of a life of good will . . . that is
different, that is victory.”

To the people of France, St. Joan of Arc
is a symbol of the twin virtues of patriotism
and religion, the love of country and the
love of God. In travels through France I
have found few if any statues of popular
heroes so ubiquitous in town and country-
side as those of the Maid of Orleans, with
her sword held high. To me she stands a
symbol of courage in victory and in defeat.
As Browning says:

. . . Through such souls alone,
God, stooping, shows sufficient of His light
For us in the dark to rise by. And I rise.
The life of every saint illustrates the

truth that religious faith begets calmness

and courage. When the Apostles awakened
Christ, fearful that the storm at sea would
capsize their frail bark, Christ laid bare the

source of their fear when He said: “Why
are you fearful, 0 ye of little faith?” Why

— 27 —



are you so foolish as to fear, the master
asks, when you know that I am with you?
Religious faith washes away fear and begets
an inner steadfastness upon which the out-
ward blows of adversity beat in vain.

The Anchor

When faith collapses, the dike of courage
is broken and fears sweep through the soul
like tidal waves. ‘^An atheist,’’ observes

John Buchan, ‘‘is a man who has no invisi-
ble means of support.” He is like a weather
vane, at the mercy of every wind that
blows. Psychiatrists in increasing numbers
are pointing out the value of a deep religi-

ous faith as an anchor to the windward.

“A man,” says Robert Louis Stevenson,
“should stop his. ears against paralysing

terror and run the race that is set before
him with a single mind.” This is precisely
what religion helps a man to do.

“The sovereign cure for worry,” observes
William James, “is religious faith. It sup-

plies motive power for action and the
enthusiasm which commits the whole man,

mind and heart and soul, to the undertak-
ing.” Says Oliver Wendell Holmes: “It’s

faith in something and enthusiasm that

makes life worth looking at.”

The weakness of Freud’s position was in
that he expected man to handle by his owr\
unaided will the disruptive forces of his

subconscious life. “Freud has unfortunately
overlooked,” Yung points out in his “Mod-
ern Man in Search of a Soul,” “the fact that
man has never yet been able singlehanded

- '2.8 —



to hold his own against the powers of dark-
ness—that is, of the unconscious. Man has
always stood in need of the spiritual help
which each individual’s own religion held
out to him. ... It is this which lifts him
out of his distress.”

The Power of Prayer

There is another powerful factor opera-
tive in the lives of saints which vivifies the
sense of the divine presence and enhances
their courage. That factor is prayer. Prayer
means essentially the drawing closer to God
by the raising of our mind to Him in adora-
tion and supplication and the opening of
one’s heart to Him in love. God is the
source of all strength and courage. It is
not possible for us to come close to that
divine source without our feeling the impact

of His strength and courage upon our soul.

No one who falls upon his knees in prayer
does not rise a better and a stronger man.
Above the doors of the Church of Our
Lady of Guadalupe in Cuernavaca, Mexico,
I read the simple inscription: **Entra buenOy

sal mejor”—‘^Enter a good person, leave a
better one.” Though the first part of the
injunction may not always be observed, the
latter always is. Tennyson recognized the
mighty and all-pervasive power of prayer
when he made his hero, the dying King
Arthur, say:

*‘More things are wrought by prayer
Than this world dreams of.**

No less an authority than Dr. Alexis Car-
rel not so long ago bore witness to the

29 —



power of prayer in the overcoming of
phobias, melancholy, and other complexes.
Writing in The Reader^s Digest (March,
1941), Dr. Carrel states: ‘‘As a physician,

I have seen men, after all other therapy had
failed, lifted out of disease and melancholy
by the serene effort of prayer. It is the
only power in the world that seems to over-
come the so-called ‘laws of nature’; the
occasions on which prayer has dramatically
done this have been termed ‘miracles.’

“But a constant, quieter miracle takes
place hourly in .the hearts of men and
women who have discovered that prayer
supplies them with a steady flow of sustain-
ing power in their daily lives. . . . When we
pray, we link ourselves with the inexhausti-
ble motive power that spins the universe.
We ask that a part of this power be appor-
tioned to our needs. Even in asking, our
human deficiencies are filled and we arise
strengthened and repaired.”

Because the saints were men and women
of prayer, they possessed great courage.

Christ set the example for all of us. Before
entering upon His Passion and death, He
retired to the Garden of Gethsemani to
engage in long and fervent prayer. When
He found the Apostles Peter, James, and
John, who had accompanied Him, fallen
asleep, He awakened them, saying: “What?
Could you not watch one hour with me?
Watch ye, and pray.” Arising from those
hours of prayer in the garden, Christ went
through the scourgings, the sufferings, and
the death upon Calvary’s gibbet with a

— 30 —



courage which is an inspiration to all men
and women who must bear a cross and
suffer.

A Troubadour of Christ

Among the most gentle and lovable of all
the saints of God is Francis of Assisi. He
has captured the hearts of all the world.

Even those of no faith turn wistful eyes
toward this troubadour of Christ, whose
love for everything in nature, animate and

inanimate, made him a minstrel singing
always the praises of God. Yet a careful
study of his life discloses that for all his

lightheartedness and mirth he was among
the most fearless of all. His love for every-
thing and everyone seemed to wash every
trace of fear from his soul. He offers a
perfect illustration of the truth of St. John’s

words: ‘‘Fear is not in love.”

As a youth he was a fastidious dresser, a
courtier of pleasure, a suitor of beauty,

eager for fun and merriment. He was
actually crowned as the king of revelers.
As he was riding across the Umbrian plain,
he met a leper begging alms. Francis had
always had a special horror of lepers. Put-
ting the spurs into his horse, he turned his
face away to escape the repulsive sight.
Then quickly he caught the echo of a voice
whispering; “Amen I say to you, as long as
you did it not to one of these least, neither
did you do it to me.” Reining in his steed,
he returned and dismounted. Taking all the
money he had, he gave it to the beggar and
kissed his hand.

— 31 —



II Poverello

It was the most difficult thing Francis
had ever done. But it marked the changing
point in his life. He had found his client
and his lifework. Henceforth he renounced
all riches that he might dedicate himself to
the lepers, the sick, to the ragged poor. His
bride henceforth was Lady Poverty. Even
the clothes on his back he surrendered.
With a cloak given to him by the bishop of
Assisi, he went off into the woods of Mount
Subasio, singing for joy. All the things of

nature, the wind, the sun, the sky, the

flowers, grass and trees, the birds and the
beasts of the field, were his possessions now,
his “brothers and sisters,^’ and God was his
treasure supreme.

His love for poverty has probably never

been surpassed. I saw in the church at
Assisi a lovely fresco by Giotto, depicting
the “holy nuptials of Francis with Lady
Poverty. It has been the theme of a thou-
sand poets, sculptors, and painters who have
found their imaginations stirred by a wed-
ding to so unusual a bride. It was because
Francis had the courage to try to walk so
faithfully in the footsteps of Him who did
not have whereon to lay His head that he
had so great a devotion to poverty. The
secret of this love, which, while it has pro-

voked admiration, has mystified so many, is
revealed in the following beautiful prayer,

which Francis addressed to his Lord:

“Poverty was in the crib, and like a faith-
ful squire she kept herself armed in the
great combat Thou didst wage for our re-

— 32 —



demption. During Thy Passion she alone
did not forsake Thee. Mary Thy Mother
stopped at the foot of the cross, but poverty

mounted it with Thee and clasped Thee in
her embrace unto the end; and when Thou
wast dying of thirst, as a watchful spouse
she prepared for Thee the gall. Thou didst
expire in the ardour of her embraces, nor

did she leave Thee when dead, 0 Lord
Jesus, for she allowed not Thy body to rest
elsewhere than in a borrowed grave. 0
poorest Jesus, the grace I beg of Thee is to
bestow on me the treasure of the highest
poverty. Grant that the distinctive mark of
our Order may be never to possess as its
own anything under the sun for the glory
of Thy name, and to have no other patri-
mony than begging.”

In this ardent love of poverty one finds

the keynote of the spirit of il Poverello and
of the Order which he founded. Does it
take courage to give up every earthly pos-
session and to live a life of poverty till
mother earth at last lends you six feet of
empty space? Try it, and see.

God-intoxicated Man”

While Francis was gentle to others, like
all the saints he was severe with himself.
Self-denial was his daily food and mortifica-
tion his close-fitting garment. So severe

was he with his body that when he came to
die he begged pardon of ‘‘brother ass the
body” for having treated it with such scant
courtesy. Yet instead of his mortification’s
making him gloomy or irritable, it height-,
ened his cheerfulness and deepened his joy.

— 33 —



His early love of song never waned, and
during his last illness he spent much of his
time in singing. A God-intoxicated man if
there ever was one, his love of God and of
all His creatures flowed from him in lan-
guage so tender that the words seem like
lyrics of love. Let me cite the prayer that
was almost hourly on his lips and then ask
if there exists in all the literature of the

world a prayer more beautiful:

‘‘Lord, make me an instrument of Thy
peace; where there is hatred, let me sow
love; where there is injury, pardon; where
there is doubt, faith

;
where there is despair,

hope; where there is sadness, joy.

“O Divine Master, grant that I may not
so much seek to be consoled as to console;
to be understood as to understand; to be

loved as to love; for it is in giving that we
receive, it is in pardoning that we are
pardoned, and it is in dying that we are
born to eternal life.’'

The Iron Chord

Where will one find such pregnancy, such
tenderness, such self-effacing love? Can a
man utter that prayer without rising from
his knees a better man? It is the unique
proof that Francis offers the world that the

highest courage is achieved in the losing of

oneself in the love of God and in the service
of His children. He who gains the victory
over himself achieves the supreme triumph.
He who empties himself in love and service
to the downtrodden, the afflicted, and the

— 34



ragged poor fills himself to overflowing with

joy and gladness.

Francis traced out in his daily life the

implications of the amazing paradox that a
man begins to live only when he forgets
himself in his absorption for the welfare of

others. Beneath the soft and gentle music
of social altruism and unselfish service the
ear, sensitive to the overtones, will not fail

to detect those tones coming ever and anon
from the iron chord of courage. The
courage of self-conquest, the courage of

joyous service, the courage of self-effacing

love.

No soldier with helmet and loaded gun
ever showed greater fearlessness than did
Francis. In 1212, Francis set out to preach

the Gospel to the Saracens. His vessel was
wrecked however, and he was compelled to
return. After preaching in the towns and
the countryside of Italy, Francis once again

set out for the East. He made his way to
Egypt, where Damietta was under siege by
the Crusaders.

From Lowest to Highest

Francis was not unaware of the treat-
ment meted out by the sultan to those who
fell into his hands. Yet he deliberately gave
himself up as a prisoner that he might be
taken before the sultan. Standing fear-

lessly before that mighty warrior, Francis
openly preached the Gospel of Christ. Prob-
ably never before in the history of the
world had quite such an incident taken
place. There was in Francis an intrepidity,

— 35 —



a complete indifference about his own safety
that made the sultan see at once that here
was no ordinary man. Overcome with won-
derment and awe at the strange spectacle,
the sultan sent him back safely to the Chris-
tian camp. The words of Milton in “Samson
Agonistes^^ depict the courage of Francis,

who

**Ran on embattelld armies clad in iron,

And weaponless himself
Made arms ridiculous.”

Francis sounded all the notes in the dia-

pason of courage. From the lowest — a
disregard of his physical safety — to the
highest, when he kissed the hand of the
leprous beggar and emptied himself in love

and service to the poor and the lowly, il

Poverello of Assisi went all the way.
Francis showed that gentleness, tenderness,
and love have an underlining of the iron
virtue.

The Franciscan Order, which encircles
the globe like a beautiful rosary of self-

effacing charity, is the lengthened shadow
of the personality of its Christlike founder.

True to the injunctions of its founder, the
Order flourishes, not among the rich and
powerful, but among the poor, the afflicted,
the lowly. For these were the clients of
Francis, and they are still the clients of
his Order and the objects of their special
predilection. No more authentic expression
of the spirit of Christ’s courage and love

will be found in the world today.

— 36 —



^‘Not I; But Christ"

Most men shrink from suffering and
death. Yet with the example of Christ
before his eyes, St. Peter had the courage
not only to face his executioners calmly but

also to request them to crucify him head
downward, saying that he was not worthy
to be crucified after the manner of his Lord.
The vast legion of men and women who
died as martyrs for their Christian faith

demonstrate that there is no power in the
external world which can crush the naked
soul of man when he is vivified by a death-
less faith and an invincible will. All the
saints and heroes and martyrs of the race
are monuments of courage against which
time \vill be both toothless and scytheless.

St. Paul offers a good illustration of the
transforming power of religious faith and
prayer. From a persecutor of the Christians
he was changed into one of the most tireless
propagators of the faith that ever lived.

He braved all the perils of the ancient world
and all the craftiness of man in his burning
zeal to extend the kingdom of God on earth.
He became a God-intoxicated man. With
truth was he able to say: ‘*We preach not
ourselves, but Jesus Christ our Lord.” In

telling of his many vicissitudes, he is quick
to tell also of the courage which streamed
from Christ to sustain him.

“In all things,” he says, “we suffer tribu-
lation, but are not distressed

;
we are

straitened, but are not destitute; we suffer
persecution, but are not forsaken; we are
cast down, but we perish not : always bear-



ing about in our body the mortification of
Jesus, that the life also of Jesus may be
made manifest in our bodies. For we who
live are always delivered unto death for
Jesus’ sake; that the life also of Jesus may
be made manifest in our mortal flesh.”

Through all his external activities —
traveling, preaching, writing — St. Paul
never suffered the inner life of prayer and
communion with God to lapse. On the con-
trary the intimacy of that union became
intensified so that he was able to say: ‘‘And
I live, now not 7; but Christ liveth in me.”
Was it any wonder then that nothing could
frighten or scare him? Who could harm
him? What power could hurt him?

.

Duty to Love . . .

“Who then,” he asked, “shall separate us
from the love of Christ? Shall tribulation?
or distress? or famine? or nakedness? or
danger? or persecution? or the sword? . . .
But in all these things we overcome, be-
cause of Him that hath loved us. For I
am sure that neither death, nor life, nor
apgels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor

things present, nor things to come, nor

might, nor height, nor depth, nor any other
creature shall be able to separate us from
the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus

our Lord.”

While St. Paul placed a tremendous em-

phasis upon the duty to love God, he did
not fail to underline the duty to love our

neighbor. Writing to the Galatians, he said

:

“For all the law is fulfilled in one word:



Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.
But if you bite and devour one another:
take heed you be not consumed one of an-
other.” Would that these words might be
written in the skies of all the world. If

they were but heeded by the nations, how
many cannons would cease to roar? and
how many millions of young lives would be
spared a holocaust of fire?

When at last his long voyaging for Christ
was finished, they led him out from his
underground prison at Rome and gave him
the opportunity he coveted: to seal his love

for Christ with his lifeblood. A half-dozen
soldiers hurried him down through the
squalid slums of the Tiber. He turned his
back on the theaters and palaces and tem-
ples of the Rome of Nero and went with
the soldiers down the Ostian way some three
miles out. Then they turned off to the left
into a little pinewoods, where a spring
flowed. Old, sick, lonely, worn out with his
incessant traveling, Christas servant was
stripped and flogged for the last time. His
body was bruised and bleeding, but his face
was radiant as he placed his head upon the
swordsman’s block.

“Better Than a Light”

Separate him from Christ? How he must
have smiled at the thought. Unwittingly
they were going to confer upon the Apostle
the favor he craved most of all. They were
going to unite him with Christ; now he
would reach the peak of that fulfillment of
which he spoke: ‘‘7 Zwe, now not 1; hut

— 39 —



Christ liveth m me” These are the words
that might well be carved upon the corner-
stone of the majestic temple St. Paul's Out-

side the Walls, which rises above his tomb
and into the skies of Rome. For in teaching
mankind the supreme importance of living
for, in, and with Christ, St. Paul marked
out for mankind the unfailing pathway that
leads to a courage that fears no enemies
and that never dies.

Thousands of years ago the Psalmist
declared: “The Lord is my light and my
salvation, whom shall I fear?" That has
been the light by which the saints, prophets,
and holy men and women of God in all
ages have walked the paths of courage,
righteousness, and honor.* Mankind, grop-
ing in the mists of uncertainty and doubt,
will find that when they walk in that light
their vision will become clearer, their foot-
steps surer; and in their hearts will echo
more steadily the music of the iron chord
of courage.

“Give me a light," implores the indi-
vidual struggling with the baffling con-

fusion and darkness of the present hour,

“that I may tread safely into the unknown."
The saints reply: “Go out into the dark-
ness, and put your hand in the hand of God.
That shall be to you better than a light and

safer than a known way." While clasping
that almighty hand, man will walk in the
footsteps of the saints, guided safely

through the labyrinth of a changing and

war-torn world, by a light that has never

failed.



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