Being saintly has different meanings to different people and in different locations. As a Baptist in South Louisiana, names and attributes floated around the fringes. Four have become more specifically important to me. As a high schooler, one March 19, a group of us got introduced to St. Joseph. I attended the teacher training school on the college campus and our learning to be home economics teachers loaded a group of giggly girls in a car for a night time ride on back roads to visit various Italian homes loaded with a variety of offerings to celebrate the breaking of a drought in Sicily way beyond anyone’s memory. Ladened tables spilled over from the dining room to the front yard. Gathered around under lights strung in tree branches were generations of family, neighbors and a few dogs. I would read announcements of locations in the New Orleans paper, and the church in Ponchatoula still celebrates. I think you have to have a certain ethnic heritage and an abundance of crayfish to properly honor the day.
The saint I try to stay on good terms with is Saint Anthony of Padua, affectionally known as Tony. He first intervened in my life in May, 1985. All the students of a K – 8th grade school were gathered noisedly in the school gym to wrap up an end of year Field Day. I reached up and one of a favorite pair of earrings was gone. I bent down to sweep my hands between moving feet. My Catholic friend questioned why and immediately said, “Stand up, turn around three times, and chant, ‘Tony, Tony, look around. Something’s lost that must be found.'” And, lo, there it was in front of me. Through the years I’ve had other validations, one as recent as this past week. Though that one involved a book that took two months to show up. I still believe.
Then two saints are just women I’m glad I know existed and can call to mind. Julian of Norwich may or may not be canonized depending where you get your information. She is called an anchoress, one who chooses to live alone next to a church and offer wisdom. Her bedrock statement is “all shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.” Some mornings that gives stability to the jello that I feel surrounds me. The last I’ve just learned of. Formally she is designated as St. Thérèse of Lisieux; fondly she is called “Little Flower.” She felt unable to meet the great deeds and miracles of some saints, yet she committed herself to doing small deeds with great love. I can take a deep breath and accomplish one or two of those myself. I feel confident of this. I may not be voted a saint by those who confer the appellation, yet I’ve already been given the reason for trying.
However, you are chosen people, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, people who belong to God. You were chosen to tell about the excellent qualities of God, who called you out of darkness into his marvelous light.
1 Peter 2:9
Let Me Tell Ya 