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ST LOUIS. MO.



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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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