Many people around the world recently celebrated Halloween, a mashup holiday with its roots in the ancient Celtic harvest festival Samhain.
The Celts celebrated the beginning of winter with both a raucous bonfire feast and a holy, serene celebration of the Earth’s bounty. During these liminal nights between seasons, particularly on the eve of the final fall harvest, Celts believed the separation between this world and the afterlife became fluid, allowing spirits to visit loved ones and terrorize enemies.
Many of our contemporary Halloween rituals—and those of Christmas and Easter—have roots in Celtic tradition because, when Christianity arrived in the British Isles, the Catholic Church adapted the Celt’s Pagan rituals rather than banning them. Over the centuries, Samhain evolved into All Saints’ Day, celebrated November 1 by all Catholics and many Protestants.
All Saints’ Day provides us an opportunity to remember those who have moved beyond the fluid barriers of our physical reality, but it also invites us to consider, “What is a saint?”
Saints conjure images of piously perfect people. Dictionaries reinforce that image by defining a saint as someone who is “distinct because of their special relationship with God.” The illuminated stained glass windows of ancient, mystery-filled cathedrals memorialize the saint’s heroic deeds. Consequently, most of us associate sainthood with figures like the apostles, Mary, Moses, and Joan of Arc.
Unless, perhaps, we’re New Orleans football fans.
All the saints—including Jesus—were human. Imperfectly human, in fact. In some cases, these so-called “saints” only developed a conscience after a lifetime of pretty sinful behavior: the hedonistic escapades of Augustine, and the outright sociopathic behavior of Paul, when still Saul and relentlessly pursuing—and murdering—Jesus followers. To name just two of Christianity’s most influential thinkers.
In his autobiographical Confessions, Augustine recalls the significant portion of his life after the theft of a pear jumpstarts a mélange of debauchery, licentiousness, and gambling. Augustine wrote that he often committed these acts merely because they were considered “wrong.” He didn’t want the pear; he didn’t want the sexual promiscuity. He just wanted to do these things because they were forbidden.
Because he wanted to do things society said not to do, Augustine concluded that his character was inherently flawed. He then decided that everyone’s character is inherently flawed because, after all, none of us can resist the temptation to do something forbidden. Augustine used the story about Adam and Eve eating from the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil as an example of our inability to resist temptation, which he argues is the root cause of our bad behavior.
With much effort, Augustine does change his behavior (if not necessarily his thinking). His enlightenment came one evening when he heard a child’s voice telling him to read Paul’s letter to the church in Rome, especially chapter 13.
Romans 13.13-14 (CEB):
Let’s behave appropriately as people who live in the day, not in partying and getting drunk, not in sleeping around and obscene behavior, not in fighting and obsession. Instead, dress yourself with the Lord Jesus Christ, and don’t plan to indulge your selfish desires.
Paul’s sentiment hit the hard-partying Augustine like a jackhammer the morning after too many shots of rye at the local pub. While reading the passage, he had a mystical experience that changed how he thought and acted—a literal “sinner to saint” awakening. He eloquently describes his transformation:
Late have I loved Thee, O Lord; and behold,
Thou wast within and I without, and there I sought Thee.
Thou was with me when I was not with Thee.
Thou didst call, and cry, and burst my deafness.
Thou didst gleam, and glow, and dispel my blindness.
Thou didst touch me, and I burned for Thy peace.
For Thyself Thou hast made us,
And restless our hearts until in Thee they find their ease.
Late have I loved Thee, Thou Beauty ever old and ever new.
Augustine’s realization that God’s love is found within turned his world upside down. Suddenly, Augustine experienced God as the essence of being alive. He heard, saw, and emanated the unconditional, all-accepting love of God. Augustine changed his being and realized God was with him not only now, but that God had been with him even as he raved the night away at the local bordello.
After Augustine’s powerful transformation, he remained a fascinating contradiction. He urged the clergy to release their slaves but also thought God would pick and choose people for salvation. He was a champion of critical thinking and even formulated a pedagogy for teaching critical thinking to children. Yet, he interpreted the book of Genesis literally and was so anti-Semitic that he believed all Jews would be converted to Christianity at the end of time or go to hell.
Nobody’s perfect. Which is Augustine’s point, I suppose.
In a terrific piece for the CERC (Catholic Education Resource Center), philosophy professor Peter Kreeft describes saints as not exceptionally perfect, rare people, but as humanity’s standard operating model. While we recognize we are all imperfect (Kreeft is Catholic, so he uses the term “sinners”), we must also remember we are all made in the image of God, so we are ultimately holy. Kreeft writes, “All men, women, and children, born or unborn, beautiful or ugly, straight or gay, are holy, for they bear the image of God.” He is obviously a very progressive Catholic. God bless him.
Saints aren’t born naturally. They’re created over a lifetime of fumbles and forgiveness, of self-reflection on being human and the being of God, on a willingness to let go of fears, misconceptions, and certainties.
Saints aren’t rare. They’re everyday people committing ordinary acts of kindness. They’re everywhere.
Just look in the mirror to find one.
Amen.
Question: Who are your guiding saints?
