Saints

http://www.catholic.com/blog/
matt-fradd/becoming-saints

“Thus, there is another definition of what a Saint is. It is this: One who, with the object of pleasing God, does his ordinary duties extraordinarily well. Such a life may be lived out without a single wonder in it, arouse little notice, be soon forgotten, and yet be the life of one of God's dearest friends.”  Frank Duff

Who is a saint?  Catholics and Protestants will wrangle over the precise definition, with some having a much more complicated formula than others.  As for me, I just know a saint when I see one.  In action.  Someone whose presence reveals a Transcendence that is beyond human, even though they themselves may not be aware of what they carry in the earthen vessel of their flesh.  When the pressure of a crisis bears down, true character is revealed.  Our family experienced a heart-wrenching tragedy recently with the sudden and unexpected death of my nephew.  In the midst of sorrow and questions and painful pragmatic details, I encountered saints.

The first saints we met was upon our arrival in the small Wyoming town for the funeral.  Every hotel, and there aren’t many, was booked solid.  This part of Wyoming is experiencing an oil ‘fracking’ boom so accommodations are hard to come by.  On short notice, a couple who knows our family welcomed my wife and I and our girls into their home, made us comfortable, fed us breakfast, cared for us.  Saints.

Then there was the pastor of the church who left behind a group of kids at summer camp and made a 150 mile drive to officiate the service.  Though it is a small church, he could have delegated the responsibility to his associate.  Another pastor who knew my nephew was there as well.  But, that home-town pastor made the drive, prayed with us before the service, spoke words of truth and comfort to those gathered, sat with family members for the meal afterwards.  Only when most of the cleanup was finished did he finally say his goodbyes and make that 150 mile drive back to his other responsibilities.  A saint.

There is something particularly wholesome about a shared meal after a funeral.  It is an older tradition not always followed.  Breaking bread together, mourners can share grief and fond memories with the helpful distraction of chewing when words fail.  But that is only possible if someone takes care of the preparation, serving, and cleanup for the meal.  In the crowded basement below the sanctuary, three ladies worked tirelessly to ensure that happened.  They seemed particularly grateful when I brought over a few abandoned, food-stained paper plates from my table.  Of course, they insisted that we take some of the leftovers home.  Three dear saints.

You might say, well that is just what people do at times like that.  No, ‘people’, that collective identifier for the individual components of humanity, do not do that.  Only ‘certain people’, those rare and unique treasures who make joys brighter and sorrows lighter and who in simplest sincerity will tell you that they are merely unworthy servants, doing their duty to their Master.  Saints. I am so thankful for them.  And if you look around, you will see them, too.