Solemnity of All Saints
Today is All Saint’s Day. This has always been one of the most treasured feast days for me. I remember being in middle school and dressing up as St. Maximillian Kolbe, St. Francis of Assisi, and St. Padre Pio. Every all Saint’s Day, the whole school was a melting pot of St. Lucies, Francises, Elizabeths, Dominics, and Joans of Arc. The sight of St. Loyola playing tetherball with St. Peter was spectacular.
Granted, to the teachers we all probably looked ridiculous and mildly scandalous. First of all we had costumes made of the most random materials. As Maximillian Kolbe I wore my mom’s pajamas (or something like them) in order to finish dressing in an outfit mildly resembling his concentration camp uniform. Other people wore cloaks and modified sheets, but we all looked fairly absurd running around in our elementary school perceptions of what the greats of our faith looked like.
There was also the humorously scandalous way that we did not embody our role models’ virtues. As St. Francis of Assisi, despite his poverty, I spent most of lunch talking about the video games I wished I owned. There were plenty of Therese of Lisieux’s that, forgetting about her ‘little way,’ complained about the menial tasks of homework. Even after presenting about St. Maximillan Kolbe’s heroically joyful final days in the starvation chamber, I complained about being hungry and wishing we could eat lunch sooner. Finally, without doubt, more than one elementary school Mary was a more obstinate and lethargic than we find in our Lady’s single-minded obedience.
The catch is, looking back on those days when we were an elementary of saints, I have a new perspective and appreciation for how our messy medley of the saints teaches me more about the life of a disciple. Looking back on those three years, I see all of our awkwardness and bumbling. At a different time I might have said that we did the saints a disservice. But now I look at that time and realize we were actually grounding them in reality. We were capturing who they are, and who we are in the eyes of God; children.
We are God’s children in need of help and care. We might know that about ourselves, but we can fall into the trap of making the saints superheroes. However, my middle school experience reminds me that they could have all been superzeroes without God’s grace. I had no clue how close our school day renditions were to the mark. Not for accuracy in presentation, but because we portrayed the saints as children. Today’s reading from John, however, convicted me that we were on point.
John wrote these words in his first letter, “See what love the Father has bestowed on us that we may be called the children of God. Yet so we are. The reason the world does not know us is that it did not know him. Beloved, we are God’s children now; what we shall be has not yet been revealed. We do know that when it is revealed we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is.” Taking these words to heart I’m reminded of how often I fail to allow myself to be a child before God. I try to hide my awkwardness, my fleeting excitements, and my wonder (as if I could have God all figured out). But John tells us that the life of holiness is to be a child of the Father. And the best way to live as a child of the Father is to be a disciple of the Son. To put on the character of the Son. Father Satish explained to our college age ministry, that that is what the beatitudes are. They are the character of a disciple.
So this All Saints Day, remember the greats of our Faith, but remember them not as the Catholic equivalent of the Avengers and Superman. Rather, remember their childlike dependence on God. While last night you may have dressed as any number of things, going forth from this day, put on the character of the saints. Not as a costume, but as a lifestyle. And not brown cloaks, sandals, or your mom’s pajamas, but put on the character of the Son and the disciple. Put on the Beatitudes as you awkwardly allow yourself to be the Father’s child and allow His love to make you a saint.
- Spencer Hargadon