This month's Bright Maidens blogging prompt is about saint stories. The Communion of Saints is one of my favorite things about being Catholic. As an historian, I love this personal connection to the past. (Who wouldn't want to communicate with their personal heroes from past centuries?) The holy people we hear about in scripture and Church history aren't just distant, foreboding role models of unattainable perfection. They're our brothers and sisters who root for us and want to be our friends.
Finding your patron saints is an unpredictable process.Sometimes you're naturally drawn to someone whose personality is like yours or whose story excites you. At other times someone unknown collides with your life in an unexpected way. There are too many saints to know them all, however, and you can't force a patron connection. Just because a friend has a fanatical devotion to St. Anthony doesn't mean you must, too. Believe me, I have tried many times to make St. Therese of Lisieux happen, but we just don't seem destined to be BFFs. Instead, my journey through life has brought other interesting holy people into my path.
When I was a 14 year old confirmandus, I decided to be an ornery hipster and pick an underdog saint no one else had ever heard of. Cecelia, Teresa, and Mary were waaay too played out. An obscure Catholic coloring book led me to St. Philomena, an early virgin martyr so obscure she doesn't have a feast day anymore. But her execution story was epic, the stories of miracles surrounding her relics were exciting, and more mainstream St. John Vianney was a fan. Looking back, she was actually the perfect choice for my future career. Contested historical narratives, 19th century archaeological finds, and popular cults surrounding artifacts are some of my favorite research topics. Whether Diocletian really had the hots for her or not, the spiritual significance of her intercession can't be denied.
Since then I've found new favorite saints in a way that suggests they have chosen me, or at least that Divine Providence has led me to them. St. Vincent de Paul meant nothing to me until a Methodist friend of a friend in college told me about the Vincentian Service Corps and got me started on my service year in Missouri. While I was there I gained new affection for not only the Vincentian family of saints, but also St. Louis, King of France. This summer I got married in a church that happened to be named after St. Veronica, whose name means "true image." This could make her the patron of photography, a hobby my husband and I have shared since our earliest dates.
Lately I've been on the lookout for saintly role models who were married women, not teenage girls who swore off boys and then met violent ends. Ironically, this has brought me back to the very beginning of my patron saint history - the ones who share my name. My middle name is Elizabeth. When I was a little girl, I liked St. Elizabeth of Hungary of best since she was a queen, and therefore had the prettiest clothes. Recently I've realized that she, and Mother Seton, and even John the Baptist's mother, were all married women who loved their husbands and children. As I embark on a new phase of life living my vocation as a wife, I feel like these women are reaching out to their namesake, offering their support.
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| Domenico Ghirlandaio, Zacharias Writes Down the Name of his Son 1486-90, Fresco Cappella Tornabuoni, Santa Maria Novella, Florence |
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