Saints and Saints

TERESITA TANSECO-CRUZ

I have been thinking lately of a particular group of people who have passed this earth and share the common title of “Saint.” These were persons in a rarified state of holiness, living lives of staggering self-denial and sacrifice, service, suffering, and absolute surrender to God. I grew up “surrounded” by them but was galaxies away from them.

Later in life, I began to hear that we are called to be saints with a small “s.” We could and should, in our ordinariness, find our way to God without worrying about getting canonized. That is so much closer to my orbit, especially when the pictures of Saints show them consistently with serious and somber expressions, as though they never relaxed or had enjoyable times. Because while I have my modest share of pain and sacrifice, enjoyment is quite a stable fixture in my agenda.

So maybe Saints are always solemn, and we who aspire to be saints of the “smalls “ variety can also be good, help others and simultaneously have fun, go on vacations, eat sushi and watch Netflix.

Now comes the tricky part. I dig into my treasure chest of enjoyments and examine its content. For or instance, there is the unfailing joy of being with my family or friends…or the wonder of a glorious sunset and other breathtaking splendors of nature…or the chance to be present to a person in need or pain or mend a fractured relationship.

Then there’s the vast selection (24/7) of films  I can watch all night from my bed… or those delightful, wicked shops that snare me into buying yet another nice outfit or shoes that I don’t need but can’t resist. Or the somewhat puffy pride that leaves me pleased with myself for having done “something good” or being thought of well by others.

Such is the comfortable blend that one could call a good life. But somehow, meaning and relevance have insinuated themselves persistently as I have gotten older. And they raise only one question: how is my “good life” fulfilling God’s plans for me?

What if the aforementioned Netflix regularly accompanies me at bedtime instead of night prayers and thanksgiving? What if my ever-ready cellphone welcomes me to a new day instead of morning prayers and thanksgiving? What if in helping others, my “somewhat puffy pride” becomes a full-blown need, seeking continuous satisfaction? What if prowling the mall has to keep yielding one acquisition after another to indulge my vanity? WHAT IF – some of my “simple enjoyments” have turned to addicting habits, to attachments that bind and blind me, consuming my priorities and leaving little room for God’s plan for me?

The only way I can navigate the hazardous “what if’s” is through prayer…the kind of prayer which rests not in a string of words that anyone can recite, but prayer that is lived fully, actively, constantly in my personal relationship with and commitment to God…prayer that asks God for his trademark mercy so that I may stay rooted in my essence as His creation: to praise and love and serve Him through others and in everything I do…to enjoy doing in and with my life that which God enjoys seeing in me.

God never delays nor disappoints (remember Habakkuk). He tends to my “what ifs” and reveals to me not just my potential dramatic attachments but also t the deceivingly harmless ones already well-entrenched. My benign-sounding “pet peeves” actually bear dangerous attachments to vanity, control, and other such pernicious items from my extensive Ego Collection. So when God saves me (regularly) at the moment and place of struggle, I rejoice with indescribable gratefulness in the liberation and profound comfort that only He can give. I tread sacred ground in every rescue encountered, no matter how ordinary the setting – my kitchen, the bank, on the phone.

Paul Coutinho, SJ, says: “Life does not owe us pleasure; it offers us meaning…as a human being, a creation of God, I am invited to find my own meaning.”

I ask God to grant me the grace to keep finding my meaning in Him exclusively so that any enjoyment He allows me to have on this earth; I do not transform into deadly attachments.

I don’t feel so distant from Saints anymore since I found two kindred ones. Peter clung to Jesus despite unforgettable stumbles over impulsiveness and bravado. Ignatius, the soldier of Christ, fought in the trenches of our humanness solely to bring God glory. Yes, I can be a saint as long as I follow God’s path, for which Jesus lived and died, giving us the perfect road map.