Leon Bloy, a French intellectual from the nineteenth century, once said “There is only one tragedy in the end, not to have been a saint.”
Wow. A tragedy… not to be a saint? I mean, wouldn't it be more realistic to say, what a shame, or a pity, or wouldn't it have been “nice” if, in the end, people thought I was saintly? Tragedy sounds a little too… dramatic, doesn't it?
We are surrounded by what many call tragedies these days; they are accidents that take young lives, crimes that take away our sense of safety, tsunamis, earthquakes, genocide. This thought — that in the end the only tragedy is not becoming a saint — this shifts our entire way of thinking, our entire view of the universe. It sets up a hierarchy whose peak reaches beyond our earthly lives and into eternity itself, reminding us that in the end, there is something more tragic than the loss of home or property or even our very waking and breathing here below: the loss of heaven.
“What profit is there for one to gain the whole world and forfeit his life?” Perhaps in our very comfortable routines, in our safe, secure, and air-conditioned environments, this comes as a shocking thought. Maybe it sounds archaic and unsettling. But that's the very point of it. In the light of the One Tragedy, all our other sufferings fall into their respective second, third and fourth places, and the gaps between the first and the rest becomes almost infinite.
With this renewed vision, we can see that God may be allowing the weight of these smaller tragedies to serve as that pressure for us that will ultimately create diamonds, if we hold fast in faith. Suffering in this light has become the chemistry for concocting saints. God allows the friction of this or that event for our ultimate good and wholeness, so that our hearts may be polished smooth like gems. A line from the Talmud reads “For we are like olives, only when we are crushed do we yield what is best in us.” We may want it another way, but sin, suffering and death have become our ancestral heritage. The path to holiness is now paved by the very real reactions we give them. When our focus is true, the loss of things here and now only reminds us of what's to come.
St. Stanislaus Kostka once said “I am destined for greater things. I want eternity.” This is what Monsieur Bloy is pointing us to: the loss of that robe of glory that we are called to be wrapped in and the danger that exists here and now of us ever trading it in for a cheap set of rags. This is what amounts to our deepest loss.
Pope John Paul II said we should not be afraid to become the saints of the new millennium. What do we envision when we hear this word “saint?” Is it a stoic, cookie-cutter marble statue with hands clenched in prayer? Is it a person who is always “nice” and never has a beer or laughs out loud or watches goofy movies? Is it someone who is really uptight about keeping all of the rules? Or is a saint a person from whom a mysterious joy radiates like a summer sun in Avalon? Is the saint the one person you know who always leaves you feeling better, deeper, refreshed in the soul? Who draws others in, and cares to listen and learn about you because you are you and you are speaking to him or her? Is the saint a person who is so enraptured by the Mystery of God that it makes you blush? Are saints the crazy ones who believe life is pregnant with God's life and that the victory of Truth is certain? If this is a glimmer of what sanctity really is — and it is — then how tragic indeed not to join their company.
© Copyright 2006 Catholic Exchange
Bill Donaghy teaches theology in Malvern, Pennsylvania, speaks on topics of faith, and lives in Lansdowne, Pennsylvania, with his wife Rebecca. You can visit his website and semi-serious blog at www.missionmoment.org.
