As a child, glass shelves in my bedroom held an array of music boxes. A favorite was an insect band with painted wooden bodies and instruments perched on skinny arms. Their stage was a wooden hexagon with verdant velvet grass. A small crank with a red ball on the end made the music play.
“Oh, Lord, I want to be in that number
When the saints come marching in.”
With each turn, the tempo increased as I imagined the tiny performers marching us to heaven in ecstasy. Fascinated with my insect friends and their song, I wanted “to be in that number,” too.
As a Pentecostal for over 20 years, I learned the Scriptures, including 1 Corinthians 1:2, where St. Paul refers to believers as “saints” in some translations, meaning “holy” or “set apart.” Over the past few years as I’ve been drawn to Catholicism, the religion of my father’s side of the family, the canonization of some people as capital “S” Saints was a stumbling block for me.
LISTEN: Why Do We Need the Intercessions of Saints?
Idolatry, futility in praying to “dead” people, and Jesus as our only mediator between God and man were just a few of the arguments I’d heard Protestants make over the years. Even social media posts by popular Christian leaders attracted ire, with me and other Catholics who try to comment and engage respectfully facing backlash.. Yet a gentle voice continued to whisper, heaven has more help than you know. I already believed Jesus was the only mediator for salvation and discovered that Catholics do, too. Asking the saints to pray for me seemed plausible, like asking a friend to pray, but awkward even after researching and asking other Catholics. Was I talking to the dead?
About halfway through OCIA classes, I went to sit in the quiet of St. Mary’s, a chapel where my father’s family had worshiped for generations. Surrounded by the large stained-glass windows, each depicting a saint, something within me trembled in fear. Was I being led astray? I was wary of communing with entities not of God. It was time for me to take what I was learning and lay it all before him. My heart is to honor you, Father, help me see what is true.
A portrait of St. Catherine of Alexandria caught my eye. Roman Emperor Maxentius tried to murder her on a spiked wheel which allegedly broke at her touch. She was then beheaded and is now shown with a palm leaf, the sign of her martyrdom, and a large wheel, and is the patron saint of mechanics and those who work with wheels. Now, in my humble opinion, this seems a bit of a stretch. I can appreciate the symbolism, but would I entrust a flat tire on the highway to her help?
LISTEN: How Do I Pray to the Saints Without Worshiping Them?
I thought of my late father who supported his family as an electric lineman, a difficult job he often disliked. Forced to work outside in all elements, overcome his fear of heights, and risk the danger involved with electricity, he was glad to take early retirement.
Somewhat irreverently, I had joked with my cousin, one of my sponsors, “Can you imagine dad being the patron saint of electricity?”
I envisioned him trying to relax in heaven after a long life of work, constantly bombarded with prayers for power outages and overloaded circuits during summer. We laughed when I told her I imagined him responding much the same as he did when we were children seeking him out at the most inopportune time with one problem or another.
“Dear Lord, can’t these people leave me alone for five minutes?” he would mutter under his breath as he walked away shaking his head.
“Can’t you hear him,” I’d said in the pew before Mass, barely able to breathe since I was laughing so hard. “For crying out loud, please stop asking for my help and just call your local electric company!”
RELATED: How Do the Saints Hear Our Prayers?
It wasn’t as funny when, a week later, a rain storm caused a power outage. Frightened by the loud pops and flying sparks, I felt rebuked as I remembered my joke — and how despite his grumbling, he would always return, steam vented and mood improved, to help us sort out whatever we needed. Only human, he loved us with everything he had. Shed of earthly burdens, how much more could he love us now?
Sitting in front of the darkening sanctuary, it became clear. God is eternal and God is love. Wouldn’t it also be true that those who love God would also be eternal, as would their love? Viewing the saints through the eyes of eternal love, made in the image of God and now triumphant, it was impossible for me to believe their love for us here on earth would have decreased or that they would be removed from our cares and needs. Rather, seeing from heaven’s perspective, in God’s glorious presence, they would love us all the more.
With this thought singing through my head, I eagerly accepted my dad and other departed loved ones, as well as the saints who know my name because we are all family in Christ, were praying for me. Like any loving family, they were here to help.
