I want to be a saint.
I do not say this to impress you. Nor do I say it flippantly. In fact, it took me a very long time to say it in my heart, let alone out loud, to my wife.
And even then, she winced. Because like me, she assumed a declaration like that means putting yourself on a fast track to a life of poverty and a painful martyrdom.
To be fair, there is a non-zero chance of that happening.
Still, even with that very human, but very childlike perspective, I could not deny it any longer. I am nearly fifty years old as of this writing, and like many people, I have wondered about the purpose of life.
What is the point? Why am I here?
At long last, I have finally figured it out. Or, more accurately, accepted the truth.
The purpose of life is to become a saint.
If you polled one hundred people on what they thought the purpose of life is, I’d wager you might be hard-pressed to find even one person to say this.
Oh, you’d get some virtuous replies, such as to make a difference, to leave the world a little better than I found it, or to become the best version of myself. These, of course, are all side effects of becoming a saint.
Sadly, the way we live our lives betrays us, revealing what we actually believe the purpose of life to be. Our actions would suggest that the purpose of life is to make money, get ahead, and achieve status and acclaim. Being nice and doing good is a bonus.
The pursuit of happiness, which has been substituted in our present culture with the pursuit of comfort, is what drives us.
If it feels good, do it.
Buy this, upgrade that, wear these clothes, fix this part of your body, and take this drug, and your wildest dreams will come true. If that doesn’t work, you simply need to become a bestseller, attract more followers, lose a certain amount of weight, earn a particular award, or achieve a significant milestone, and then, finally, you will feel fulfilled.
Tell me, how is that working out for us?
By now, we should have all achieved enlightenment, no?
I’ve explored many of these paths and found them all wanting. Pursuit of anything other than Christ may yield temporary comfort, but ultimately, it does not satisfy.
Pope Benedict XVI nailed it when he said, “The world offers you comfort, but you were not made for comfort. You were made for greatness.”
The greatness he spoke about has nothing to do with any of the accomplishments or accolades previously mentioned.
True greatness is achieved by becoming a saint.
This reframe not only provides clarity about how we should spend our days, it also gives us some understanding about why our world is so messed up.
In short, God gave us the gift of free will because He didn’t want us to be mind-controlled robots. What we’ve done with the free will often leads to tragic and catastrophic results. This helps explain the dumpster fire that is our modern world.
But if God is all-powerful, why doesn’t He just clean up all our messes like a supernatural janitor?
A fair question, but what if He is using this mess to accomplish something even more miraculous?
Like turning us into saints.
I once heard Scott Hahn and Matt Fradd talking about this, but I’ve lost track of the exact quote. It went something like this: If your purpose is to become a saint, then suddenly the world looks like The Magic Kingdom at Disney World. There are so many options before you, a seemingly infinite number of paths to explore, all of which will help you become a saint. All of the brokenness, pain, and problems we see in our world are opportunities for us to dive in, get our hands dirty, and grow in virtue.
Pain and suffering are exactly what the world begs us to avoid, but they are essential ingredients of the Christian life. If you want to turn people into saints, this world is the place you’d put them.
If you start with this premise, everything — including pain and suffering — begins to make sense. The world becomes evident as a saint-making machine.
However, if you start with the world’s premise that we are to pursue happiness and seek comfort, things fall apart when plans go sideways and pain enters the scene.
Now, here’s the thing.
The moment you finally admit that yes, you do want to become a saint is the moment you begin to see how far you have to go.
Because at first, it’s tempting to think, “I’m a good person.” After all, it’s not like you murdered someone or sell drugs to children, and you’re even a good tipper, too.
Then you’re like me when my family watched a documentary about Carlo Acutis, one of our newest saints, who died at the age of sixteen. I see how holy he was and what he accomplished in his short life, and I conclude that he’s way out of my league. I have so far to go; I’ll never get there!
Then I think of some of my other favorites — St. Joseph, St. Philip Neri, St. John Paul II — and discouragement weighs me down like piles of dirt being thrown onto a casket in an open grave.
Me becoming a saint suddenly feels less likely than me growing wings and flying to the moon.
Mercifully, encouragement comes from another member of my Saint Posse, St. Teresa of Avila, who said:
“Many souls desire to fly before God gives them wings. They begin with good desires, with great fervor and determination to advance in virtue. Some actually give up all things for the sake of God. Then they see in others, who are farther along the way, great virtues to which they can only aspire. They read books about prayer and contemplation, about all they must do to achieve their spiritual goals, and they lose heart.
Do not be troubled but hope in the Lord. For if you desire to do the will of the Lord, if you pray and hope in the Lord and do what you can for yourself, God will bring about in your soul all that you desire. It is very, very important that our weak nature should have great confidence, and not be dismayed. We should think that if we do our best, we will be victorious.”
–St. Teresa of Avila
St. Bernard of Clairvaux also chimes in with this much-needed perspective: “A saint is not someone who never sins, but one who sins less and less frequently and gets up more and more quickly.”
Ok. Breathe, Jason. This goal may seem insurmountable, but with God, all things are possible. Baby steps.
Now, because it probably needs to be said, please understand that I am in no way suggesting that we can earn our way into heaven. That is not a feat any of us can achieve on our own, no matter how good or holy we may be.
But if we choose to follow Christ, we are called to imitate Him. And that’s what saints do, in their time, in their place, and in their particular way.
For too long, I was content to coast along as a Christian, trying to live a good life, secretly hoping God wouldn’t ask too much of me. I have tried to enjoy what I can of this life and, at the end of it, hoped to sneak into heaven by the skin of my teeth, thanks to the grace of our Good Jesus.
Am I the only one?
And it’s possible this may be exactly how it could go.
But how tragic that would be!
In the words of Leon Bloy, French novelist and Catholic mystic: “Life holds only one tragedy: not to have been a saint.”
It seems fitting that I am publishing this on November 1st, All Saints Day.
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