“There is but one tragedy: not to be a saint.” – Catherine Doherty

“All the way to Heaven is Heaven.” – St. Catherine of Siena

Catherine Doherty relates in her book, Poustinia, the story of a family friend. This friend came to her father one day and said, “Theodore, I have been reading the gospels and I have decided, as so many before me, to accept them literally…I am going to gather my goods. I am leaving my farms, my real estate, to my family, but my money in the bank I am changing literally into silver and gold pieces.” They then went together to a poor neighborhood in St. Petersburg and personally gave out all of the man’s wealth. Afterwards, the friend said, “Now I have in some small measure ransomed the thirty pieces of silver for which God was sold. And now I must go.” Because this story is not one of a canonized saint, it felt real and reminded me of my desires for holiness, sainthood, and discipleship. It’s a reminder that this is a thing ordinary people can do; we can take the Gospels literally and allow them to transform our lives in one way or another. 

Like most Catholics, I grew up with stories of wonderful saints with colorful, radical lives transformed by Christ’s love. While these stories made an impression, I’ve definitely had a mixed relationship with the higher echelons of Christian life. Even though I’m drawn to the saints, I’m frequently overwhelmed and intimidated by such expressions of faith. When we hear of St. Francis of Assisi, for example, we feel the pressure to behave like him, to have nothing and live only for Christ. This is, to put it mildly, overwhelming to us ordinary folk. The bar is too high, and we have no way to get to there. When I was younger, hearing these stories was rarely motivating. Rather, the overwhelm made me reflexively turn away to lighter pursuits. Of course, that was to be expected; when we are not ready for a certain level of holiness, it appears so bright we have to look away, because what the saints are reflecting is God Godself.

Another source of overwhelm is in figuring out where holiness belongs in our lives. In the instances when I have been inspired to take on more devotions or to live more ethically in some way, I’ve wrestled with doubt that this either was an expression of self-righteousness or, in the case of ambitious prayer, that this was a pursuit only for those living a monastic life. It doesn’t help that much of mainstream liturgical Christian culture hinders laypeople pursuing ambitious personal spiritual development. The Gospels shout at us to not be complacent, that the “rich will be sent away empty,” that “you cannot serve God and mammon.” Despite the gravity of these readings, shaping ourselves in accordance with them is an effort rarely encouraged by our clergy and environment. However, Jacob’s Ladder, as seen in the patriarch’s dream, is often used by the early church fathers to be a metaphor for growing in virtue over our lives. Everyone is called to give up excesses and take on service for others until we reach the highest of heights. 

I’ve since come to the conclusion that none of this need be intimidating, and that God actually wants us to grow in virtue while still being gentle with ourselves. I’ve long been attracted to other faith traditions, namely Quakerism and Islam. I realize now that these two traditions emphasize the first few rungs on the “ladder to heaven” much better than my own tradition. They make it easier to be a good person and to build on that. Both Quakerism and Islam emphasize daily actions and ways of living that are expected of all their members, not a select few. 

Quakerism, or the Religious Society of Friends, rejects dogmatic religion, so it doesn’t have “rules” per se. Focusing on Quakers’ emphasis on simplicity and integrity, however, reveals that they do have community-driven expectations on how individual Friends might behave. For example, it’s quite common that Friends are vegetarian or only wear thrift shop clothing for sustainability reasons. Quakers have also historically “let their lives speak” on the topic of peace by refusing to participate in the military draft, engaging in tax resistance to avoid wealth going to the military industrial complex, or through protest in times of war. Their commitment to ethical and moral action in the here and now resounds through history; Quakers are known for being abolitionists and pacificists and for being egalitarian in gender far before the idea was widespread.

In regards to Islam, I draw inspiration from Muslims’ commitment to praying five times a day (salat) and to fasting during Ramadan (sawm). These are considered requirements in Islam, as they make up two of the five pillars. Salat prayers are separate from supplicatory prayer, and they must be said at defined times, the earliest of which is before dawn each day, regardless of season. Ordinary Muslims disrupt their daily work and other tasks to recommit themselves to God, a beautiful act that we Christians can also adopt through daily devotions or a personal practice of praying the liturgical hours. Ramadan fasting, which excludes food and water between sunrise and sunset, is also a requirement for all Muslims (barring medical issues). While we outsiders look on in awe, Muslims enthusiastically participate. While they do have community support which can’t be overstated, their witness invites me to ask myself what I can do for God? How can I stretch myself? 

I’m finding that practical day-to-day habits are bolstered by a broader concept of fasting—the magic of giving something up. Fasting doesn’t have to be a set of “no’s”, rather, it’s the idea of training ourselves for Heaven, when we will be united with Love. By teaching ourselves to recognize and prioritize Love in this life, thus bringing the Kingdom of Heaven to earth, well, that’s Heaven, isn’t it? By framing fasting in this way, I’ve found that I’m more able to give up little things for God, and that this enrichens daily habits of prayer and almsgiving. As Catherine Doherty says in her “Little Mandate” for the Madonna House, her apostolate: 

Sell all you possess. Give it directly, personally to the poor. What does that mean to us? It is deeply spiritual, though it has physical incarnations. Sell your desires that possess you or that you possess: desire for comfort, privacy. That glass of beer, that better mattress. I’m speaking of the little things…A desire is a precious thing to give away. It turns into a gem that you can give to God to put in a crown for somebody, somewhere.

With this way of thinking, there is no self-deprivation for deprivation’s sake, and suffering is not wrongly glorified and sought after. In fact, if your miniature fast feels that way, it is a sure path to burnout, which God never wants for us. God wants us to move ever closer to Godself; anything that moves us away is contrary to that, including extreme religiosity. So make that fast smaller, take a break, do whatever is needed to stay the course.

Ordinary people can absolutely work toward living our lives in holiness. There is no ceiling to this holiness and even the tiniest thing we can do is worth an infinite amount. If we want to build ourselves in love and virtue we ought to train ourselves. When we give something up there is both the immediate effect (giving to the poor, simplicity in our daily lives, or less participation in a harmful industry) which is worthwhile in and of itself, but there is also the metaphysical, the deeper, long-lasting spiritual benefits of performing a type of fasting. This is why giving something up, or taking on a special practice, is both a gift to God and a gift to oneself. I now see daily commitments to virtue as rungs on the ladder to Heaven and we have all the freedom in the world to start as small as we want and go as far as we want. If I can’t give away a little money, how will I ever give it all away? I may not ever be ready to do the latter, but if I don’t start doing the former, then it will certainly never happen. If I can’t face a small amount of social discomfort in standing up for someone being wronged in my workplace, how will I ever stand up when then cost is much higher? If we believe that the saints are not meant to be outliers but real examples to follow, then we need a way to get there. By recognizing love in our daily lives through habits of virtue, we will be ever more able to recognize Love in Heaven.