I don’t mean disrespect, but
I hope some future pope
will wise up and canonize
deceased people who,
though not Catholic, magnificently
embodied Christ’s
example and teachings. What
a giant step that would be in
acknowledging all of God’s
children!
Here’s my short list of towering
figures of my own lifetime,
ones whose practice of
virtue eclipses that of millions
of the avowedly pious. I think
I’ll send it to Pope Benedict
XVI, though probably it will
be tucked into some archive.
But maybe it’ll catch the
attention of some successor,
a few more popes down the
apostolic line:
MAHATMA GANDHI, that
gentle Hindu saint, once said
he’d gladly embrace Christianity
himself if he ever saw
people seriously practicing
it. By default, he took Jesus’
teachings, melded them into
his own faith tradition, and
spent a lifetime of simplicity
and selfless dedication.
He confronted the world’s
most powerful nation with
no weapons but compassion,
non-violence, and love;
and he broke their arrogant
spirit and sent them packing
from his country. Gandhi’s
reward was martyrdom at the
hands, perhaps inevitably, of
a religious zealot who could
not stand this peaceful sign of
contradiction.
MARTIN LUTHER KING, in
deep admiration of Gandhi,
drew the Hindu saint and
martyr’s example back into
his own devout Christianity.
With a prophet’s power and
surety, King preached equal
rights for all humans. For his
Christian witness to equality,
he suffered insults, indignities,
and physical violence
to match the ordeals of the
Mahatma. And, in the end, he
was murdered, like Gandhi, by
a true believer in the bigotry
he gently opposed.
And NELSON MANDELA,
deep admirer of Gandhi and
of King, spent almost thirty
years in prison for daring
to witness against apartheid
in South Africa. When
finally freed and elected the
country’s first Black president,
he firmly steered the huge
native population away from
any revenge on the tiny white
minority that had so abused
them and their human rights.
What a hero! What a saint!
Those three would be a
good start, thought Mandela’s
canonization would probably
have to wait until after his
death.
And so would recognition
of Bishop Desmond Tutu, who
also belongs on the list. If
you’d like to propose further
names, I’d welcome them and
will forward them along to
my brother Benedict in Rome.
While we’re at it, I also
want to note that you and I
constantly cross paths with
saints in our daily lives _ men
and women whose beautiful
virtue radiates from them in
loving service to others. Since
there’s little chance that the
Vatican will ever get around
to recognizing them, I’m going
to propose them to you
for canonization in the old
way, before the Pope got the
corner on the franchise. The
old way was by acclamation
by all the people. That’s we,
the people.
And so here's my short
list, first, of deceased locals
who were Saints in my book.
First, I offer for your acclamation
Saint George of Feed
Store Road. That’s Fly Creek’s
George Badgley, a Quaker’s
Quaker who blessed this area
with his ministry for the last
decades of his almost 100
years. George incarnated the
Friends’ ideals of simplicity,
peace-making, integrity, community,
and equality. He was
a tall, sober man, tempered
a bit by the Puritanism that
gave Quakerism its birth.
But he was generous and
great-hearted, too, and had a
sly humor that never failed to
delight.
The great work of George’s
later life was prison visitation.
He not only visited and
counseled at our local jail but
often followed prisoners that
he’d met there to visit them
at Auburn, Coxsackie, and
even to Woodbourne, the
forbidding maximum-security
prison in Sullivan County. (I
once visited the last-mentioned
with George; the chill
of those long corridors is still
in my bones.)
Now, ten years after failing
health ended those visits of
compassion, prisoners still
recall their ``old Mr. Badgley’’
and the strength he gave
them simply by caring.
Though George would scoff
at a papist title like ``Saint,’’
he’s one in my book and
always will be.
And let me also propose
Saint Helen the United Methodist.
Cooperstown’s Methodists
miss her greatly, and so
do I. Helen Tyrell, carried on
a ministry of Christian love
for scores of years. A friend
of mine, now in his seventies,
remembers her from his own
impoverished youth. Helen was
a school cafeteria manager back
then, and always laid out a massive
turkey dinner just before
Thanksgiving and Christmas.
``In those depression days,
she knew that the feast would
be the only one those kids
would enjoy.’’ The old boy
chuckled. ``Then she’d send
kids home with all the turkey
racks [carcasses], so a lot of
soup got made.’’
People around Cooperstown
could pile on more
stories of Saint Helen’s
continued goodness. I knew
her best through our own jail
ministry. She’d sweep into the
Detention Center, radiating
maternal light ``to those who
sit in darkness and death’s
shadow.’’ And she was a true
mother to many of the young
prisoners, offering firm teaching
and tough love that was
like water on wilted plants.
Oh, and there’s also Saint
Jean the Methodist. (Methodists
are really good at
turning them out!) That’s Jean
Wyckoff of Cooperstown. Her
loving service extended far
beyond her own congregation,
and she was a beloved
figure in a score of good
works. Jean’s sweet temper
and openness made her a
spontaneous confidante for
dozens of people; if United
Methodists have mother
confessors, Jean was surely
one. Call her Saint Jean, I say,
and thank God for all she was
to so many.
OK, I'm fast-forwarding
in my imagination, maybe
a hundred years. Behind his
Vatican desk sits His Holiness
Pope John XXVI, a tall
and dignified African whose
ebony skin contrasts magnificently
with his white cassock
and skullcap.
The Pope is deeply engrossed
at his laptop when
the eight-foot doors of his
study open and close behind
the Vatican archivist, Bishop
Margaret Lloyd. In her forties,
she came to Rome only ten
years after the first ordinations
of women. Today she
is very excited. ``Holy Father,
forgive my interrupting, but I
have found a document you
must see! It is an old letter to
a predecessor of yours. I think
the letter carries a message; I
would almost say, an inspiration.’’
John XXVI smiles as she
hands him the yellowed
letter; he reads it carefully.
Halfway through, his smile
broadens beautifully. He is
nodding slowly as he reaches
the end.
READ ABOUT Jim Atwell’s book, “From
Fly Creek--Celebrating Life in
Leatherstocking Country,” at JimAtwell.
com
