As had been widely anticipated, in September the sainthood of Mother Teresa of Calcutta will be officially – and infallibly – recognised by the Church militant (Ecclesia militans). That is, I’m afraid, a rather cumbersome way of phrasing it. But it is, strictly speaking, the correct way.
For of course, canonisation doesn’t move a person into eternal Beatitude – or, given that Teresa is already beatified, rubber stamp her status at the end of a celestial probationary period. It is simply a confirmation that she is already there. Hence, of course, the requirement of miracles: proof of her ability to intercede with whom she now “sees face to face” (1 Corinthians 13.12). The whole process is thus purely for our benefit here on earth: the Ecclesia triumphans, or the Church in heaven, needs no reminding of the fact that Teresa is one of their own.
Which raises the question, of course, of what precisely the act of canonisation is for: it is, after all, a notoriously (and no doubt necessarily) resource-heavy, long, and costly process.
In one sense, of course, it is all rather practical. The fact that someone is a bona-fide saint means that they are, now, with God, and thus in a position to intercede for us. Of course, that doesn’t stop us praying to non-canonised people that we hope are in heaven too; if we didn’t, there wouldn’t any – or rather, almost not any – new saints. (Incidentally, if you’re casting about for a new intercessor, might I recommend our very own Ven. Mary Potter: if I had my way, she’d be as synonymous with Nottingham as Brian Clough and Robin Hood.) But ‘St’ is, if you like, a kind of kitemark endorsement: a guarantee of a previous track record.
More broadly and importantly, however, by declaring certain Christians to be saints, the Church is holding up these individuals to us as examples: models for inspiration or, indeed, imitation. Viewed like this, the saints are those who incarnate the gospel in real, concrete lives – and who prove to us, that we can (and should strive to) do so too. As Benedict XVI once put it:
Perhaps at times the figure of Jesus Christ seems too lofty and too great for us to dare to measure ourselves by him. The Lord knows this. So he has provided “translations” on a scale that is more accessible and closer to us… Ever since Paul’s time, history has furnished a constant flow of other such “translations” of Jesus’ way into historical figures.
It is this, incidentally, which explains the sheer, glorious diversity of the canonised saints (and there must surely be, of course, vastly more actual saints who are not so formally recognised). This point can be illustrated, I think, with reference to four causes which have recently come to my attention.
Among those whose canonisation was also announced today, for example, is Jose Gabriel del Rosario Brochero. He is the sombrero-wearing ‘cowboy saint’ of nineteenth-century Argentinian, riding vast distances on his mule to visit his flock.
Continuing with our cowboy theme, the Archdiocese of Santa Fe recently opened a Cause for Blandina Segale, “the fastest nun in the West”, who (among much else) has a run-in or two with Billy the Kid.
Looking East, earlier this year Pope Francis approved the beatification of Dom Takayama Justo: convert, martyr, and – er – Samurai. Finally, there is Brazil’s Guido Schäffer, a 30-something former doctor and seminarian, who died in a surfing accident in 2009. The cause for this so-called ‘surfing angel’ was officially opened in late 2014.
Taken together, these four – a tiny selection, of course – would seem to be a resounding confirmation of something Karl Rahner wrote in 1955:
Herein lies the special task which the canonised Saints have to fulfil for the Church. They are the initiators and the creative models of the holiness which happens to be right for, and is the task of, their particular age. They create a new style; they prove that a certain form of life and activity is a really genuine possibility; they show experimentally that one can be a Christian even in ‘this’ way; they make such a type of person believable as a Christian type.
Cowboys, samurais, and surfers… if them, why not you and me?
Dr Stephen Bullivant directs the Benedict XVI Centre for Religion and Society (@BXVICentre) at St Mary’s University, Twickenham, and is a consulting editor of The Catholic Herald
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