St. Lawrence: Patron of Cooks, Comedians, and Me

Today is the feast of St. Lawrence, deacon and martyr. He is one of the saints nearest and dearest to my heart. The story of my relationship with St. Lawrence is a good illustration of how one's faith can grow and mature over time.

First, his story. St. Lawrence was a deacon in the church of Rome in the early 3rd century. At this time in the church, deacons served as assistants to the bishop (which they still are theologically, but this was manifested in a much more practical, day-to-day way back then), and Lawrence was very close with his bishop, Pope Sixtus II; in fact, at that time there were only seven deacons in the church of Rome, and Sixtus made Lawrence their chief (the archdeacon), responsible for distribution of alms to the poor.

During a period of persecution, Pope Sixtus was captured by Roman authorities and executed. Lawrence was then ordered by the imperial prefect to turn over all of the church's wealth. Lawrence asked for three days to gather it up, then distributed the remainder of the church's goods to the poor of the city. On the third day, Lawrence reported to the prefect and brought with him "the treasures of the Church": the sick, the poor, the blind, etc., saying, "These are the true treasures of the Church."

The Romans were not amused, and executed Lawrence by roasting him alive on a gridiron. According to the tradition, after having suffered a long time, Lawrence responded, "Turn me over--I'm done on this side!" (One version reports him saying: "Turn me over, and eat!")

St. Lawrence became one of the most beloved and venerated saints in the Roman church, and that veneration spread throughout Christendom over the centuries. His church in Rome is one of the seven major churches of that holy city. He is the only non-biblical person whose memorial day reaches the rank of "feast." (We often use "feast" as a shorthand for someone's memorial, but the church actually has several degrees of feast day: optional memorials, obligatory memorials, feasts, and solemnities.) He's kind of a big deal.

What does this have to do with me? St. Lawrence is my confirmation saint, the name I chose to take as my own when receiving the sacrament of the sealing of the Holy Spirit. I only knew about him because when I would flip through the missal and see the different saints' feasts, I looked to see if there was one on my birthday: lo and behold, St. Lawrence of Rome! Then in school we learned about his martyrdom story, and I thought it was brave and hilarious that someone in the midst of their own murder would have the guts to crack a joke. (I wanted to be a comedian when I was little.) His feast was on my birthday, and we seemed to share a sense of humor: just as good of a reason as any other to pick him as my confirmation saint, right?

Looking back, my reasoning seemed a little flippant, and I sometimes wondered if I might have chosen someone else had I given it more serious thought. But then I learned the other story about St. Lawrence, the one that led to his martyrdom, and it touched me. I thought, "Here is a man of depth, filled with the love of God and love of neighbor, AND he cracks jokes during his martyrdom! Now that's a saint!" Some people may think this combination of humor and gravity to be incompatible, but as Chesterton pointed out, the opposite of funny is not serious: the opposite of funny is not funny. Funny and serious can go together. As readers of this blog know, I think levity and gravity can go together, and often should. I take my humor seriously, and my seriousness humorously.

Over the last 15 years since my confirmation, St. Lawrence has been for me a model for the love of God and neighbor, and proof that in the most dire moments of life we can find joy, because Christ has conquered sin and death: we can laugh at Satan even as he's killing us, because we know that "he who believes in me will never die." Hey, Lucifer, Jesus called: he said thanks for letting him use your guestroom, but he had to go and was taking some folks with him; he left the sheets folded on the bed.

Praying for the Rich

A few days ago was the feast of St. Henry, a German noble who lived at the turn of the first millenium and who was elected Holy Roman Emperor. He lived a life of personal piety and encouraged holiness and moral virtue within his realm during his life, which is why the Church has recognized him as a saint.

Some of my favorite saints are those who were royalty or nobility: St. Margaret of Scotland, St. Louis of France, St. Wenceslaus, etc. I appreciate their lives because they had an extra degree of difficulty in taking the straight and narrow way. We usually envy the rich and powerful because we think they've got it easy, but we're only thinking in terms of material comforts or leisure. But when it comes to the most important matters, the state of one's soul and one's eternal destiny, all that money and power can be a hindrance.

For any of us, what keeps us from attaining eternal glory is our doing what we want instead of what God wants, or rather, refusing to make what God wants into what we want. And it's a lot easier to do whatever we want when we have the means to do whatever we want. How easy it is to take revenge on my enemies when I'm the sovereign and nobody can arrest me for it. How simple it is to take my neighbor's wife for my own pleasures when my soldiers can kill my neighbor if he objects. As I exercise my power, I begin to think that there is no power above me. "In their insolence the wicked boast, 'God does not care. There is no God.'" (Psalm 10:4) That's why Jesus said that camels get through eyes of needles before rich men enter heaven. (Matthew 19:24)

We should each thank God every day that we are not subject to the same temptations as those who are in such places of privilege. And perhaps worst of all, they must not only battle the desire to exercise their passions when it would be oh-so-easy to do, but they then face the terrible despair of realizing that all the power and pleasure in the world can't fill the God-shaped hole in their hearts. Do you ever wonder why rich countries have higher suicide rates than poor ones?

How many of those who wield power today would we consider candidates for canonization? Power of any sort: political, economic, media.... how many of the well-to-do and influential would we peg as the sort to have a halo 'round their head in pictures? These people need our prayers, not only for their own sake, but because they sit at the fountainhead of the world's affairs and affect all of our lives. We cannot have a just world without just leaders.

I've known many people in the Church who have taken their passion for and love of the poor and turned that against the rich (or even at times the middle class), casting them as irredeemable demons and losing sight of their humanity. But rich people have souls, too. Souls in need of saving.