Saints and Sinners

Friday, Apr. 22, 2016

Back in 1997 I was assigned to cover a story about the Día de Muertos celebration at the high school in the city where I worked. The students had filled the gymnasium with altars memorializing not only family and friends but also famous people. I was surprised to see half a dozen honoring Diana, Princess of Wales; another was in memory of Blessed Mother Teresa of Kolkata – both women had died a just a few months earlier.

I remember feeling scornful, looking at the altars adorned with Diana’s photos, which focused on her life as a princess, as though that were something realistic to aspire to.

Honoring Mother Teresa, on the other hand, made sense to me, because at the time I saw a greater likelihood of finding a cause to sacrifice my life to than coming across a prince who would carry me off to be wed in an ivory silk taffeta and antique lace gown with a 25-foot train.

Fast forward 19 years, and I realize I was wrong – dedicating my life to anything other than my own pleasure has been at least as difficult as seeking Prince Charming. I never identified much with Diana, but I did admire how she used her wealth and position to bring attention to issues such as landmines, and her very public work with victims of AIDS.  

I’d like to say my failure is not due to lack of trying, but in truth my attitude tends to reflect the lyrics of the Billy Joel song: “I’d rather laugh with the sinners than cry with the saints, the sinners are much more fun. …”

But I’m beginning to realize that’s wrong, too. I used to derive pleasure from my venial sins; the one I’ll confess to publicly is gossip – there’s a certain sense of power involved with telling juicy tales that until recently mitigated any guilt I felt, but now my conscience kicks in as soon as I open my mouth to speak unkindly.

A lot of this has to do with that guy in white in Rome who compares gossips to terrorists and cowards and hypocrites. His choice words about a couple of my other favorite sins such as pride also make me realize just how unsatisfying is the fleeting pleasure I derive from them.

As for Billy Joel – I agree that holier-than-thou types aren’t much fun to be around. On the other hand, while I’ve never met a saint, I have to say I enjoy immensely the company of saintly types, like the sisters of Saint Benedict who used to live in Ogden.

One common thread among those I consider saintly is the sense of God present in their lives.  

I used to fear having an omnipotent, omnipresent scorekeeper marking my every thought, word and deed, but as I take faltering steps along the path of faith, I’m beginning to think that Pope emeritus Benedict XVI – who actually has known a saint or two – was right when he said, “If we let Christ into our lives, we lose nothing, nothing, absolutely nothing of what makes life free, beautiful and great.”

I’m clinging to the hope that that is true as I straddle the barbed-wire fence between my past sinful life, which no longer gives pleasure, and a new godly life that modern society says holds no pleasure at all. 

That perspective is wrong, it’s got to be wrong, and all I have to do to realize it is wrong is look at the serenity of Mother Teresa’s smile, and the joy exuded by Pope Francis. They eat with sinners, it’s true, but they’re the ones who are having much more fun.