Today, I remember the saint who listened carefully as I recited the Beatitudes, the Lord’s Prayer and the books of the Bible. An ornament from that Sunday school teacher still hangs on my Christmas tree every year. My ten-year-old self was enamored with the decorated ball that I chose from the box she offered us.
Today, I remember the saint who shows up every Sunday to make coffee. Every Sunday. Like, as often as I do, and I’m paid to be there.
Today, I remember the saint who paid for a rental car so I could come and sleep and be fed in a friend’s home when my first call was so difficult.
Today, I remember the saint who offered his arm to the wobbly elderly woman, too proud for a cane, and made sure she reached her seat, received communion, and made it back to her car safely.
Today, I remember the saint who gave every kid in the church a half dollar every Sunday.
Today, I remember the saint who came and preached about his work as a missionary. I’m willing to bet the small box of natural cotton he brought with him to talk about his work is somewhere at my parents’ house. He was the first person of color I ever met there in the most unlikely of places.
Today, I remember the saint who listens intently to three-year-olds, not just nodding along like most adults, but discerning every word.
It is the season of remembering the saints who came before us. Dia de los Muertos celebrations begin this weekend and All Saints’ Day is not too far away either. Those who have gone before us were beloved and, presumably, gave us some things to emulate. In my congregation, we don’t worry too much about canonical saints. We’re much more likely to remember all our dead on All Saints’ Day.
In the midst of several memorial services in my congregation, I am increasingly aware of the profound process of becoming a saint. Most of us will never perform the miracles that grant official sainthood by the Roman Catholic Church or any other body. Instead, we will live faithful lives with beautiful, rich moments. People will have good things to say at our funerals, woven from the stories like the ones I remember about others.
I am most thankful for the saints who are close, who choose to be present day in and day out, and who show their love of neighbor and love of God in a thousand tiny ways. It is those people who taught me what becoming a saint looks like. Today, I remember all the gifts in becoming of the saints, too.