“Oh I’m No Saint”

He used to say that when confronted with some knotty point of scripture or personal challenge. Then he would hit the Book and his knees in delightful private until some Light arrived. It would be a considerable time thereafter before I would twig to the fact that he had gained this new spiritual currency.

Stuffy? Removed? Impractical? Never.

He spoke of Jesus always in the tone of getting down to exciting business. His Elder Brother. His Best Friend and Champion.

In ordinary places and in ordinary conversation he would speak out that Name. Those nearby often stopped what they were doing and stretched an ear out to the utterances of this “saint in shoe leather”.

A saint? A hallowed, blessed, sanctified one. Set apart from a lot of common or base interests and conversation. Set apart to bring the magic of the noble Carpenter/Healer onto the scene. (Romans 8: 1-6)

He never thought in terms of a Saint Patrick or Saint Francis; rather he likened the relationship to a trusted implement ready for use and tempered in the Master’s toolbox. Going on the Master’s journeys.

And whenever I suffered and he learned of it, there would be an offer of silent companionship and gracious listening ear. Comments would take a while in coming. And oh how I valued the outflow.

Note: November 1st is All Saints’ Day.


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