I am a big fan of certain saints and contemplatives, among them Teresa of Avila, John of the Cross, Brother Lawrence and Thomas Merton. Their writing and instruction guides me every day.

It’s extremely difficult to follow the contemplative path under any circumstances, but it’s probably harder today than ever before, simply because our lifestyles constantly push us away from developing our inner lives. Merton, in particular, has written many passages that allude to this very problem, and he was writing back in what most of us consider “the good old days” of the 40s, 50s and 60s. Things run at a more hectic pace today, and developing one’s inner life has become something of a luxury that many people simply can’t afford.

A tension exists between the full manifestation of contemplative life, which calls us to detach from the world, and the political power of the church, which obviously has both feet planted firmly in worldly interests. This the tension between being in the world and of the world. For example, how, exactly, does the church promote humility, a critical virtue, from a position of incredible wealth and power? One symbolic way could be through the championing of saints who embody the virtue of humility. In examining candidates for sainthood, we can see how the church attempts to resolve the tension between humility and power.

It would seem from a cursory review that Mother Theresa would be a good candidate for sainthood. She devoted her life to helping the poor in Calcutta, did she not?

Michael Parenti has a few thoughts about Mother Theresa and her fast-track to sainthood. I’ve heard these grumblings before, but I must confess I’ve never really looked into them. For example:

  • She received big money from wealthy contributors, some of which she knew was tainted.
  • She campaigned vigorously against divorce, abortion and birth control, all favorite right-wing issues (but not so much concerns of Jesus).
  • She exaggerated her accomplishments on a regular basis.
  • She customarily enjoyed first-class travel, healthcare and access to power.

Suppose it’s all true. She may have also done many good works, but since this is not the point he’s trying to make, he doesn’t go into that. And that is his prerogative. I would imagine there are thousands and thousands of adoring words written on Mother Theresa’s behalf, so if that’s what you want to read, go to it. But as long as we dedicate ourselves to the truth, there’s no reason to shrink away from anything like this.

It’s been revealed that Mother Theresa suffered tremendous doubt in her inner life. On this point I must refrain from criticism. As anyone who has walked the contemplative path can attest, darkness and doubt are familiar companions. Having doubts does not mean someone is without God. In fact, great contemplatives have taught us that God takes away our succor and puts us in a Dark Night for the specific purpose of purifying our souls. This can last many, many years; and the correct response is to persevere with faith. Unfortunately, many people, not having the benefit of mystical teaching, misinterpret the bleakness and conclude that God doesn’t care, doesn’t exist, etc.

We cannot assume that Mother Theresa was unaware of the Dark Night. Though it’s a relatively obscure idea to lay people, it would be very familiar to a Catholic nun. Contemplation is the whole point of religious life. Now, it would be very disturbing to suffer the Dark Night for 50 years, as reportedly she did. That’s a long time to endure spiritual aridity. In fairness, we must not hold her revelations of spiritual dryness against her because, for all we know, she endured great inner suffering that mitigated her sins. These are not things human beings can know about other human beings. This is for God to figure out.

So what’s the problem? The problem is how the Vatican endorses certain people for sainthood. It’s all relative, you see. There are many people who perhaps qualify, but only a few are chosen. So the choosing means something…it means the official Church hierarchy approves of the saint’s causes and methods, and this approval subsequently empowers certain interest groups. Then these groups work to secure their power and influence. This is simply the way the world works.

So who, pray tell, has been on the fast track, and who has been stuck in the pits? Funny you should ask.

Another example of fast-track sainthood, pushed by Pope John Paul II, occurred in 1992 when he swiftly beatified the reactionary Msgr. José María Escrivá de Balaguer, supporter of fascist regimes in Spain and elsewhere, and founder of Opus Dei, a powerful secretive ultra-conservative movement “feared by many as a sinister sect within the Catholic Church.” Escrivá’s beatification came only seventeen years after his death, a record run until Mother Teresa came along.

In accordance with his own political agenda, John Paul used a church institution, sainthood, to bestow special sanctity upon ultra-conservatives such as Escrivá and Teresa—and implicitly on all that they represented. Another of the ultra-conservatives whom John Paul made into a saint, bizarrely enough, was the last of the Hapsburg rulers of the Austro-Hungarian empire, Emperor Karl, who reigned during World War I.

John Paul also beatified Cardinal Aloysius Stepinac, the leading Croatian cleric who welcomed the Nazi and fascist Ustashi takeover of Croatia during World War II. Stepinac sat in the Ustashi parliament, appeared at numerous public events with top ranking Nazis and Ustashi, and openly supported the Croatian fascist regime.

In contrast, here is how the Pope handled Oscar de Romero, a champion of liberation theology:

In John Paul’s celestial pantheon, reactionaries had a better chance at canonization than reformers. Consider his treatment of Archbishop Oscar Romero who spoke against the injustices and oppressions suffered by the impoverished populace of El Salvador and for this was assassinated by a right-wing death squad. John Paul never denounced the killing or its perpetrators, calling it only “tragic.” In fact, just weeks before Romero was murdered, high-ranking officials of the Arena party, the legal arm of the death squads, sent a well-received delegation to the Vatican to complain of Romero’s public statements on behalf of the poor.

Romero was thought by many poor Salvadorans to be something of a saint, but John Paul attempted to ban any discussion of his beatification for fifty years. Popular pressure from El Salvador caused the Vatican to cut the delay to twenty-five years. In either case, Romero was consigned to the slow track.

And through political maneuvering like this, we have been treated to certain Catholics behaving arrogantly. And I won’t put too fine a point on this. However, let me just point out that the intellectual disconnects are not lost on other people, and I seriously doubt they are lost on God.

So Parenti points out the political underbelly of sainthood. Like anything else, it’s all in who you know. The whole thing is like a Venn diagram. You have one huge circle of relatively anonymous, ordinary people in the world who live saintly lives. You have another very small circle of people who live relatively famous lives, perhaps benefiting from extra privilege and resources. Theoretically the circles intersect, and there you have the tiniest sliver of people who are canonized, culled from the famous and anonymous alike. But in reality, perhaps the circles don’t touch at all anymore. Maybe you can only be canonized by coming from the tiny circle of wealth and power. It seems that way.

Oh well. Let’s be clear that true sainthood has nothing to do with human approval and church honors like canonization anyway. When we are free from the desire to please men on Earth, then we are free to please God.