 My mother didn't believe in "signs" in the cosmic, the-universe-is-telling-you-something sense. Say, for example, an eagle landed in the back yard and stared in a penetrating, unwavering way directly at you and then plucked out a breast feather and dropped it at your feet while emitting an urgent call and tapping out some code with its talons? My mother would have probably exclaimed, "What's with the screeching, hopping bird shedding on the patio?" Signs, schmigns.
But she did, however, subscribe to the full range of Catholic voodoo, and she did her best to instill it in my siblings and me. We knew from an early age that we had guardian angels hovering around us whose purpose was not entirely clear. We hoped that they were like Ninja angels who were prepared to throw themselves in front of runaway trucks bearing down on you, or hit your enemies with invisible numchucks. Take that, Charlie, for cutting in front of me in the lunch line! We imagined them smiting our opponents like celestial Batmans and Robins, while invisible Pow! Smack! Bop! signs floated in the ether around us. But in practice, what the guardian angels seemed most prepared to do was to give you a metaphysical smack up the side of the head when you lied about stealing your sister's last Easter basket chocolate egg.
If you're a Catholic, the mother lode of voodoo has got to be the
patron saints. There are the obvious ones, like St. Christopher
guarding the traveler, and then there are all the other
ones, a pantheon of saints for every occasion, like heavenly Hallmark
cards: there's one with a message tailor-made for you. No need is too
obscure. And there's no shortage of men and women who preached the word
and got lacerated with arrows or beheaded for their efforts, if
Catholic history is correct. With all those saints hanging around
waiting for an assignment, the Church had to branch out beyond mundane
needs like travel safety and defense against Satan.
Take Saint Leonard of Noblac, for instance. First of all, you have to get past the idea of a Saint Leonard.
Lenny the Saint? Lenny the drugstore clerk, sure, Lenny the used car
salesman, yes - but St. Lenny? Yet it turns out that there is a
Saint Leonard, and he has a rather important job in these
crime-infested times: he is the patron saint against burglaries,
robbers, and robberies. So basically, Leonard will kick the butt of
anybody who tries to rip you off. Excellent, I'll pray to him! But
evidently, the Lenster is also the patron saint of green grocers and
horses. What? This is an example of the Church taking it a little too
far. So if a thief is riding a horse and eating a salad, does Leonard
go totally nuts?
Or there's Saint Cedd. He had two brothers who are also saints, Chad
and Cynibild. Now, wouldn't you feel a LOT of pressure if you were one
of the C brothers? It's bad enough when your older brother is class
president, or the starting quarterback, and there's all that pressure
on you to show similar brilliance. But imagine if your older brother
was a saint and you didn't have a big talent - or desire - for
martyrdom. "What's the matter with you?" your teachers would jeer.
"Cedd was already getting picked on in the playground by the
Philistines when he was your age. By his senior year, Cynibild had
already been tortured a couple of times in the service of the Lord. But
you! Kids taunt you and the first thing out of your mouth is, ‘Hey, I
never said Jesus was perfect, you know!'"
There's also a problem with spreading yourself too thin in the
saintdom world. It would appear that multi-tasking is not just an issue
for we mere mortals. Saint Paul is the patron saint of authors,
hailstorms, Las Vegas, and hospital PR flacks. Paul needs to focus. Maybe Paul is also the patron saint of ADD?
Then there are the saints who got a little too specific in their job
descriptions. Like Saint Petronilla, the patron of dauphins of France.
Really? Just dauphins, and French ones at that? And what is a dauphin,
anyway? Is it French for "what everyone else calls a lord but we have
to be different"? Wouldn't it be kind of disappointing to go through
whatever Petronilla had to go through in order to become a saint, and
then end up having to keep tabs on froggy lords for all eternity? I'd
be pissed if I were Petty. I'd at least want the British Royal Family
to keep an eye on because occasionally, there's some good smutty stuff
there.
The coolest saints, though, are the ones with the snazzy tricks.
Saint Benedict Joseph Labre was one of a handful who could bilocate,
which is a skill I plan to start working on right away. Bilocating is
being able to put yourself in two totally different locations at the
same time. So you could be at work pretending to listen to the boss
drone on about productivity while at the same time, be stretched out on
the couch at home with a big glass of wine watching re-runs of Sex and the City.
This is not what Saint Benny did, of course: he spent his days in
perpetual adoration in cathedrals, where he was known to float, soar,
bilocate and swoon. Now, that would make church services a whole lot
more interesting if the guy down the pew from you suddenly started
floating, or soaring around the ceiling, or simultaneously occupying
the seat next to you and a seat in a nearby coffee shop. He
could be sipping lattes and reading the Sunday comics while also being
in church swooping, soaring, sitting or swooning. Sweet!
So I think it's time to start working on a career change. Wait until
I tell my boss that I'm not daydreaming, I'm bilocating. Sainthood is
sounding better and better.
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