I've never prayed to saints before, or wanted to be confirmed in the name of one (so no, I'm not becoming Catholic). But I've always been fascinated by them. Most likely because, unlike Jesus, they were fully human, fully flawed individuals who still stood up for their faith, many under pain of death. Thus, they seemed more real and approachable to me growing up than a man who was known to be without sin. So I always enjoyed reading about them...but for some reason, it was Joan who stuck out to me more than any other.
Maybe it's because she was still technically a kid when she died. Maybe it's out of morbid curiousity of how she died. I can't really say. But she is a reminder that God is more powerful than any hopeless circumstance. And in her case, being poor, illiterate, and female in 15th-century France was more of a stumbling block than my financial troubles, relationship struggles, and identity crises.
I actually give her much of the credit for inspiring me to remain a virgin until marriage. And when I was thoroughly convinced that I would never marry, I looked to her story even more for inspiration and solace. But in a world where celibacy is considered outdated, and religious fervor is practically equivalent with insanity, her story loses some of its resonance. At a time in my life when I am more than susceptible to temptations, and am once again re-considering my romantic future, it almost seems as if I've outgrown her. And that saddens me, because it feels like losing a part of myself. I even considered making Joan my middle name once, but decided against it because I just didn't like how it paired with Sarahbeth. I wanted to make her legacy part of my identity.
Maybe it's good that I am maturing and re-considering the plans I had before. The downside of admiring someone who died young is not having any way to know how she would have turned out if she had died of natural causes. There is no way of knowing how her life plans may have changed after the war was over. In the case of my own life, it is no surprise that my views on things have been modified with age. That is exactly what is supposed to happen.
Yet, I still pay homage to my childhood hero by watching the 1999 TV movie (my favorite film adaption so far) on this day, her feast day. Weird? Maybe. But my life story is not exactly conventional, as was hers.
The stories told about historical sites like that at Rouen are by me kept behind the covers of books. Walking around on those locations where every day people have lived for centuries and still do must have been a dream come true. Unusual it is NOT for a young woman to have Joan of Arc as her childhood hero. More fighting men need to find women with an interest in Joan of Arc (can you confirm she is a saint?)
ReplyDeleteIn my mother's family there were two sisters who became Catholic nuns. Imagine how different and violent the times were in the centuries of the Turkish invasions. If there were any sense in the world we would have a Charles Martel to drive back the Turks, instead we have no leadership. It is almost as if the west were surrendering unconditionally in the midst of an election. If one can walk through France and see the sights, why be afraid of the present troubles? The more I write, the more I'd like to make some Turks shake in their boots. Who knows, maybe they already are shaking in their boots...and graves.
As a lifestyle choice the imitation of 15th century celibate life might be long and lonely, I propose that you keep writing no matter what and ignore the non-sense accretions of...PUBLIC UNIVERSITY. A book on the subject that deserves reading, Adam and Eve After the Pill can be read in one afternoon, or two if necessary, sheds needed light on the coming troubles in America. A vigorous book written by a Catholic woman. You'll have to give that one a look.
There, that about rounds up this extemporaneous letter, I don't think that I've left to many loose ends to tie up so I will now sign off by saying, don't get a martyr-complex or I will have to sell some of my books to raise money for my personal crusade for food on my plate. Signed, Warlord Intemperate, cc the typist.