Saints and talismans

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I have cancer, and this is no time for quibbling about what helps and what doesn’t. Lots of people of different faiths have said they’re praying for me, and I accept their prayers gratefully. Why in the world would I be stiff-necked enough to say: “Nah, I’m an atheist. Save your prayers”?

And I am not un-superstitious. I read Tarot cards, after all, and I look at horoscopes, and find profitable information in them. (Not the newspaper ones, kids. The real ones.)

So who am I to scoff at talismans and charms?

When my father was diagnosed with cancer in 1975, I was in my sophomore year at Gonzaga and just on the verge of converting to Catholicism. As you can imagine, I became very devout in no time at all. I attended mass almost daily, and said novenas, and prayed like a banshee.

Dad died anyway, in May 1976, despite all my masses and novenas. But it didn’t stop me from believing, deep down in my soul, that prayers and talismans are effective, if you only use them correctly.

For years I carried two holy medals on my keychain: Saint Dymphna (who guards against mental illness) and Saint Peregrine (who guards against cancer).

Somehow both of them disappeared from my keychain some years ago. And look what happened!

I found Peregrine and put him back on my keychain a few weeks ago, and told him to get back to work.

Also: Partner, being a cradle Catholic and understanding my state of mind, recently gave me a medal of Saint Blaise (who guards against afflictions of the throat).

Whatever happens now, I’m prepared.

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Saints

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Catholics have an entire pantheon of saints to cover just about every contingency.  The attributions get pretty comical at times.   My name-saint, Lawrence, for example, was burnt to death on a gridiron; he is, therefore, usually shown holding what looks like a barbecue grill, and he is the patron saint of cooks and chefs.

 

 

Isn’t that lovely?

 

 

Then there’s Joseph of Cupertino, who may or may not have been mentally challenged, but who apparently levitated around the monastery, although he didn’t really enjoy it very much.  Of whom is he the patron?  Why, pilots and aviators, of course!

 

 

And Clare of Assisi, the onetime girlfriend of Saint Francis, who lay on her sickbed longing to see Francis perform the Mass, and who had a vision of it on the wall of her cell.  And of what is she the patroness?  Television.

 

 

 

What about Isidore of Seville (one of four siblings, all of whom were proclaimed saints)?  Why, he's the patron of the Internet.  (He wrote a book called “The Etymologies,” a pre-Internet collection of information more or less like a database.)

 

 

For a long time I carried a medal of Saint Dymphya on my keychain.  Dymphna was an Irish maiden whose father lusted after her; she fled to Belgium, but her papa chased her and lopped her head off.  The church dedicated to her in Belgium cared for the mentally infirm, and the water from Dymphna’s well guaranteed peace of mind. 

 

 

She is the patroness of those with mental illness.

 

 

(Why do I care about all this?  I stopped being a card-carrying Catholic a while back.  But I am still fascinated by these things.)

 

 

(Do I still have my Saint Dymphna medal, I wonder?  It couldn’t hurt to carry it with me.  Because you never know.)

 

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