Saints and talismans

---

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.

---

Prayers

---

I was amazed to see how concerned people were about me when I told them about my illness.

Everyone seems to want to help. Some have offered food, or rides to and from my treatment sessions. (I will probably take some of them up on these.)

But I didn’t expect to be on anyone’s prayer list.

I am informed that I am on the prayer list of a Episcopal church in a town in eastern Rhode Island. Also, a Jewish acquaintance told Partner that she was praying for me. Also, a number of Catholic friends are praying for me, as is one Orthodox friend.

And I confess (weak superstitious thing that I am) that I recently dug out my old Catholic St. Peregrine medal and attached it to my keychain. (Peregrine is the patron of cancer sufferers.)

I only hope that all of these prayers and intercessions and magic spells are arriving at the correct destination, and not getting crossed up by the celestial telephone operators.

From Muriel Spark’s “The Gentile Jewesses,” concerning the death of her grandmother:

“She was buried as a Jewess since she was buried in my father’s house, and notices were put in the Jewish Press. Simultaneously my great-aunts announced in the Watford papers that she fell asleep in Jesus.”

I don’t want to fall asleep in Jesus, or Abraham’s bosom, or anything else. I don’t want to go anywhere, for that matter. I’m happy right where I am.

I feel much as did Muriel Spark’s father:

“My father, when questioned as to what he believes, will say ‘I believe in the Blessed Almighty who made heaven and earth,’ and will say no more, returning to his racing papers which contain problems proper to innocent men.”

I am probably less of an innocent man than Muriel Spark’s father was. But he had the right idea.

Let us occupy ourselves with matters proper to our station.

---