Easter 2002

The people are holy

Reflecting on what it is to be holy, TERRY MONAGLE finds some interesting answers.

A few old Catholic mates were having dinner. Among them was a priest from a parish in the western suburbs. As the coffee arrived, one of group asked, 'Have you got any holy people in your parish?'

He seemed a bit taken aback by the question.

'No', he said hesitantly. As he considered the question further, he was much more categorical in his response.

'No.'

It was my turn to be shocked. I thought there were plenty of holy people in my parish; one very much like his. I was also sure I had met lots of holy people in my workplaces, neighbourhoods and family.

Perhaps the difference was semantic? Since the word has fallen from general use perhaps its meaning has fragmented. In the decades before its demise, 'holy' had become associated with syrupy hagiography and plaster statues of exotic European saints. There was little of the inevitable grunginess of life associated with the word.

I defined the qualities I associate with holiness. I find I apply it to predominantly older people, in their sixties, seventies and eighties, who have suffered much. People who have lived lives of resilient love; who now seem to have their egoism burned away and have blossomed into people vibrant with love, wisdom and joy. Those who still sharing the sufferings of the world, though their own personal sufferings are predominantly physical now. Those who are still very active in works of love and prayer.

I think particularly of Sister Wilma. In her teens she swam with, and against, Dawn Fraser, whom she could never quite best. Since that time she has faced protracted illness and the frequently real possibility of death.

Wilma contracted rheumatic fever when she was sixteen. The disease weakened the valves and muscles of her heart and the sinews and tendons of her joints. She has artificial valves in her heart, which work with the aid of a pacemaker. For ten years she could only take food through a straw because her jaws stopped working. Her jaws are now artificial. Her legs are held upright by plastic prostheses. She wears orthotic shoes. Her fingers have been splayed and stiff for many years. She is constantly on warfarin to control blood clotting. If she gets the level wrong even for a day, it would be farewell Wilma. As it is, any bruise results in enormous swelling and tremendous pain.

Together with one elderly sister, Wilma ran a refuge for women and children out of a tiny house in North Melbourne for eleven years. She believed that to help the poor one needed to live like the poor. As her companion neared 80, and Wilma was in hospital for prolonged periods, the house was closed and Wilma moved out of the work. The event challenged Wilma both spiritually and emotionally and remains one of her biggest wounds.

I am taken by the paradox between the fragility of her physical heart and the enormous power of her spiritual heart.

A couple of days after a pacemaker was inserted Wilma was back visiting the poor in their homes and taking them food, clothes and furniture. She constantly wants to do more. She visits people at will, preferring not to wait for a call. She is particularly moved by the plight of children in the area and the many middle-aged and lonely alcoholic men. Wilma still does eight hours work each week at a school. She works on a phone roster for the St Vincent De Paul and runs a prayer group.

Wilma's is not a story marked by any dramatic conversion experience, calling her to holiness. Rather her faith and her capacity to give have become ever stronger as she faces her own tests each day.

I love listening to Wilma read at church. Her voice is clear, and clean; the pace is measured. It is though she is waiting for something, for God to reveal his presence in the word or in the community. There is a loving humility, and openness in her tone; a receptivity. She is a vessel making herself available for filling.

I love praying with Wilma and the many like her. They are warriors in the battles of love; they are tested and hardened lovers. When my prayer joins with theirs it picks up power and penetration. Our collective prayer leaves the church, out through the windows and their creamy light, out through the doors, out on missions of healing and peace.

Contact with people like Wilma leads me to argue that humans find holiness a most deeply attractive experience. We have a primal appetite for it. An encounter with holiness leads us recognise that it is what we have secretly been longing for.

This is what I would have liked to have said, that evening at dinner.

'Go back, and look again', I wanted to say. 'You will be delighted and your prayer and faith will be transformed in its power.'

Sr Wilma Geary rsm received an Order of Australia Medal as part of the 2002 Australia Day honours list.

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