The Weight of Unreasonable Fears
As a child, I first encountered the whispers of a fear that continues to linger in the corners of my mind. It springs from a vision of the world—a vision I don’t genuinely believe will materialize, yet one I find myself picturing every spring. “What if,” the fear hisses softly in my ear, “this is the year when nothing flourishes? No grass, no blossoms, no leaves adorning the trees. What if the landscape remains as barren and lifeless as a body on a cross, a grotesque reflection of your very soul?”
So yes, I’m a Catholic. This year has been particularly challenging for me, which might explain why the fear has arrived prematurely. On a sunny winter day, I found myself at my desk in the Hudson Valley, gazing out at the desiccated world through my window when that familiar fear crept in and whispered, “What if…” It’s somewhat embarrassing to confess that I’m annually caught off guard by this irrational, apocalyptic worry. This fear often serves as a glaring indicator of my dwindling hope that the world will renew itself.
I shuddered at the thought. Perhaps you, too, harbor an unreasonable fear that drains the vibrancy from your life. Some find solace through walking, meditation, or therapy to combat such fears. I suggest selecting a saint to guide you through it. This “saint” need not be an officially recognized Catholic figure; they can be anyone who chose to reject a life solely centered around self-interest in favor of radical service—someone whose unwavering commitment to the complexities and challenges of doing good can illuminate your own path.
My saint is Brother Lawrence, a 17th-century soldier who transformed into a Carmelite friar. He possessed a remarkable ability to find joy in mundane tasks, like peeling vegetables and scrubbing pots, which occupied most of his earthly existence. Brother Lawrence and I found a connection through The Saints’ Guide to Happiness by Robert Ellsberg. In this work, Ellsberg passionately contends that we should move past the conventional perception of saints as “flawless individuals from a distant past who performed miracles” or sought martyrdom.
- There are over 10,000 names on the Catholic Church’s roster of saints.
- A cursory glance reveals not only revered clerics and martyrs but also everyday people: dentists, barbers, and even a devout pharmacist.
For Ellsberg, what makes these men and women compelling is that they are all human beings who endured suffering like the rest of us but chose not to dwell in despair. What defines a saint is their exuberance and compassion, their inner balance, and their dedication to a meaningful vocation.
Having grown up in a Catholic environment, I was constantly surrounded by saints—in stained glass, carved stone, and rich narratives. It felt as natural to choose a favorite saint as it did to pick a favorite baseball player (Tom Seaver, for the record). As a young man, I was particularly inspired by St. Teresa of Avila, a 16th-century nun who challenged the spiritual laxity she observed around her. She embarked on journeys across Spain to establish her own Carmelite convents, urging her nuns to engage in prayer and penance as atonement for the sins of humanity.
Teresa harbored no small ambitions for herself or her followers. She existed simultaneously in this world and as a spirited mystic: when she was struck by the overwhelming sensation of God’s love threatening to lift her off the ground, she would command bystanders to sit on her and hold her down. Her remarkable success brought her fame and drew the scrutiny of the Spanish Inquisition. In a fiery letter addressed to King Philip II, Teresa asserted that the accusations of scandal against her would be laughable if not for being a “stratagem of the devil.” In the end, she triumphed. She was my kind of hero: astutely dramatic and ready to fight, possessing enough influence that even the pope dared not to cross her.
