Each year as I pray the Divine Mercy Novena during Easter week, I have an opportunity to experience the graces that God showered upon Sister Faustina Kowalska during her life. It’s remarkable that God chose two contemporaries in Poland in such a pivotal moment in history—the second referring to Pope Saint John Paul II who was the Archbishop of Krakow and did so much to bring her message to the whole Church. I have heard people with strong devotion to the Divine Mercy say that more than any other achievement of the Polish pope, God raised him up precisely to put Mercy foremost in the life of the Church. Everything else is just incidental to that.

There is much history to be written about these two saints and the times in which they lived. What we do know for sure is that to be Catholic at this time means we must be preoccupied with mercy above all else. Bishop McKnight has made mercy and charity the third pillar of parish renewal and planning. In my own priesthood I recognize the transformation that takes place in the lives of people who carry such debts of suffering, sin, and oppression when they encounter Christ’s mercy in the sacraments of the Church and the charity we express.
This year in reflecting on Sister Faustina’s life, I was struck by the utter simplicity of the descriptions of her service. We know so much about the visions that she experienced, so much about her inner life of prayer and communion with God. But rarely do we focus on the duties of service that she performed in the convent. Saint Faustina was a member of the Sisters of Our Lady of Mercy, a religious congregation dedicated to assisting young girls and women that today we would call “at risk”.
 
Saint Faustina had little formal education to prepare her for particular service as a nurse or a teacher, one of the most common works for religious of the time. Of course, illness was to define her short young life and made it challenging for her to engage in prolonged strenuous labor. Her service seems simply described as a housekeeper, a cook, a gardener and a doorkeeper.

A life of external simplicity and unremarkable, but an interior life of mystic greatness. We may be excused for paying so much attention to her prayer life recorded so vividly in her diary. That of course is an objective record that will remain a witness for succeeding generations. But she does record some details of her household chores. We see the saint confront two of the challenges to service:  boredom and difficulties. “O, grey, monotonous life, what treasures are in you. No two hours are the same, so the greyness and monotony disappear when I observe everything with the eyes of faith.”

Once when her diminishing strength was challenged by the weight of pots of potatoes, she brought her concerns to God who reassured her that He would provide for her the strength she needed. The potatoes were transformed into beautiful red roses:  “I am turning your hard work into bouquets of the most beautiful flowers, and their fragrance is rising up to My throne.”

So what can we learn from Saint Faustina? It is what we can learn from the great professed religious tradition that has been with our Church from its early days. While not exclusive to them, the Benedictines’ motto, Ora et Labor, work and prayer, sums it up. This is a call to have a balance between our work lives and prayer lives. It is also a reminder that the particular work of religious communities is always at the service of the common good.
 
There are many other professed religious saints whose lives are filled with great spiritual graces, but whose service to the community was quite ordinary. St. Thérèse of Lisieux, much like Saint Faustina, died of tuberculosis at a young age. She is also famous through her spiritual diary. The massive effect of The Story of a Soul on Catholic piety in the early 20^th should never be underestimated. But remember that the story has at its basis the little way of sanctity demonstrated in the very simple service and prayer she offered in the Carmel. She was the assistant to the novice master—she herself refrained from perpetual vows so that she would be able to stay more closely tied to her charges. Of course we are most affected by what she produced in her diary and the letters she left behind. But don’t forget that daily grind of service in the community is where she put into practice the love she so desperately wanted to give to everyone she encountered, especially the ones that are hardest to love.

Another saint is worth mentioning who provided humble service throughout his religious life as the doorkeeper for a secondary school in Montreal for the Congregation of the Holy Cross.  Saint André Bessette’s little schooling was filled with difficulty. His early attempts at physical labor were thwarted by a weakened stamina. He was admitted to the congregation through the intervention of the archbishop over the objections to his frail health. Brother André remained the porter for over forty years. He is known for his special ministry to the sick and care for the countless thousands who came to visit soon became his primary service.

Nevertheless, that simple service provided to the community each day was the scaffold of holiness that God used to pour out his mercy to so many millions of afflicted people who saw in Brother André the compassionate face of Christ.

The final takeaway. I encourage everyone to reflect on their own lives of service and work. While we may be accustomed to seeing our prayer and our work as two distinct ways of being. The saints seem to be telling us that ordinary, humble service is the bedrock of Christian discipleship. We all are concerned that we don’t pray enough. That we don’t give enough time to God in reading the Scriptures and reflecting on our faith. That’s most likely true. At the same time, perhaps finding a way to look at our daily chores and see how they reflect charity and mercy and a desire to promote the common good can be a path to greater devotion and a deeper spirituality.

You wouldn’t know that Faustina or Therese were saints just by looking at them. That’s not usually how it works. If their diaries had not been published and their stories told by those they left behind in their convents, they may never have been recognized as saints. And yet, they surely were. When I look out at the congregation, I remind myself that I am looking at a room full of saints. Well, saints in training for sure, but no less going about their daily business trying to live the way Christ intends them to by loving God with their whole hearts and their neighbors as themselves.