On confirmation saints and kindness
This is going to get a bit theological, but I promise that I’m not trying to convert you. Stay with me here.
Let me tell you about my confirmation saint, who’s not actually a saint.
As a Catholic — though I don’t go to church as often as my mother would probably prefer — I received the sacrament of Confirmation while I was in high school. For the unfamiliar (I know, Catholicism can be wacky sometimes, and yes, we secretly enjoy confusing you at our weddings), Confirmation is the final rite of initiation into the church: you are baptized, usually as a baby; you get your first communion, usually in elementary school; and then you are confirmed, usually as a teenager. Think of it as the Church asking for a third time, “You’re absolutely sure you want to do this?”
When you are confirmed, you select a saint that becomes your Confirmation name. The idea is that you learn about this saint, and ask that saint to pray for you during your Catholic journey.
Unsurprisingly, St. Michael the Archangel was a popular pick. St. Patrick, too. St. Francis, St. Christopher, St. Teresa. You know, the hits.
I went off the board. I chose Blessed Herman the Cripple.
My grandfather’s name was Herman. But there’s no St. Herman (at least, not a Catholic one). Herman the Cripple was as close as I could get. So I got to work researching him, reading all about his life.
Herman was born with severe disabilities — cerebral palsy, some sort of spine condition and a cleft palate. At a young age, he was dropped off at a monastery, basically because his parents couldn’t take care of him anymore.
At the monastery — where he would live for the remainder of his life — he began to learn, and it soon became clear that while his body was severely crippled, his mind was brilliant. He wrote about science and math. He composed music and wrote poetry. He studied astronomy and history. He learned several languages.
As I mentioned, Herman is not a saint — he was beatified by the church, which is kind of one step before sainthood (just minus the whole “miracles” thing). Right there, that’s a pretty remarkable life.
But one thing has always stuck with me in my reading about my confirmation saint. Something I try to keep with me in tough times.
Late in his life — he died at 40 — Herman went blind. Obviously, as a prolific writer, this was devastating. But instead of lamenting his blindness, Herman began writing hymns with the help of another monk. One of his last accomplishments was writing “Hail Holy Queen”, one of the most famous hymns in the Catholic church; it’s the prayer that ends the Rosary (that’s those prayer beads).
For a guy who had every reason not to, Herman insisted on creating beauty in the world. That’s always stuck with me.
Like you, I watch the news. Perhaps like you, I’ve felt discouraged and angry and dispirited and, at particularly low moments, hopeless.
I’m not here to tell you not to feel that way. We can’t change the ugliness in the world. It’s inevitable.
But in the end, all that has ever been asked of us is kindness, to do our part to bring a little bit of beauty into the world.
As I see it, we only have agency over ourselves, and we can do one of two things. We can do our part to bring beauty into the world through kindness, or we can not. That's it. Those are the options.
Herman did his part. And even some 20 years after choosing him as my confirmation saint, I choose to be inspired by him to do my part, too.