Saintliness

What makes the saint so different from you or me, from all of us lumped together into one huge disorderly family? Is it the saint's dawn prayer that fold upon fold of light descend upon one and all, even the unworthiest among us, that no evil disturb the poise of faith within each heart? And in what tarnished place are my morning thoughts lodged while his embrace the whole of hope? Or is it his gesture of charity at every moment, acts of virtue so sudden, so spontaneous nothing of them remains after their doing, no sign that points back to him, anonymous and fleeting, known only to the witnessing angels? Meanwhile I amass good deeds like wealth, swelling my account in heaven as a hedge against judgment, so fearful am I that mercy is too good to be true for one has lived a narrow life. Or is it his life in prayer, with one prayer tumbling after another, tracing a path that angels use to readjust their place in the chaos of the world and restore their view of heaven, making worldly things dissolve in the celestial light, invisible to all on earth but the saints, each with his companion angel who interprets every thing that happens as a sign of God's presence. The saint responds to all this lavish natural wealth in his nightly prayer, "Lord, give me nothing more. Shower your grace on that solitary soul, who wanders bereft of hope and faith. Lord, save him."