Meet the other Divine Mercy saints
Meet the other Divine Mercy saints
When Jesus showed himself to St. Faustina Kowalska and told her of his boundless mercy and endless compassion, it was nothing unfamiliar. The essence of the Gospel message has consistently been that God, in his mercy, pursues sinners to draw them back to himself.
However, merely because it’s dated information doesn’t imply it’s not beneficial news — or essential news. For although we understand that Jesus abundantly offers mercy even to the gravest of sinners, we continue to doubt. We doubt that mercy is available to us amid our transgressions, and we doubt that Divine mercy could reach those individuals we particularly enjoy despising. Thus, the Church reiterates to us time and again the limitless mercy of God, revealing to us saints whose transgressions were shocking: Blessed Bartolo Longo, the Satanic high priest; St. Olga of Kiev, the mass slayer; St. Bruno Sserunkuuma, the aggressive bigamist; St. Longinus, the Roman soldier who crucified God.
These narratives reach out to us in our anguish, reminding us that there is nothing we can do that God will not pardon. Thus, we present him our transgressions and our fragility, and he grants us solely mercy and grace, cleansing us through his blood shed on Calvary.
Nevertheless, those of us who have experienced God’s grace frequently manage to hold back from extending this blessing freely given to us in plenty. Or maybe we don’t resent others receiving God’s mercy; we simply feel it’s not our responsibility to take action. We fulfill our tax obligations, endure our in-laws, and attend Mass on Sundays, patting ourselves on the back for our moral standing while overlooking the Great Commission to spread God’s mercy to the hurting and the lost across the globe.
Once more, the Church invites us to a greater understanding through the examples of the saints, through various individuals who encountered God’s mercy and recognized their duty to share that mercy with the world. Upon hearing these narratives, we start to understand that the mission to reach out to every corner of the earth and proclaim the good news is not limited to faraway pagan nations, but also includes those whose political views, sexual morals, occupations, or characters lead us to feel animosity or contempt towards them. While we celebrate the blessing of Divine Mercy, let’s explore these saints who provided compassion to those least conscious of their need for it — or largely certain they didn’t merit it. Let’s permit their example to inspire us to be ambassadors of mercy in our own existence.
St. Vitalis of Gaza
St. Vitalis of Gaza (d. 625) engaged with a different prostitute each night. When we encounter such a statement, we prepare ourselves for an inspiring conversion tale, yet this does not represent the “before” of Vitalis’s narrative. This epitomizes what sanctity was for him. A hermit who dedicated years in the wilderness, later in his life Vitalis relocated to Alexandria, where he toiled at demanding jobs to ensure he could indulge in the company of a brothel each evening.
The Christians in Alexandria were outraged, yet in spite of their grievances and disapproval, Vitalis paid them no heed. In the end, Vitalis was murdered in the street; when his remains were discovered, he was holding a piece of paper that contained 1 Corinthians 4:5 on it: “Thus, do not render any verdict before the designated time, until the Lord arrives, for he will disclose what is concealed in darkness and will reveal the intentions of our hearts.” The Christians who had criticized him likely found it puzzling that he held on to this scripture, yet they had already decided: Vitalis was a disgraced monk, and now it was too late for him to seek forgiveness.
He extended to them the compassion emanating from the pierced side of Christ, untroubled by the fact that in the process he would become as reviled as they were. They were deserving of it, after all.
However, the disgraced priest’s memorial service was crowded, filled with dozens (possibly hundreds) of former sex workers who mourned his passing. It appears that Vitalis had not engaged with them out of desire. He had abandoned the tranquility and solitude of the desert to pursue the lost souls of the city, seeking each woman who had been so exploited and hurt. Each night, he entered the room of a different woman, offering her payment for the night with just one condition: that she refrain from physical contact. When each confused woman inquired about his meaning, he explained: He was not there to take advantage of her. He sought to purchase her one night of liberation, one night without transgression. And when they questioned his motive, Vitalis would respond: because they were cherished. Because Jesus sacrificed himself for their salvation. Because they mattered far more than their actions or the wrongs inflicted upon them.
He would converse with them and pay attention, intercede for them and join them in prayer. And when the time came, he would assist them in their escape. He would secure residences for them, dowries, and even partners or convents. All at the expense of his good name and eventually his life.
In a society that dismissed these women as lost causes, one that exploited and mistreated them only to look down upon them afterward, Vitalis recognized their worth. He acknowledged them and cherished them, and, akin to the Good Shepherd he had emulated, he ventured to find them and lead them back. He extended the compassion that flowed from the pierced side of Christ, undeterred by the fact that this act would render him as scorned as they were. They were deserving of it, after all.
St. Joseph Cafasso
St. Joseph Cafasso (1811-60) had a deep affection for hardened wrongdoers. He cherished the most furious, brutal, and aggressive offenders. His love was so profound that he would put his own life on the line by entering their cells and urging them to seek redemption.
A frail, ailing individual, Cafasso’s devotion to holiness began in his early youth. His goodness was so apparent that following Cafasso’s ordination, his close companion St. John Bosco selected Cafasso as his spiritual guide. However, Father Cafasso didn’t solely resonate with those who were already virtuous. He possessed a talent for discussing the compassion of God that could tenderize even the toughest souls.
On one particular instance, a collection of inmates he had been readying for confession showed hesitation to confront their guilt and reveal their wrongdoings before the cross. Father Cafasso strode straight up to the biggest individual present, grasped his beard firmly, and declared, “I will not release you until you confess.” The man objected, but eventually agreed (hesitantly). Shortly thereafter, he was heard sobbing with relief; upon rejoining the group, he emphatically told his companions that he had never experienced such happiness in his entire life. He was incredibly articulate in extolling the virtues of the sacrament that he convinced all the other inmates to attend, and Father Cafasso dedicated hours to listening to confessions.
When offenders found themselves in such desperation regarding God’s forgiveness that they were on the verge of taking their own lives, the prison guards summoned Father Cafasso. When those on the brink of death adamantly rejected the sacrament, their relatives reached out to Father Cafasso. Each time, he would softly encourage them, even if they initially reacted with anger and loud protests. Throughout his time in ministry, Father Cafasso was fortunate enough to assist 68 individuals who were condemned to hang; every single one passed away in a state of repentance, having made their confession and received the Blessed Sacrament. Father Cafasso accompanied them right up to their execution, holding a crucifix in front of them and assuring them of heaven, emphasizing that God’s mercy surpassed whatever sins they had committed.
Father Cafasso devoted himself to those criminals whom society had dismissed, yet the compassion he extended was accessible to all who yearned for it (and occasionally even to those who did not). He urged his brother priests that they had an obligation to be Christlike in the confessional, stating, “When we listen to Confessions, our Lord desires us to be warm and understanding, to exhibit a fatherly attitude towards everyone who approaches us, regardless of their identity or past actions. If we turn anyone away, if any individual is lost due to our negligence, we will be responsible — their blood will rest on our hands.”
While he never minimized a wrongdoing, he also did not scold the wrongdoer. Rather, he implored, fervently urging God’s children to return — even when he did so at considerable personal peril, often in the presence of threatening individuals. Yet Father Cafasso understood that his purpose justified any danger, and thus he devoted himself entirely to bestow Divine Mercy upon all who would accept it.
| THE MERCY CALL OF ALL THE BAPTIZED |
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“‘Give thanks to the Lord, for he is good; for his mercy endures for ever!’ (Ps 117: 1). “Let us make our own the Psalmist’s exclamation which we sang in the Responsorial Psalm: the Lord’s mercy endures for ever! In order to understand thoroughly the truth of these words, let us be led by the liturgy to the heart of the event of salvation, which unites Christ’s Death and Resurrection with our lives and with the world’s history. This miracle of mercy has radically changed humanity’s destiny. It is a miracle in which is unfolded the fullness of the love of the Father who, for our redemption, does not even draw back before the sacrifice of his Only-begotten Son. “In the humiliated and suffering Christ, believers and non-believers can admire a surprising solidarity, which binds him to our human condition beyond all imaginable measure. The Cross, even after the Resurrection of the Son of God, ‘speaks and never ceases to speak of God the Father, who is absolutely faithful to his eternal love for man. … Believing in this love means believing in mercy’ (Dives in misericordia, n. 7). “Let us thank the Lord for his love, which is stronger than death and sin. It is revealed and put into practice as mercy in our daily lives, and prompts every person in turn to have ‘mercy’ towards the Crucified One. Is not loving God and loving one’s neighbor and even one’s ‘enemies’, after Jesus’ example, the programme of life of every baptized person and of the whole Church?” — Pope St. John Paul II, homily for Divine Mercy Sunday, April 22, 2001 |
Blessed Anna Maria Adorni
The life of Blessed Anna Maria Adorni (1805-93) was beset by sorrow. She laid her mother to rest, then her first infant. Her second offspring was well, but his arrival was succeeded by nearly ten years of secondary infertility before she eventually had four additional children in rapid succession, interring one of them shortly after delivery as well. Ultimately, after 18 years of wedded life, Anna Maria lost her spouse. Yet she maintained her faith in God’s kindness. She still believed in his affection. Defying all challenges, she continued to aspire to guide others to him.
As a single mother of four, Anna Maria would certainly have been justified in retreating and merely trying to get by. If she were to be exceptionally generous, maybe she could assist other mothers or care for other young children. However, Anna Maria chose to enter women’s prisons, extending the compassion of Jesus to those who were overlooked and scorned, urging the defiant to come back to the Lord and showcasing his love to individuals who believed they were unlovable. She invited friends to join her, convincing her upper-class companions that incarcerated women possessed dignity, thereby altering the culture of the prison so significantly that a warden remarked, “That lady has transformed the prison into a monastery!”
Throughout her lifetime, she experienced the loss of almost everything significant to an individual — with the exception of her unwavering belief that God’s compassion was for all, and that these women were equally deserving of it as she was.
Even this fell short. Anna Maria started to understand how the majority of women’s suffering became increasingly severe following their release. Thus, she leased residences to function as halfway houses (if halfway houses operated like religious retreats) and eventually took up residence with the recently freed inmates herself, accompanied by her 10-year-old daughter, who was her sole child still residing at home.
As this endeavor progressed, Anna Maria started to connect with women who had not (yet) faced arrest. She traversed the streets establishing bonds with women vulnerable to criminal activity and also found shelters for them. For 13 years, Anna Maria undertook this mission as a layperson. Throughout that period, she laid her children to rest one by one until only one son was left. Sorrow was her ever-present companion, yet her efforts brought her profound happiness. Ultimately, she established a religious community so that the women who had joined her in this mission could enjoy the stability of a committed life while they continued to assist those whom society had discarded.
She accomplished all of this at the cost of her reputation and numerous relationships. Throughout her life, she sacrificed almost everything that holds significance for a person — with the exception of her firm belief that God’s mercy was intended for all, and that these women were just as worthy of it as she was. When her canonization process began, her postulator referred to her as “the mother of the marginalized, exploited, those subjected to new forms of slavery, and particularly, the incarcerated and women whose human dignity has been violated.”
St. Charles Lwanga
Mercy extends beyond merely the distant other — the outsider, the sufferer, even the offender whom we might opt to engage with out of our own kindness. Some individuals are prompted to look for incarcerated individuals or those grappling with addiction, sex workers or neglectful parents, to reach out to strangers who are distant from Jesus and encourage them to proclaim, “Jesus, I trust in you.”
However, each of us is urged to extend love to the difficult individuals in our lives, the unbearable colleague, the critical brother or sister, the anti-Catholic neighbor, the terse partner. While at times that love may need to be maintained from afar, with safeguards in place to ensure our well-being, frequently the radical compassion we’re encouraged to provide is a brave love that softly guides individuals back to Jesus. This compassion expresses, “I care about you. And I’m here to stay. But your spouse deserves far better than this.” Or, “You were created for greater things.” Or even, “You can always return home.”
This is where St. Charles Lwanga (1860-86) thrived. Widely recognized for his guidance of a group of young pages at the court of the predatory king of Buganda, Charles was more than merely a leader of the collective — he was a companion to each individual. Lwanga had been brought up to serve as a pagan priest and had pledged to live a celibate life. Upon entering the king of Uganda’s court, he met St. Joseph Mukasa Balikuddembe and St. John Mary Muzeeyi, whose commitment to celibacy resonated with his own. Inspired by their example, Lwanga commenced his exploration of the Faith; following Balikuddembe’s passing, Lwanga was baptized and assumed his role as the leader of the Christian community within the palace.
He possessed a magnetic charm and athletic ability, earning the admiration of everyone he encountered. However, he was not one to keep his social influence to himself; on the contrary, Lwanga sought out those shunned by society. A key figure among them was St. Gyavira, another youth raised to be a pagan priest. Gyavira was destined for the leopard deity Mayanja, and the other pages at court were intimidated by him. Yet Lwanga was undaunted. Alongside the Catholic pages, he befriended the isolated young man, and through their camaraderie, they guided him toward sainthood. Initially, when Lwanga shared the story of Jesus with Gyavira, Gyavira listened due to their bond. But soon he realized that Lwanga had also intended to worship another god and had forsaken those intentions to follow the true God. Lwanga recognized the sacrifices required for Gyavira, who had grown up anticipating wealth and women due to his position as a pagan priest.
Slowly, Gyavira began to accept the Faith, despite his father’s fury. Although it rendered him an outsider to his clan, Gyavira torched all the tools of witchcraft he possessed and started to get ready for baptism. When the king commanded the execution of the Christians at the court, Gyavira stood alongside his friend Lwanga and participated in martyrdom with him.
However, Lwanga not only reached out to pagans, encouraging them to turn to Jesus. He also undertook what is frequently more challenging: urging Christians to return.
St. Bruno Sserunkuuma was a conceited, aggressive, and obstinate individual prior to his baptism. And since baptism is not enchanting, those traits persisted even after he became a Christian. For a period following his baptism, Sserunkuuma struggled against his more primal instincts. However, he still resorted to extortion when his duties as a royal guard necessitated tax collection. Furthermore, when Ugandan King Kabaka Mwanga presented him with two young women as a form of reward, Sserunkuuma’s efforts at maintaining purity were abandoned. He took both as his wives (even though neither constituted a legitimate marriage), and before long, one of the women was expecting.
Fortunately, Sserunkuuma wasn’t a Christian in isolation. His companions St. Charles Lwanga and St. Andrew Kaggwa were troubled by his actions and confronted him, providing fraternal correction so impactful that Sserunkuuma distanced himself from both women. He abandoned them in his residence and created a sort of monastic cell for himself in the palace, where he resided after making a sincere confession. Because his companions had addressed him with both firmness and love regarding the man he was meant to be, Sserunkuuma was living for Christ and was prepared to die for Him. Even though he wasn’t apprehended for his beliefs, he openly identified as a Christian nonetheless and was executed alongside Kaggwa and Lwanga, individuals whose devotion to Divine Mercy had prompted them to sacrifice their friendship to save a friend.
Blessed Sandra Sabattini
Blessed Sandra Sabattini (1961-84) was an attractive, gregarious, and clever woman who was engaged to a caring fiancé. However, she devoted her time to helping addicts, individuals looked down upon by society due to their battle with addiction.
Sandra was a kind-hearted and faith-driven young girl. At just 13, she participated in a journey to assist disabled children and experienced a transformation; despite the week being tiring, Sandra realized she needed to keep looking for those who were suffering and marginalized.
Numerous individuals appreciate the purity of disabled children captivating, but young Sandra was not only attracted to delightful children. She aspired to assist those in distress, regardless of the reasons behind it. Consequently, she became more outspoken regarding the struggles of the impoverished and more dedicated to aiding individuals living in hardship. However, at the age of 20, Sandra began to serve a much less “appealing” demographic: individuals battling drug dependence. Sandra was exceptional in her compassion for those confronting addiction, her empathy for their challenges, and her eagerness to build relationships with them. Furthermore, she was not shaped by a culture that recognized addiction as the medical condition that it truly is. No, Sandra’s environment had scant tolerance for people living with addiction. There was minimal comprehension of the trauma that frequently contributes to substance abuse problems or how addiction hinders our autonomy, rendering many individuals reliant on drugs nearly unable to quit without assistance. Nevertheless, Sandra recognized the dignity of those she assisted.
She led a life of profound compassion and significant purpose, simply because she refrained from separating the “worthy” from the “unworthy” poor. She simply extended the grace of Jesus to anyone she encountered.
At this point, she was a medical student engaged to be married, a well-liked young woman with endless possibilities ahead of her. Yet, in spite of her bustling life (and her hectic timetable), Sandra couldn’t avert her gaze from the pain she witnessed in the rehabilitation center where she volunteered. She wouldn’t turn her back on these individuals, even when they lashed out at her, disregarded her, or mocked her. She refused to see them as undeserving of her affection, fueled by the love of Jesus, who withholds nothing. But this was not a patronizing gesture of benevolence; Sandra appreciated the bonds she forged, mentioning each individual by name and highlighting the kindness of one, the straightforwardness of another, and the need for compassion that motivated a third. It was her warmth and her willingness to listen that encouraged the patients to share their thoughts. One man later expressed how her infectious happiness inspired him to pursue recovery; he has now maintained his sobriety for 40 years, crediting that achievement to Sandra.
Many of us would learn about Sandra’s endeavors and recommend that she take a pause while completing medical school and organizing her wedding. However, it’s fortunate that she didn’t. If she had postponed her service for a more convenient phase in her life, she might never have embarked on that journey at all. Sandra tragically lost her life in a car crash at merely 22. She never got the chance to finish medical school or wed her fiancé. Yet, she lived a life filled with extraordinary compassion and profound significance, largely because she made no effort to differentiate between the “worthy” and the “unworthy” poor. She simply extended Jesus’ mercy to everyone she encountered.
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As we peruse these accounts of pivotal events and remarkable ministries, it’s simple to regard these saints from a distance and exempt ourselves from any comparable calling. However, if there’s a single lesson we can glean from St. Faustina, it’s that imparting God’s mercy is worth any sacrifice. This Divine Mercy Sunday, take a moment to inquire of the Lord: Which individual or individuals am I most reluctant to offer mercy to? And in what specific ways can I begin?
