I'm going to hell.
Granted, it's a direct flight and no doubt "the trip of a lifetime." Still...
Let's start at the beginning. I work at "Bookworms & Tapeworms," a book/music store that also sells items one might term "spiritual." My sales motivation lies not in earning a commission, but in the irrational hope that every "ka-ching!" of the register will count as extra credit…to offset my sins.
Fat chance, now.
My fast track to Hades began when a customer - call him "Fred" - came in to buy a St. Joseph statue. Which Joseph? I asked, for there are several. Well, he needed the one who'd sell his house if buried in the yard.
Aha! said I. That would be the standard Joe in all nativity sets. Sorry, December is months away. To be helpful, I suggested a sterling St. Christopher tie clip-holy-esque and easy to bury. Though technically de-sainted years ago, Chris still draws his share of loyal fans. But Fred wasn't one of them.
So I showed him a rack of discount button-down hair shirts we overstocked during Lent. No go. In fact, Fred looked so discouraged, I joked that it might be time to bury his realtor, hahaha!
Being exceptionally intuitive, I sensed my joke fell flat when Fred began to cry. I swiped my sleeve over the counter to mop up his tears before they warped the wood, and murmured something about the power of faith. Perhaps, I said, some folks have such a strong faith that, heck, they don't even need a statue!
At that moment, a rush of spiritual clarity stirred deep within me-profound, mysterious, and beyond my control. Then again, it might've been the peppers from lunch.
Regardless, my babble picked up speed. In this stagnant market, surely St. Joseph was already up to his halo in prayer requests. Man, what a crummy way to spend eternity! Could it hurt to invoke a less popular saint with more free time? Would Joseph mind? He seemed like a cool-headed guy who could roll with a surprise. Remember, he didn't split the scene when Mary whispered, "Honey, I'm late…." Let's give the guy a break.
What saints do you recommend? asked Fred. My rule of thumb: Don't bother any saint whose name appears on schools or churches. That means John, Andrew, Paul, and their friends are BUSY. One of the Jameses may have potential, however, but skip past J. the Greater and J. the Lesser.
Instead, ask the heavenly switchboard for St. James Intercissus. The lad lived a quiet life until martyred by the King of Persia, who hacked him to pieces. Yeah, bummer. Ironically, the Latin word "Intercissus" means "The sum of the parts is greater than the whole." Jim, I believe, is the patron saint of fractions.
How 'bout St. Radegund? Anyone who ministered to lepers might be glad to lend a hand, so to speak. He's also the patron of dieters. Oh, you betcha. If you've ever said, "Gosh, I'd give my right arm to lose weight!" then Rad's your man.
He didn't die from leprosy, and that secretly disappoints me. He was killed by wolves with a hankering for undiseased meat. In short, St. Rad lived among lepers as a happy male, only to die among wolves as a Happy Meal®.
Then there's St. Roch. According to legend, he survived the plague because a dog brought him bread every day. Here boy, over here!! Thassa good puppy, drop the loaf…drop it…drop!! Good booooooy!
Personally, my "go to" saints are the obscure St. Pambo, patron saint of gluttony, and Mathurin, patron of the insane. Birds of a feather, and all that.
In the end, I sold Fred a slight variation on his original Joseph idea. Fred has great faith, that's for sure. I hope he also has a backhoe. He'll need it to bury all that patio furniture stamped with the Serenity Prayer.
Copyright © 2009 Mary Tompsett
Top of Page
Back to Mary Tompsett
Home
What's New
People
