Through a Lens Darkly
Saints Are People Too
As last weekend's glorious yet surprisingly controversial beatification of Pope John Paul II reminds us, the debate over what constitutes true holiness (or perhaps more precisely, what we Catholics expect true holiness to look like) is far from settled. Given the context, this seems an ideal time to reflect on Monsieur Vincent, a classic French biopic of St. Vincent de Paul that highlights his undeniable sanctity while simultaneously challenging viewers to examine a number of damaging preconceptions they may have about what it means to be a saint.
Faced with the daunting task of distilling a beloved hero's life into a few short hours, the film's writers omit de Paul's early days altogether, focusing instead on the events that produced the apostolate for which he is famous: his tireless efforts on behalf of the poor. While serving as pastor of the town of Clichy, Monsieur Vincent recognizes the dire circumstances confronting the destitute members of his flock but struggles with the most effective way to assist them. Realizing that his efforts on their behalf are nearly impossible without funds, he agrees to serve as chaplain for a prominent noblewoman and her family, on the condition that she grant him a generous stipend with which to support his charity. Yet this new-found wealth proves problematic as the fame and fortune that accompanies his lofty position becomes a stumbling block to the very people he most wishes to embrace.
Convinced that there is no value in half measures, he renounces his worldly possessions "so as to better love and serve the poor, my brothers and masters." Unfettered by wealth or fame, he is now free to walk among his ragged flock—an equal party to their suffering rather than a distant patron to be resented and distrusted.
Initially overwhelmed by the profound suffering he sees, Father de Paul is warned to "do like everyone else and not care, since only the rich can afford to care." But he refuses to succumb to the despair that plagues so many of his fellow mendicants, joining forces with a fellow clergyman in his daunting task of bringing food and hope to the poor that surround him on every side. Despite his best efforts to embrace them, the poor see him as a harsh taskmaster, stubbornly refusing to distribute food to those unwilling to better themselves and denouncing their laziness.
The wealthy noblewomen of the area, intrigued by the good priest's efforts, ask to participate in his work. Recognizing the vital role they (and their funds) can play in his future success, Monsieur Vincent welcomes their interest, but their shallow and selfish motives prove a source of endless frustration. Disgusted by their refusal to see his work as anything but an amusing hobby and overwhelmed by the seemingly impossible task before him, he is driven to the edge of despair. It is at this lowest moment that God sends him Marguerite Nasseau, a young milkmaid eager to assist him in his labors—and who is destined to become the first member of the Daughters of Charity.
The years pass—violent, tumultuous years that see Monsieur Vincent's efforts on behalf of his poor matched only by their ever-growing need. Gradually, his work attracts attention, admiration, and a mounting number of supporters. Yet even as the success of the institutions he has begun grows more assured, the future saint begins to doubt. Ever his harshest critic, he is plagued by fears that he has not done enough. "I slept too much," he laments. "I was a coward quite often. I gave in and closed my eyes so I could forget about misery." And so his story moves from a highly public struggle against poverty to a deeply private, yet equally intense spiritual one—one that is familiar to us all.
Joseph Susanka has been doing development work for institutions of Catholic higher education since his graduation from Thomas Aquinas College in 1999. He blogs at Crisis Magazine, where he also contributes feature articles on a variety of topics.