Writings of the Saints - Benefits for Us

[reggieM]

There was another thread asking if reading the writings of the saints was “necessary” for Catholics and it got side-tracked and closed (probably by my provocation at the end) but perhaps we can look at it differently and avoid the problem.

Ok, with “Necessary” - we can see that in the bare-minimal view, and say “no, it’s not necessary to read the writings of the saints”. This has been true for centuries of Catholic living where people couldn’t read or didn’t have those writings.

But what about today? It’s still true - it’s not “necessary” to know the writings of the saints. But it’s also true that “it’s not necessary to read the Bible” (the Bible has writings of the saints). A Catholic’s simply “necessary” obligations are minimal.

But we can look at the word "necessary’ in the sense that we say “Essential Reading for Catholics”. Or, we could say “Books that Catholics Should Read”.
When we google those phrases, we do come up with a lot.

So, what are the benefits of reading the works of saints? I’m not talking about life stories of saints or historical research on them, but they’re writings? What does it do for us?

I have my ideas but just wanted to see what you think.

 

[midori]

It gives us a different perspective.

Say, for example, you’re in history class. You might have one teacher who tells you the rote facts. You might have another teacher who makes history come alive with intriguing anecdotes. You might have another teacher who is able to draw parallels between what happened with X civilization, what happened with Y civilization, and by extension, what’s going on around us in our own civilization.

They’re all teaching history, but they make it pertinent in different ways. And different people latch on to different things. So one person might be satisfied with just the basic rote facts, but for another person, the basic rote facts don’t have a whole lot of meaning without the context that’s given by people who make history more personal.

Take, for example, “Interior Castle”, by Teresa of Avila. It’s practically a textbook on how to pray. We all know our prayers by rote-- Our Father, Hail Mary, Glory Be, Apostles Creed. We string them together in the Rosary or the Divine Mercy Chaplet. We say Grace before meals and we go to Mass on Sunday. We know that prayer is communication with God, and that they can be generally classed as petition, adoration, contrition, and thanksgiving. And we know that prayer helps us develop our relationship with God, because it’s hard to build healthy relationships where there’s no communication. But so often, prayers just seem like words in a vacuum.

In “Interior Castle”, St. Teresa says:

…The laws of our Order require us to pray many hours a day, yet tell us nothing about how it applies to us, or about what work God has done in our souls in response to our prayers.

And the rest of Interior Castle is dedicated to providing context, and explaining things— about how our soul is like a castle, and how God is in the innermost chamber, and how you enter the gate through prayer and meditation, and how sin prevents our souls from gaining merit, so the first step is to become conscious of sin. You start out blind and deaf, not seeing how you’re surrounded by poisonous creatures, but with the grace of God, you gain your hearing-- and you can hear God calling you closer. With perseverance and the desire to obey, you make progress, and you become aware of the battle raging around you-- the cannons and the poisonous reptiles. You fall, but God can turn our falls to our good. Your actions are brought into play as you continue to draw into the inner mansions: you use your time well; you perform acts of penance and charity; you meditate. Eventually, you learn how to abandon your soul into God’s hands, and forget our will, and resign ourselves to God’s will. And so on and so forth. As things get closer to God, they get more and more abstract— but if we’re fortunate, we’re able to make little parallels in our own lives, and say, “Aha.”

None of this is really any different from anything else that we might have learned elsewhere. But just the way the ideas are phrased, from someone who’s obviously Been There, Done That, and Done It Well— it’s a different perspective. It wouldn’t appeal to everyone. But that’s why saints aren’t all made in the same pattern; there’s someone for everyone.

 

[reggieM]

It gives us a different perspective.

Say, for example, you’re in history class. You might have one teacher who tells you the rote facts. You might have another teacher who makes history come alive with intriguing anecdotes. You might have another teacher who is able to draw parallels between what happened with X civilization, what happened with Y civilization, and by extension, what’s going on around us in our own civilization.

They’re all teaching history, but they make it pertinent in different ways. And different people latch on to different things. So one person might be satisfied with just the basic rote facts, but for another person, the basic rote facts don’t have a whole lot of meaning without the context that’s given by people who make history more personal.

Take, for example, “Interior Castle”, by Teresa of Avila. It’s practically a textbook on how to pray. We all know our prayers by rote-- Our Father, Hail Mary, Glory Be, Apostles Creed. We string them together in the Rosary or the Divine Mercy Chaplet. We say Grace before meals and we go to Mass on Sunday. We know that prayer is communication with God, and that they can be generally classed as petition, adoration, contrition, and thanksgiving. And we know that prayer helps us develop our relationship with God, because it’s hard to build healthy relationships where there’s no communication. But so often, prayers just seem like words in a vacuum.

In “Interior Castle”, St. Teresa says:

And the rest of Interior Castle is dedicated to providing context, and explaining things— about how our soul is like a castle, and how God is in the innermost chamber, and how you enter the gate through prayer and meditation, and how sin prevents our souls from gaining merit, so the first step is to become conscious of sin. You start out blind and deaf, not seeing how you’re surrounded by poisonous creatures, but with the grace of God, you gain your hearing-- and you can hear God calling you closer. With perseverance and the desire to obey, you make progress, and you become aware of the battle raging around you-- the cannons and the poisonous reptiles. You fall, but God can turn our falls to our good. Your actions are brought into play as you continue to draw into the inner mansions: you use your time well; you perform acts of penance and charity; you meditate. Eventually, you learn how to abandon your soul into God’s hands, and forget our will, and resign ourselves to God’s will. And so on and so forth. As things get closer to God, they get more and more abstract— but if we’re fortunate, we’re able to make little parallels in our own lives, and say, “Aha.”

None of this is really any different from anything else that we might have learned elsewhere. But just the way the ideas are phrased, from someone who’s obviously Been There, Done That, and Done It Well— it’s a different perspective. It wouldn’t appeal to everyone. But that’s why saints aren’t all made in the same pattern; there’s someone for everyone.

This is such a great response - thank you!
I will say that’s the best summary of St. Teresa’s classic work I have ever read. Yes, it really brings the spiritual world to life for us. Plus the language and themes she uses teaches about the seriousness of the spiritual battle – it roots us deeply in the wisdom of Catholic tradition, gives us a firm foundation to build on.