A few weeks ago, a friend of my fiancée and me passed away. He was only 33 years old.
Out of respect for his family, I’ll keep his name private. But I pray — and firmly hope — that his name is written in the Book of Life spoken of in Revelation.
He was an affable, joyful man. With childlike curiosity, he immediately welcomed me into a young adult Catholic group. Together, we would discuss movies, sports — particularly baseball and basketball — and naturally faith. He often invited me to Sunday night basketball (of which I now regret not attending). And he even sacrificed a Saturday morning to help my fiancée move out of her apartment.
She knew him for more than 10 years. I only knew him for a few months. Yet I could quickly see that his compassion revealed a dimension of Christ’s heart — one that listened attentively and saw every person as beloved by God. Like St. Teresa of Calcutta, he had the rare gift of making you feel as though you were the only person in the room. It’s a heart I only hope to reflect to others.
He surely had crosses and struggles. He was not perfect. None of us are. But he entrusted those burdens to Our Lord in the Blessed Sacrament. Indeed, he was a Eucharistic man — regularly attending adoration. One of the last times I saw him, he quietly prayed for a holy hour, and then exited the church. Sadly, he died only a few weeks later after complications due to a sports-related injury.
In his own way, he quietly gave himself — embodying the Prayer of St. Francis’s line: “It is in giving that we receive.” This was evidenced by the reminiscing offered by several friends after a memorial Mass. They talked about his sympathetic and kind-hearted witness, his sense of humor, and joyful demeanor even in the midst of his own suffering.
His impact was noticeably deep — not because of grand accomplishments or gestures, but because he consistently chose to love generously in ordinary ways in his corner of the world.
Indeed, his life was a quiet witness.
Too often, we can be overwhelmed by injustices, pains, or politics on a national and global scale. Too often, as young adults, we can be consumed by professional or vocational pursuits, or crushed by economic and other anxieties. Too often, we can ask God’s will in our lives and feel abandoned. We can feel isolated and alone.
The problems can seem insurmountable. But we are called by Christ to “go out.” Our true vocation is, at its core, to love. Not all of us are called to steer world events or be a Doctor of the Church — but we can bring Christ’s light to someone in our community, neighborhood or even home. Our fiats, through the Holy Spirit, can draw others to God and radically alter a person’s life. As Saint Thérèse of Lisieux once said: “Miss no single opportunity of making some small sacrifice, here by a smile, there by a kindly word; always doing the smallest right and doing it all for love.”
We all have the capacity to be quiet saints like my friend. To introduce and point others to Christ’s infinite love and mercy. To entrust our destinies and wills to God. And to be the living embodiment of the Gospel’s profound message: that Jesus is risen and he infinitely loves us all.
Death does not have the final word. As Catholics, we must allow that truth to take root in our hearts in order for Christ to truly transform and conform us into his own image and likeness. My friend demonstrated this faith — and hope — in adoration, his genuine treatment of others, daily acts of love, and childlike trust in God.
We, too, can live our faith simply: letting go of pride; persevering in struggles; sacrificing for others with our time and attention. Those traits can truly make all the difference in our own lives, and in the lives of others — even those we hardly know or don’t know at all.
I entrust his soul to God, whom he loved so much. Confidently, I hope my friend’s work is just beginning — that he is one of the many quiet saints of heaven, praying for all of us to cross heaven’s threshold and hear those words: “Well done, my good and faithful servant.”
May we all strive to live joyfully, knowing we’re being held in God’s loving hands; and that we, too, are made for sainthood.
Andrew Fowler is the Editor of RealClearReligion. He is also the Communications Specialist at Yankee Institute and author of “The Condemned,” a novella about a Catholic priest fighting off the cartel to save the residents of a small desert town (which you can find here).
