One of the most beautiful parts of our faith is knowing that we are connected with those who have gone before us even though they are no longer with us. We really can have relationships with saints, and we build them just like we do with those among the living- by spending time with them and getting to know them better.
My home parish recently went through the challenging process of merging with another in order to become something new. They chose St. Gianna as their new patron. It was a good fit.
Both were family parishes and special places for courageous and strong moms. Gianna had a fierce love for her family along with remarkable tenacity, strength, perseverance and faith. She was generous with her soul, dedicated to self-sacrifice for the sake of others, and endured a variety of difficult disappointments, setbacks and challenges before her life began to make sense.
When it did, it touched the world. It also touched the spirit of our new parish that was formed in her namesake.
Gianna also had an unexpected impact on my life too, and my time with her touched me to the core of my being and left an indelible mark on my soul. Sometimes the biggest surprises in our lives come out of our darkest hours when we feel helpless, vulnerable, forgotten and alone.
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Gianna’s statue showed up in the new sanctuary about a month before the two parishes were to begin their new life as one body in Christ. By that time, the heart of the parish was going through the gamut of thoughts and feelings that are associated with knowing that death is on the horizon but life must go on too.
This is an awful, yet beautiful place for the heart to dwell. We were preparing for a funeral, birth and wedding that would take place simultaneously. My heart was heavy too. I couldn’t do much to help because I showed up late to the party. To make matters worse, I was going through my own death and life saga that was coming to a climax at the same time too.
It was a terrible time to not be able to serve while needing to be served too, and I never walked down a path like that before.
One of the parish priests was trying really hard to be retired. Yet, he sacrificed a good deal of his time and energy to deal with me in ways that I didn’t fully-appreciate until recently. I asked for some advice about how to handle this struggle, and he told me to spend time sitting in the sanctuary for a while and see what happens.
At first I thought that was just a lame way to get me out of his hair, and I was a little annoyed about that. But, I took his advice anyway, and quickly discovered it was the prescription that I needed to fill. At first I just sat in front of the Blessed Sacrament, but soon I became drawn to Gianna’s statue at the back of the church. Before I knew it, I was sitting with her after the morning masses and at other random times when the sanctuary was open and quiet. At first, I felt weird and self-conscious when I quietly sat in front of her statue. Then it dawned on me how we do that with adoration too, so why not, right? I mean, if that’s not nutty, then there’s certainly nothing wrong with spending time with the likeness of our patron also.
I allowed myself to be comfortable just sitting there, thinking about her life, her story, her struggles, her love. I thought of her family and their courage to choose to walk down a terrible road together. I thought about her legacy, and how the daughter she saved embraced the faith and took her mother’s work as her own. I began to bring the parish, the merger, the priests, deacon and staff, and all they were going through, with me into our time together too. I did the same with my own questions and struggles too.
I just sat with all of that and allowed her to speak to me if she wanted to. I never heard words, but I’m convinced that she wrote some of her story on my heart during our time together. I’m also certain that I catch a glimpse of her presence every now and then, despite the rational side of my brain trying to convince me otherwise.
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I got the sense that she was adopting all of us, that we were being handed off by our former tenacious and faithful patrons and entrusted into her care. Things were going to be okay, and we were in good hands. As ridiculous as it is to read what I just wrote, that’s what it felt like. I also got the sense that she was adopting me too, but that my spiritual home would be somewhere else. That was a hard pill to swallow, but I felt comforted. I remembered how everything works together for the greater good.
I was also reminded of how my mom and aunt both had difficult pregnancies and faced difficult choices and prospects. Thankfully, they, and the babies, were all fine. Yet, one of those babies grew up to be a super mom who ended up being a miracle to two children who weren’t her own. The other became a super son who fiercely loves and cares for his parents.
Gianna reminded me that even though I am not a family man, or have any intention of becoming one, I can be adopted and looked after by a saint who is a super mom too.
I originally wrote Gianna’s Lullaby as a way to honor the moms in my life, those in her parish, and those who courageously and fiercely love their families. However, I also want to honor her as well.
One day I’ll write a lyric for this and turn it into a beautiful lullaby. Meanwhile, I hope that Gianna’s Lullaby will bring you comfort and remind you that there are souls in heaven who would love to be a part of your life here on earth. All you need to do is spend time with them in order to get better-acquainted.