My wife has always been drawn to a particular genre of non-fiction in which people struggle against great difficulties, especially physical or mental disabilities. She has read dozens of books in which the main character wrestles with something like autism, Down syndrome, cerebral palsy, blindness or some other malady (though disasters, abuse and hard pioneer life count also).
I have read a number of the books she has around the house and have learned to really appreciate several, not just as interesting stories, but as good, well-written books.
One such book that I can recommend is called "Karen". It is the story of Karen Killilea, who was born with cerebral palsy. It was written by her mother, Marie Killlilea, in 1952. In the book we see how Karen fights both her physical disability and the sometimes callous response of the society around her. There is a bonus, in that the Killileas are a warmly devout Catholic family and the book touches on very relevent themes, such as the intrinsic value of all human life. The book is available at Amazon.com, and you can find more information about the Killileas HERE.
Lately I have wondered what it is about such stories that is so compelling. Everyone has enough trouble of their own, why read about people who have it so much worse than we do?
One good reason to is that these stories throw into sharp relief the virtues that we need to overcome the hard things in our own life. Our admiration for Anne Sullivan’s tenacity in teaching Helen Keller helps us to be a little more tenacious in pursuit of some worthy goal, etc…
Another reason is that we are often tempted to view our own lives as dull and prosaic. Our own struggles don’t seem quite as dramatic as those of people whom we perceive to be "in the trenches", and who struggle under great burdens. It is part of what G.K. Chesterton called the desire for "an active and imaginative life, picturesque and full of a poetical curiosity". In a sense, we envy these people, we covet their stark, tremendous struggles because we are tired of our own small and tepid ones. We don’t often see ourselves as heroes.
But not everyone might agree. It occurred to me that, in our daily battle against the World, the Flesh and the Devil, the angels may view us in a way that is similar to the way we see the heroes in these books; these people who contend with crushing misfortune, or constant deprivation. The fallen world we live in puts us "in the trenches" in a way that makes even our mundane troubles more vital and heroic.
The idea that our lives are dull and meaningless is a lie from the pits of hell. The truth is, every decision we make is of eternal importance.
Not that the angels would envy our place in the battle. If I understand my Bible, they are certainly in the thick of it themselves, and have no lack of excitement. But, if there could be such a thing as holy envy, the angels might envy our role as overcomers. Even in heaven, a scar may be a badge of honor.
An angel might say to me one day, "Tell us again how the grace of God helped you to overcome your sloth, thoughtlessness and all-around deficient faith!".
And I’ll tell them.
Hooray! I’m glad someone is mentioning one of my favorite books. Also look for the sequel, “With Love From Karen”.
Awesome, interesting trivia: she currently works as a receptionist at a retreat house in NY state.
“Even in heaven, a scar may be a badge of honor.”
That reminds me of a passage from St. Augustine. Were you thinking of this one, too?
“Now we feel such an extraordinary affection for the blessed martyrs that in the kingdom of God we want to see on their bodies the scars of the wounds which they suffered for Christ’s name; and see them perhaps we shall. For in those wounds there will be no deformity, but only dignity, and the beauty of their valor will shine out, a beauty in te body and yet not of the body. And if the martyrs have had any limbs cut off, any parts removed, they will not lack those parts at the resurrection; for they have been told that ‘not a hair of your head will perish.’ But if it will be right that in the new age the marks of glorious wounds should remain in those immortal bodies, for all to see, then scars of the blows or the cuts will also be visible in places where limbs were hacked off, although the parts have not been lost, but restored. And so the defects which have thus been caused in the body will no longer be there, in that new life; and yet, to be sure, those proofs of valor are not to be accounted defects, or to be called by that name.”
–City of God, book XXII, chapter 19
St. Thomas Aquinas cites this passage in article 10 of question 96 in the “Supplement” of his Summa. (Though he uses it as the basis for one of the “objections,” it seems that in his own answer he takes it for granted more than St. Augustine does.)
I was not familiar with that, Thomas, but it’s nice to have this sort of devotional intuition affirmed by Augustine, since he is my patron saint (I took his name at my confirmation).
Though the books (that my wife likes so much) are not normally the lives of saints, there is definitely a similar kind of response involved. We should covet the holiness that we see in the lives of the saints with a kind of holy envy.
Re. scars as badges of honor– my husband assures me that all the accrued stretch marks from all the new souls we’ve ushered into the world will shine gloriously after the ressurection… 🙂
And I have to second (or third) the “Karen” recommendation. That book make a huge impact on me as a kid. The mother, Marie, was a classy, tenacious woman, but clearly also a very pious Catholic. I really liked seeing that in combination– that being a pious Catholic didn’t somehow doom one to a dull existance, which was sort of what I’d picked up from the popular culture.
if there could be such a thing as holy envy, the angels might envy our role as overcomers.
I’m not so sure you mean “envy” here. Envy is not simply wanting a quality, success, or possession like another person’s. It doesn’t just mean “I wish I had a car like his” or “I wish I had courage like hers.” Envy is sorrow instead of rejoicing at another’s fortune or wellbeing. It’s resentful and malicious. Envy looks at the other guy’s success, possession, or personal quality and says “if I can’t have it, he shouldn’t have it either.”
So I can understand your suggestion that an angel might wish he had an experience of virtue like ours. But a good angel would never resent our having those virtues, even if he couldn’t have them.
Oh, I agree, pha.
Doubtless the choice of phrasing could be better! Admiration would be more accurate, as I know the angels would never wish for anything that God had not provided for them already.
For us humans, I think admiration or appreciation of things often involves an element of longing, so I am sure I was indulging in some anthropomorphic phrasing, there.
Call it poetic license. I’m sure many of you have guessed that, not only am I not a theologian, I am not a writer of any kind.
I’m an artist, not a doctor, dammit Spock!!!
Doubtless the choice of phrasing could be better! …Call it poetic license.
Your use did reflect a common usage, too 🙂
I just want to be sure people know what envy really means, so they won’t feel unnecessarily guilty for things that aren’t really envy!
For us humans, I think admiration or appreciation of things often involves an element of longing
Yes, I think that’s usually true.
And there are different kinds of longing, as we’ve implied already. I don’t think there’s anything wrong with the kind of longing expressed in “I wish I had courage like hers” or “I wish I had compassion like his,” even though there is something wrong with the kind of longing expressed in real envy.
Dear Mr. Jones,
Thank you so much for posting this. Our two-year-old daughter was diagnosed with CP a few months ago and I, as a Catholic convert, need some solid guidance. I have placed the book “Karen” on my wishlist.
Sincerely,
Joshua Snyder
As someone who is leading a life filled with admittedly boring and tepid struggles, this topic has been lingering a lot at the back of my mind lately.
Is it wrong to desire greater things…greater struggles and greater victories…in a life so boring and normal?
Boredom is not a good thing. Interesting things are good.
It is never wrong in itself to desire good things. They may, of course, be temptations if you must sacrifice a greater good to get them.
My father met Marie Kellilea several times when he was growing up in Larchmont. He said she was a real special and interesting person.