Feast Day: August 4th
St. John Vianney usually, rightly, calls to mind images of a wizened priest in a violet stole. Something like Mother Teresa mixed with Padre Pio, a kindly character whose intense preaching, fervent fasting, and long hours in the confessional have been softened by the two centuries since.
History gives us our first aid in recovering the actual sanctity of the Cure D’Ars. Take yourself back to 1776 in Philadelphia. 56 men sign the Declaration of Independence, they are the heroes that capture the minds and hearts of 13 colonies, inspiring them to fight for freedom. A decade later, in a small town in rural France, the 4th child of Matthieu and Marie Vianney was born, and was baptized Jean Marie that same day. Three years later the French Revolution begins, with their Catholic faith and a bloodbath commencing in pursuit of liberty, egality, and fraternity. Hundreds of priests would be killed, and tens of thousands of them would be forced out of the country over the coming decade. His parents, shepherds, would do what they could to care for those impoverished, persecuted, or mourning and their faith impelled them to travel far to find Masses celebrated in secret. At the age of 13, the boy Jean received his first Communion in the kitchen of a farmhouse, receiving into his own body for the first time the Body of His Savior. The windows were covered, because if they had been found, they would have been killed.
Blessedly, the persecutions abated, but the heroism of the priests who had stayed behind and risked their necks indelibly inspired the young man. By the age of 20 he wanted himself to become a priest. Two obstacles presented themselves: he was woefully behind in his studies, only now beginning his formal education. The shortfall would never be fully overcome. Secondly, just a few years into his studies he was drafted into Napoleon’s army. No exemption for the ecclesiastical student. While reporting for duty he became sick, fell behind, was incorporated into another group of soldiers only to fall behind again. Following a fellow young man who promised to catch them both up, he instead found himself in a company of deserters hiding in the mountains through winter. Only in 1810 were all the deserters throughout the country granted amnesty and he was able to resume his studies.
The years of seminary slowly flowed by, with Vianney’s ignorance constantly calling into question his capacity to be a priest. Still, his home pastor, Fr. Balley, kept interceding on his behalf, pointing out the piety and perseverance of the young man, and on August 12th, 1815 Vianney was ordained a priest and became Fr. Balley’s assistant. He continued in that role for 3 years and was then sent to the village (only now famous) of Ars. 230 souls lived there, though none were waiting for him when he arrived. Few came to Mass on Sunday. Work and fun had a bigger place in their hearts than God. It’s true that the gates of hell will never prevail against the entire Church, but they had prevailed against the Church in France.
And here’s the thing, it wasn’t some gallant St. Paul or St. Francis Xavier who marched into the village that day. Vianney’s first homilies fell flat. There wasn’t an instantaneous turnaround. Multiple times over the coming years the beleaguered pastor walked out of town having given up on converting people back to the faith. But slowly, unperceptively, God’s grace was molding the heart of the ignorant, shepherd boy/deserter and transforming the hearts of the inhabitants of Ars. He began preaching without notes, simply expressing in his own simple way the truth of the Gospel. His piety grew into an all-out dedication to Christ. He ate little, endured the attacks of Satan at night, and sat in the unheated and un-airconditioned confessional for hours. And somehow, slowly, his daily martyrdom drew others back to God.
Hit the QR Code inserted in this article for more quotations from St. John Vianney on the Eucharist. They are all beautiful. I will leave you with this simple one: “I throw myself at the foot of the Tabernacle like a dog at the foot of his Master.” A dog accomplishes little, knows little, earns little … yet expects (and receives) everything from its master. A dog takes delight in the simplest gift of attention or play. A dog, without counting the cost, gives itself with abandon to the whims and for the joy of its master.
What if we did the same to Our Lord Jesus in the Tabernacle? What if we didn’t consider whether we had anything to give, but simply gave ourselves, and received Him? What if we didn’t go looking to find joy anywhere else but just stayed at His feet and listened for His voice? What if every little gift God gave us we received with the utter delight, the frenzy of freedom seen in a happy dog?
– Fr. Dominic just came back from the Eucharistic Congress. One line I keep coming back to is this: “Act like a saint.” How would John Vianney pray right now? How would St. Paul preach this Sunday? How would Mother Teresa love this person? What if you, or I, lived like that?