Forewords & Introductions
My long-standing interest in saints made a turning point in 1997
after an unexpected, spontaneous and deeply moving experience.
In the spring of that year, I traveled to Montreal to speak at a
conference. Montreal is home to St. Joseph's Oratory, a magnificent
structure built on Mount Royal, a small mountain within the city
environs. It is a healing shrine, the world's largest pilgrimage
center dedicated to St. Joseph. Some two million people of all
faiths from all over the world come here every year to pray for the
intercession of a remarkable saint, Blessed Brother Andre, whose tomb
lies within the oratory. One Sunday, I visited the oratory and
joined a large throng of people lined up to pay their respects at the
tomb. I came with no particular purpose other than to see the
oratory and witness others. I didn't even know much about the life
of Brother Andre.
Brother Andre was born Alfred Bessette in a village east of Montreal
in 1845 to a poor and humble family. He was small and of delicate
constitution, and suffered poor health all of his life. In 1870, he
sought to enter the Congregation of the Holy Cross, a religious order
dedicated to the teaching profession. The order accepted him despite
his lack of education, and gave him the lowly job of doorkeeper at
Notre Dame College in Mount Royal. He took the name Andre in honor
of his sponsor, Pastor Andre Provencal.
Brother Andre spent much of his time in prayer. When he was
off-duty, he visited the sick. Miraculous cures were attributed to
him and he soon became renowned as the "Wonder Man of Mount Royal."
People came from afar to see him. He always credited the cures to
the intercession of his patron saint, Joseph.
Brother Andre's ability was not greeted with warmth within his own
religious community. Some were skeptical and even opposed him. The
quiet little man persevered, always within the requirements of
authority, and finally realized his great dream to build an oratory
in honor of St. Joseph. It began with a tiny chapel on Mount Royal
in 1904. Over the years, donations in honor of Brother Andre have
enabled expansions. The present basilica is the tallest point in
Montreal, and holds 3000 people.
Brother Andre died in 1937 and was beatified in 1987 by Pope John
Paul II (r. 1978- ).
His death did not end his healing work. As millions of pilgrims
attest, his intercession from beyond the grave enables continuing
miracles of divine healing.
Brother Andre's heart is on view as a relic, encased in a clear glass
container in the oratory. But the real attraction, the real power
center, is his small black granite tomb, called the Black Coffin.
Pilgrims come to touch the tomb and pray for healing.
So there I was this one Sunday morning, filing into the small alcove
that contains the tomb. Outside the alcove, candlelight flickered
over the high walls filled with the canes and crutches people had
thrown away after miraculous healings there.
The tomb itself was small, plain and unadorned. The simplicity of
its surroundings certainly gave no hint that there lay the remains of
a miracle healer revered around the world. Someone had placed a
single red rose atop the tomb. People waited for a turn to touch the
black granite while others crowded around them. At last I maneuvered
to the front and placed both palms on top of the tomb.
When I touched the tomb, I felt a burning begin in the center of my
chest. It astonished me. The feeling intensified, as though my
heart center was on fire. This feeling of fiery heat radiated out to
the rest of my body, growing stronger, until I felt as though I were
enveloped in invisible flames. I felt strangely unable to move. As
I stood riveted to the tomb, it came to me that I was touching the
Heart of God, experiencing the burning fire of true unconditional
love. It was flowing into me as a heat and fire that literally were
burning away imperfections in me. Layer upon layer peeled away. The
intensity and brilliance of this radiance were overwhelming.
Suddenly I understood that there is a difference between love and
unconditional love. Love heals, nurtures, nourishes and sustains.
Unconditional love purifies. This difference is at once subtle and
profound; at once infinitesimal and vast. I was being purified in
some way by unconditional love.
The burning sensation lasted as long as I held my hands on the tomb.
I remained swept up in a rapture equal to that of any saint. I have
never felt so much in the presence of God.
Afterwards, the only thing I was capable of doing was walking
trance-like into an adjoining chapel, where I wept and prayed, and
tried to understand what I had just experienced.
On my last day in Montreal, I returned to the oratory. I was anxious
to touch the Black Coffin again. I desired that incredible fire that
had taken me into the presence of God. It was a weekday, with few
people about, and so this time I had the entire alcove to myself.
But when I touched the tomb again there was no burning. Instead I
felt a deep and soft inner radiance. It was another extraordinary
experience, but of a different sort.
In retrospect, I realized that of course I would not experience the
same fire. A mystical experience is unique and not repeated. The
expansion of consciousness that comes from it is needed only once.
What was the source of the power there that facilitated such a
experience? How can a holy person continue, from the other side of
death, as a channel for divine grace? I do not know the answers,
only continue to explore the mystery. Was I changed? Yes. Like the
experience itself, I was changed in both subtle and profound ways. I
did not feel that I had become "holy" or anything of the sort. And
though I felt "stuff" burned off of me, I still possess the same
flaws and shortcomings. But I have a much different awareness of
love now, and of the importance of bringing love to its highest and
purest expression, that of unconditional love.
This experience joins the records of countless other transformative
experiences had by people the world over when they come into the
presence of saints. As I mentioned at the beginning, I had already
long been interested in saints as part of my study of mysticism.
This experience with Brother Andre propelled me into a deeper study
of both.
What exactly is sainthood? The Roman Catholic Church has a formal
process of canonization for recognizing the holiest of the holy as
saints - saints are not "made" but simply honored for their
achievements. The church thoroughly examines a candidate's life and
works, and requires validation of at least two posthumous miracles.
But fewer than 300 of the 10,000 or so documented saints throughout
history have been canonized (Brother Andre has been beatified, a step
which precedes canonization). The rest have achieved a saint status
by popular acclaim. They are venerated locally. Some, popular once
upon a time, have disappeared altogether from current devotion. And
some belong more to legend than to history.
A saint's sanctity and purity, as well as writings and acts of
charity and sacrifice certainly are important considerations to
formal sainthood. But what drives the popular interest and devotion
is belief in the power of the saint to bring help and healing to the
living. Some saints are important to the Church for their treatises
and works on theology and philosophy. The people, however, look for
miracles. We the public are drawn to saints because of the mystery
around them: their rich inner lives of mystical and visionary
experience, and their ability to work wonders and miracles.
In this book, I have included saints who have made important
contributions to the Church and to society, especially in education,
charity and health care. Among these are towering figures such as
St. Thomas Aquinas, who shaped the development of Western philosophy.
I have paid special attention to the inner, mystical lives of saints
and to their miracles, for here is where we come closest to the
Mystery.
I keep Brother Andre's picture at my desk, and carry some of the
little medallions of him that the oratory sells, including one that
contains a tiny piece of relic. They are links not so much to the
man, but to what he and other saints represent: that miracles are
made possible by a heart that loves.
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