Selflessness
The act of not thinking about oneself.To give without delay or regret is the foundation of every Christian thought. It was the original concept, at any rate. The idea of relinquishing all your wealth and property to follow the son of a carpenter all over Judea for what was, after all, only a spark of an idea in his head, was a hard sell indeed.
That form of selflessness is a noble gesture, but is it executable? Is it even worth the effort?
Many have answered yes and dedicated their entire lives to reaching such a goal. They are pious, faithful people who have but one thought in their heads; to live a life of purity here on earth, which will in turn assure them a place among the saints. A worthy goal, granted, but hardly altruistic, and, as they lie near death, many would-be saints realize that the goal they so long sought after remains as elusive as ever. There is no light at the end of the tunnel. In fact, there is no tunnel at all, just a dark void that has no beginning or end.
So, who are the ones who reach this aspiration?
It is said that those who seek sainthood are often the very same who are fated to be cast off into the forgotten pile of humanity that makes up ninety percent of our history. Those who neither seek nor welcome sainthood are the ones who become the remaining ten percent, the signposts in history. Perhaps not the history you and I subscribe to, but they remain in the memories of thousands, perhaps millions, just as if their names were etched into tablets or written on scrolls.
Saint Juliana is hardly a household name and she, I assume, never campaigned for sainthood while alive in the early fourth century. Yet, there she is, alongside the likes of Saints Catherine and Agnes, to be remembered for eternity. Not wanting it, it seems, is the best method of achieving sainthood. The only sure way of winning the game is not to play at all. Or at least, disguise the face that you are wearing as you play the game.
Here is my saint.
Benjamin Montecino, Benny to his friends, was an unassuming man who did nothing in his life but work hard everyday, raise a family and contribute in his own way to the betterment of life in general. His wife, Anna, was a woman who outlived two of her children and presided over a brood of eight grandchildren. Their lives were similar to millions of their contemporaries. They lived through depressions, wars and upheaval, never losing faith in themselves, or those they held dear.
A rain-slicked road and a drunken driver changed all that.
As the smoke cleared after the accident, Benny found himself pinned against the driver’s door, his leg broken and lung punctured. Anna was not as fortunate. Her chest was crushed and her head protruded through the shattered windshield. She was in terrible shape and all Benny could do was reach out to touch his wife’s hand as the life drained from her.
He pleaded with her to open her eyes, but no response came. He prayed for her to stir, but no movement could be detected. He held onto her hand tightly as the paramedics pulled him from the vehicle. He didn’t want to let go, but they were wrenched apart, and as he was carried away he still called out for her to awake.
In the hospital the family was informed that Anna had lapsed into a coma and no one was certain if she would ever regain consciousness. The outlook was grim, but when Benny was informed of this he refused to give up hope. ‘She’ll wake up’, he said with an unflinching certainty. ‘She’ll come back to me’.
As the days passed there was no stirring from Anna, and when Benny was able to struggle out of bed, he made his way to her room.
She was attached to all variety of monitors, precious fluids flowing into her body through intravenous tubes. Benny’s children asked him to consider letting his wife float away peacefully from this life, but Benny would have nothing to do with such thoughts. ‘She’ll come back to me’. He repeated.
Benny’s days were spent by his wife’s bedside, reading her favourite stories; tales of folklore from their hometown in the Tuscan hills. He recounted how the Cypress trees swayed in the breeze. How the pale green olive groves stretched as far as the eye could see. How the bells from nearby Fiesole echoed through the valleys before finally resting at their doorstep. They were all memories meant to jump-start Anna’s mind and jolt her from her sleep. Treasured thoughts that could stir her emotions and implore the heart and brain to work together and return his wife to him.
The memories didn’t work. They served only to prolong his children’s agony at watching their mother wither away. Benny still did not give up. Even after being sent home, he returned daily and read to her, anything he could get his hands on; magazines, newspapers, books, anything that kept him mentality occupied and his wife’s mind working.
At the end of each day, Benny departed, leaving his wife with the same message. He kissed her on the cheek and whispered in her ear. ‘You are the love of my life, come back to me’.
At home, alone with his photographs and memories, Benny prayed as resolutely as he could, convinced that prayer alone could lead Anna out of the darkness and into his waiting arms.
With each morning the storytelling at the hospital began anew and Benny caught himself repeating a tale over and again. The cypress trees melded into a solid mass of memory, and Benny lost track of what was the true story and what was fantasy. Still, he forged forward, not wanting to stop for a moment, not wanting to break the connection with his wife.
At the end of the day he took his leave, leaning close to Anna, kissing her on the cheek and whispering in her ear, ‘You are the love of my life, come back to me.’
With each night the prayers continued. Benny found himself making bargains with whoever was listening. If only his wife could wake up, he will become a better man, Benny thought. That was his main bargaining chip, but Benny had no idea that he already lived his life the best he could. He never harmed a soul, never cheated or lied for his own benefit. Such a life should be worth recognition.
If only Anna stirred, then Benny would dedicate himself to comforting those in need. That was his secondary argument, but he had forgotten that they raised five children, helping them through illness, injuries and heartache. Were his children not in need? Did that not warrant consideration?
‘If only’, he repeated, ‘if only, if only’, and with every repetition came a new pledge to better himself, or to help the stranger on the street, or the entire world for that matter. Surely, he told himself that should be enough to help Anna.
At the hospital the nurses came to adopt Benny as their older ward, sneaking him lunch and dinner from the kitchen so he wouldn’t have to venture from Anna’s side. They covered him with a blanket if exhaustion took over and his eyes could no longer stay open. They even continued his reading when his voice strained, making up stories of their own. Anything to help an old man who only wanted one thing from life.
As with every night, before heading home, Benny kissed his wife and whispered, ‘You are the love of my life, come back to me’.
One night, though, after his usual prayer and bargaining session, Benny lapsed into a fitful sleep. His mind was filled with images and faces of everyone he had ever met in his life, such as the schoolmates from his youth in Italy, who had perished in the war. The army buddy who was blown apart by a landmine as Benny watched from a few yards away. His parents and grandparents, long since passed away. His two sons who had died in separate accidents in their teenage years. All the faces of those who had departed the world before Benny was able to express his true feelings for them.
There was one face Benny feared he might see among his loved ones. He was afraid that if he saw Anna then that would be proof that she was never returning to him. The threat of reality setting in was what kept him tossing and turning in his sleep. Benny’s parents, grandparents, sons and all those he cared for, stood silently, staring back at him, and he found himself among the spectres. They had sadness in their eyes, something was troubling them, but they could not express it. They weren’t happy to see Benny.
Benny tried to ask what was disturbing them, but they turned away, looking off into the distance. It was then that he saw Anna. She was not with the others, but isolated from them. She had a sorrow about her that Benny had never witnessed and, as he tried to approach, she moved further away. Why was she not rushing to him so he could take her in his arms and lead her back to his world? Back to life?
The closer he approached, the further she distanced. The more he called out, ever melancholic she became. He couldn’t reach her and she could not move closer. It pained her if she even tried, and that cut through Benny like a knife. In his heart he knew that she had been trying, but could not break through. She was trapped and in terrible pain.
The following day Benny arrived at the hospital at his regular time; he read to his wife, accepted lunch and dinner from the nurses and completed his day as routinely as ever. On this occasion, before he left, he took his wife’s hand in his and looked at her beautiful wrinkled face and knew what he had to do. He understood how deep his selfishness had been.
He kissed her on the cheek and whispered in her ear. ‘You are the love of my life, I will see you again’. With that, she was released from the limbo he had placed her in.
As he walked away, he knew he would not return, but that did not sadden him. He knew she was free.
Giving up of yourself does not weaken you, but rather infuses you with a strength never thought possible. Benny will never be found in any chronicles or historical texts. No scholar or student will ever note what he did, and the depth of his actions will not make its way into sermons or prayers. Someone remembered him, though, and recounted his story.
That alone makes him immortal.
