By: Sr. Carmela Santos, SPC

It is the feast of the Sacred Heart and the Church of St. Joan of Arc in Islington, North London is nearly filled to overflowing. The sanctuary is ablaze with color. The organ is belting out the glorious entry hymn and the congregation rise as Holy Mass begins. But something does not seem to be right. I see people craning their necks to catch what the celebrant is trying to say. Obviously, the microphones are not in good working order. Some kids begin to fidget and loud threats from glaring mums add to the hum and murmur around us.

Mary from Ireland
From my seat at the rear of the church the homily is completely inaudible and my thoughts begin to wander as I spot some of my friends. That’s Mary now, an Irish friend, sitting next to a pillar and clutching her novenas and prayer books. She has been taking care of her paralyzed husband for years; it’s most edifying to see her enduring and pleasant disposition, her genuine concern for other parishioners with problems, inspite of her own heavy ones.

Ida from Nigeria
And there’s quiet, unassuming Ida from Nigeria, sitting near Mary, a votive candle beside her ready for the Sacred Heart. Ida literally lives her waking hours in the church and spends her little pennies on stipends, candles and pilgrimages. She seems to have a way with the Sacred Heart, our Lady of Perpetual Help, St. Joseph, St. Martin de Porres who must be looking after the many destitute and unfortunate souls she has taken under her wing, she tells me.

Eric from Scotland
Is that not Eric, the frail-looking hunched Scottish lad who greets Jesus with a fond hand salute? You would swear the Lord was standing right in front of him. Despite the ravages of chronic illness, it’s amazing how he manages to get himself to the church in the early morning. And always with a smile and cherry word for everyone!

Arthur from Goa
On the right I can see Arthur, a Goan, and his inseparable white stick. Arthur, who has been an active parishioner in St. Joan of Arc for over 30 years, went completely blind two years ago. This horrendous blow would have shattered and embittered a lesser soul, but Arthur who is nearing 90 has taken this overwhelming calamity with incredible equanimity. He smiles away as he says: “I’ve had terrific blessings in my long life. Don’t you think, I should take the rough with the smooth from the hand of God?” He certainly does not let his blindness deter him from daily Mass, taking that quarter of an hour up–hill climb to the church.

George from Kenya
George, who is from Kenya, sits behind Arthur and makes it his business to bring him to Holy Communion safely and back. George works in the bank. His unstinted devotion to the Eucharist takes him to daily Mass before starting work. He has several times given up marriage prospects to take care of an ailing mother and brother – a rather uncommon sacrifice for a young eligible bachelor, he has instead adopted a Romanian orphan, victim of the war and sponsors his education and subsistence.

Jim and Kathleen
Jim and Kathleen, a lovely Irish couple sit towards the front. In their retiring years, they devote a lot of their time to helping the down-and-outs, the street people, the housebound. They collect clotting, beddings, tin-food, woolies and organize jumble sales and Bazaars for this purposes, they are just celebrated 40 happy years of married life.

Paddy
I can spot Paddy miles away with his ample proportions and snow white hair. He arrives in church before the doors are open and I see this lone early bird in the dimness of the church fingering his rosary beads and waiting to prepare the altar for Mass.

Angie from Italy
And that’s Angie to the left in maroon overcoat. Her devotion to Holy Mass and the Church is exceptional. Her Kindness and generosity shines out remarkably in the way she lavishly gives to the Church and the sick. Over many years, she has donated lace altar-frontals, statues, vases, altar Lenin, wine to St. Joan of Arc and visits the sick regularly. Many priest who have come and gone have been the grateful recipients of her prodigious largess and Italian goodness.
All around me I see these family people, working people who come to Mass not just on the feast of the Sacred Heart but virtually everyday of their lives, come rain, sun, snow, sleet. These people in the pews are the saints of our time, unheralded, simple souls like our Lady who, I’m sure endure Life’s hardships and heartaches with more than a smile, their lives as they trudge their individual paths towards the Lord give hope and courage to those who know them and lives around them. They are the true loving examples if ‘lived Christianity’ that touch and inspire more than any cold, abstract homily any day.

Through no faults of his, the good preacher’s sermon was completely lost to many of us that day, but the Lord had provided me with one  from the pews, giving me more than an insight into the real and only things in life that matter.