When I was little, I wanted to be a Jesuit priest when I grew up. In my mind, they were super-intelligent, spoke several languages, lived around the globe, hobnobbed with the Pope…I’m not sure where my romantic image of the Jesuits came from, exactly, but there it was. Aside from the whole gender issue (if my friend wanted to be the first woman president, I figured I could aim for the first woman priest), this dream died when I was eleven and realised I couldn’t go through confirmation because I didn’t agree with ninety percent of the Apostles’ Creed. Nevertheless, my fascination with the Jesuits has never completely left me, so when I saw a memoir by one such priest on the Borders’ table, I immediately went home and put it on hold from my library. And I’m not going to lie: while reading James Martin’s My Life With the Saints, I once again daydreamed about becoming a Jesuit. Because this book is awesome.

Each chapter, aside from the introduction and conclusion, deals with a different Catholic saint (well, some of them are still on the road to sainthood) and episodes in Martin’s life that are connected with him or her. This format works perfectly for several reasons: Martin picks interesting saints (one who were defined by their lives, for the most part, instead of some weird way the Romans killed them), Martin has had a lot of really neat life experiences, and Martin is an awesome writer. Oh, and as a quick side note, for those of you who know nothing about Catholicism and are thinking you wouldn’t understand this book, Martin gives you all the background you need, I promise. I don’t like to talk about my personal religious beliefs, mainly because I think some things should stay private, but I do want to clarify for this review that I am not a Catholic, although I was raised one and retain a special fondness for Mary.

Since Catholicism is not known for its progressive attitude towards my gender, I was very pleasantly surprised to see that of the sixteen saints Martin discusses, six of them are women. This is an indicator of the great variety of saints in the book: they range from ancient (Mary and Joseph) to historical (Joan of Arc and Ignatius of Loyala) to contemporary (Dorothy Day and Pedro Arrupe). They also represent many different paths to sainthood, from a life of internal examination (Therese of Lisieux) to external work (Mother Theresa) and all of the points in between. Most of them are European or American, but one chapter focuses on the Ugandan martyrs. What I’m trying to convince you of, is that this great variety leads to a book whose each chapter has a different tone, almost like an essay collection, which is very pleasing to the reader. If you end up being less than impressed with one saint, you know there’s a completely different one of the horizon. And for the non-Catholics who are thinking to themselves, “a memoir devoted to idol-worship? I don’t think so!”, you might want to read this passage, wherein Martin examines a Catholic’s relationship with saints:

[In the early church] we find something else: the “companionship model,” where the saints are our friends, those who have gone ahead of us and are now cheering us along, brothers and sisters in the community of faith, the great “cloud of witnesses.” This is a more egalitarian notion of sanctity and sainthood.

So far, I’ve talked about the religious side of the memoir. But even though Martin’s discussing saints, and his experiences as a priest, the book doesn’t have a proselytizing feel at all. There’s no sense of “You should be Catholic, because otherwise you’re going to hell.” Instead, it’s an examination of how humans have tried to become closer to the divine.

Here’s the real reason I’m recommending this book: the writing. Martin has a gift, and he can bring a person or experience to life with just a paragraph. Check out his description of his favourite philosophy professor at Loyola University, a nun:

The redoubtable Sr. French stood about five feet in her stocking feet. I should point out, however, that she was never seen in her stocking feet: Sister always appeared in class perfectly turned out, wearing simple but elegant dresses usually adorned with brightly patterned silk scarves. (She would receive more than a few of these scarves from legions of grateful Jesuit graduates.) Her hair was always done in a soft, upswept coif, and her eyes, believe it or not, twinkled.

And while in the priesthood, Martin has met a lot of interesting people and done a lot of interesting things. By reading this book, you’ll meet, among others, a man who feels called to work among the gang members of the Chicago projects, while wearing a Franciscan-style cowl made out of denim. You’ll travel with Martin to Kenya, where he worked on microcredit projects for refugees for two years. You’ll see Sisters of the Missionaries of Charity, the order founded by Mother Teresa, cheerfully at work in hospitals in Jamaica. And of course, you’ll come along as Martin goes through the various stages of becoming a Jesuit, which I just found fascinating.

In addition to his descriptive powers, Martin is also quite funny. He’s able to laugh at himself, which I think is a wonderful quality. Humourous passages like the following pop up often throughout the book:

One Friday evening during my second year as a novice, I wandered into the TV room to see what video was being served up. Television watching was a popular pastime for novices on a thirty-five dollar monthly stipend. Our TV room consisted of fifteen individual recliners lined up in front of a large television, an admittedly strange setup that once prompted my brother-in-law to ask if we took a vow against sofas.

So, this book confirmed my childhood suspicions that Jesuits are intelligent people leading thoughtful, fascinating lives. It wonderfully combines mini-biographies of various saints with personal anecdotes and meditations on the human condition and religion to make a readable, thought-provoking book I’d recommend to everyone. I know I’ll be reading more of James Martin: right now I’m eyeing two other of his memoirs (A Jesuit Off-Broadway and In Good Company) as well as a collection he edited (and discusses a bit in this book) called How Can I Find God?. I’ll end this review with a wonderful quote, from Pedro Arrupe, that Martin included (he includes quotes from each saint he talks about in little boxes, which I really liked):

“Nothing is more practical than finding God, that is, than falling in love in a quite absolute, final way. What you are in love with, what seizes your imagination, will affect everything. It will decide what will get you out of bed in the morning, what you will do with your evenings, how you will spend your weekends, what you read, who you know, what breaks your heart, and what amazes you with joy and gratitude. Fall in love, stay in love, and it will decide everything.”

Notable Passages
The life lacking in outer drama was revealed to be full of inward drama. Surprisingly, Therese described a powerful call to the priesthood: “I would like to perform the most heroic deeds. I feel I have the courage of a Crusader. I should like to die on the battlefield in defense of the church. If only I were a priest!”

During an American poetry course in college, I was introduced to Walt Whitman. Our young professor was something of a Whitman devotee and scholar…One day she said that if we were ever accused of contradicting ourselves we should quote the following lines from “Song of Myself”: Do I contradict myself?/Very well then I contradict myself,/(I am large, I contain multitudes.)

Though I imagined that the silence would be the most difficult requirement (a friend asked me if I could remain silent for thirty minutes, let alone thirty days), it was the no-reading policy that proved the most challenging. While I readily gave myself to prayer, I never lost the desire to read or the tendency-at least occasionally-to find myself bored.

Believing that all of us are called to be saints has profound implications for daily life. An acceptance of what the Second Vatican Council termed the “universal call to holiness” imbues even the most hidden moments of one’s life with a special grace.