A Saint Can Help When Work Is a Real Drain - Part 2

Last time we surveyed different ways our work can be a real drain on our energy - physically, mentally and emotionally. We noted how the example of certain saints can help us out in this fix. Today we'll look to a "maybe-almost"saint whose example can help us better appreciate what a really draining day at work might be. I think you'll find his story inspiring, especially if you're under the strain of drain right now.

Before we get to him, let's not forget spiritual drain. While our spiritual life, pursued prudently and persistently, should provide refreshment most of the time, it's not always the case. First of all, if we're really wiped out - bordering on being ill - even praying can become more than difficult, virtually impossible. St. Therese of Lisieux, among others, has commented on this, advising (to paraphrase) that if we can't pray, we can't pray. In such times, it's good to remind ourselves that intention is everything: If we simply tell God we would pray if we could, He'll get the message. And in expressing our intention, we will have prayed. (If only this could be applied to our business. Imagine a simple intention taking care of business!)

There's one more aspect of spiritual drain we should mention: Overdoing it. I've had some bouts with this. Piling up prayers and pious practices, one on top of and after the other can and will exhaust us. If you've never slipped into this misguided approach, good. It's taken me time to counter and conquer the tendency to "over-schedule" my spiritual life. But, thanks be to God, I think I'm over it.

Now, on to our "maybe-almost"saint. We've quoted him many times in past posts. His spiritual writing and personal notes have fortunately been preserved, as he died a relatively young man during World War I. Father William Doyle, a Jesuit who worked in Ireland, joined the Irish Fusilliers as a chaplain. Known in Ireland then - and even now - as "Willie" Doyle, his story will inspire you. (Check out this website dedicated to his work.)

His normal duties before the war were extensive. Among other things, he served as spiritual director to individuals and made a conscious effort in his life and writings to help others whom he did not direct individually advance in the spiritual life. A guy who struck others as both down-to-earth, normal, yet holy as they come (a rare combination), he worked like a dog for his "boys" in the trenches in France. The website we referenced posts selections from his writing. Some talk about his struggles to perform the duties of his state of life as a priest, just as we struggle to perform the duties of our state of life in our work. But here's a passage that that graphically demonstrates how seriously he attended to his duties, even in the face of almost-certain death. Here he's trying to get to his "boys" awaiting Mass, Confession, and Holy Communion before engaging in battle.

On the way I noticed that heavy firing was going on ahead, but it was only when I reached a bend in the road that I realized the enemy were actually shelling the very spot I had to pass. Some soldiers stopped me, saying it was dangerous to go on. At the moment I was wondering what had become of the side of a vacant house which had suddenly vanished in a cloud of smoke, and I was painfully aware of the proximity of high explosive shells.

Here was a fix! I knew my regiment was waiting in the village for Mass, and also that half of them were going to the trenches that afternoon for the first time; if I did not turn up they would lose Confession and Holy Communion, but the only way to reach them was by the shell-swept road. What really decided me was the thought that I was carrying the Blessed Sacrament, and I felt that, having our Lord Himself with me, no harm could possibly come to me. I mounted the bicycle and faced the music. I don’t want you to think me very brave and courageous, for I confess I felt horribly afraid; it was my baptism of fire, and one needs to grow accustomed to the sound of bursting shells. Just then I was wishing my regiment in Jericho and every German gun at the bottom of the Red Sea or any other hot place.

Call it a miracle if you will, but the moment I turned the corner the guns ceased firing, and not a shell fell till I was safely in the village Church. My confidence in God’s protection was not misplaced. Naturally I did not know this was going to happen, and it was anything but pleasant riding down the last stretch of road, listening for the scream of the coming shell. Have you ever had a nightmare in which you were pursued by ten mad bulls, while the faster you tried to run, the more your feet stuck in the mud? These were just my feelings as I pedalled down that blessed road which seemed to grow longer and longer the further I went.

At last I turned the corner, reached the Church, and had just begun Mass when down came the hail of shells once more. One or two must have burst very close, judging by the way the walls shook, but I felt quite happy and quite ready to be blown from the altar, for I saw a fine plump Frenchwoman just behind me; she might have been killed, but I was quite safe!

I mention this little adventure as I think it will console you, as it has consoled me, showing that all the good prayers are not in vain, and that this is a happy omen of God’s loving protection from all dangers. I have just heard that one, at least, of the men to whom I gave Holy Communion that morning was killed the same night in the trenches.

His total trust in God, even in the face of such extraordinary fear, cannot help but move us. And if you've read his other notes about his work in the trenches, you know how much he struggled with being completely drained. (If you're familiar with the horror of trench warfare, you'll know exactly why.)

I don't think it's at all presumptive to consider him an ally in our struggle to keep at it at work when we're drained. 

Father Willie Doyle, pray for us.

We adore Thee O Christ and we bless Thee. Because by Thy Holy Cross Thou hast redeemed the world.