Saint Martin de Porres (Part 4)

Martin was also noted for a deep devotion to the Blessed Sacrament. He was constantly going to the chapel of the Rosary to kneel before our Eucharistic Lord. But, as one might have already realized, Martin was often embarrassed by his devotions, not wanting to be found or seen while he spent time in prayer. And so it is of no surprise that he found a small place under the roof of the church where he could gaze longingly at the tabernacle without being seen. In fact, each time he passed by the chapel along the upper cloister he stopped at a window that looked down at the tabernacle and he dropped to his knees. On the feast of Corpus Christi, every Thursday and every third Sunday of the month he would spend hours before the monstrance, motionless.

In Martin’s time the brothers received Holy Communion on the great feasts of the Lord and our Lady and every Sunday. But Martin had been allowed to receive on Thursdays as well. However, humbly, he could not accept this privilege without considering it as if he were receiving Viaticum—for that was the only time he felt he could rightfully ask for the Lord, at his death.

And so it is that when the quartan fever that he suffered chronically from had a recurrence in the autumn of 1639 he knew that it would be his last illness. In his suffering he looked back on his life only to realize that, much like Thomas Aquinas, despite all the good things he had done, they were really nothing. He accused himself of having wasted his life and yet he still had a profound hope and confidence in the love of God. But soon Martin was tortured with temptations to accept his reward as deserved and to march with pride into the Kingdom. Suffering greatly from this struggle, Father Francisco de Paredes suggested that he ask for St. Dominic’s intercession to dispel the demon. But Martin answered, “It would be useless to ask him to come. He is already here with St. Vincent Ferrer.”

The process of inquiry for Martin’s beatification began on June 16, 1660, a mere twenty-one years after his death. In all, there were sixty-six depositions, and each attested to the greatness of this humble saint of the Order of Preachers.

And finally, before we close, I would simply add my own opinion for why Martin is indeed a saint. It is not, I do not think, because he healed the sick, it is not because he gave ceaselessly to the poor, it is not because he cared for all God’s creatures with compassion, it is not even because of his wholesome piety or devotions, nor because he was a black man in a troubled time. For there have been many people like this and they have all inevitably disappeared into the recesses of history. What then, in my perhaps misguided opinion, do I believe made Martin DePorres a saint? In Giuliana Cavallini’s biography of Martin she quotes Father José de Villarsbia: “His ‘profound and consummate’ humility was based on his knowledge of the greatness of God.” Martin had discovered the only real secret there is, which is not really a secret at all. He was intimately aware of the reality that all things come from God and that we can do nothing to fully return this great favor. Inevitably, all saints are saints because they have so fully identified themselves with Christ that they suffer gladly, that they receive his wounds, that they offer their lives completely in the face of rejection, indifference, and misunderstanding. There is a thin line and a very subtle difference between the Gospel of Christ and the Gospel of the world. Their fruits would seem similar—heal the sick, bring about peace, love one’s neighbor, respect the Earth, and so on. But, what then, separates a Christian from the altruistic pagan or atheist? Martin knew. Martin knew that there was no comparison to the God who became man. He looked not within himself or even his brothers to discover the strength he needed to care endlessly for those in need. Instead he looked to Christ Crucified—He grew up looking to the Crucified Christ, and beginning in this humble state on his knees, it should be no wonder to us that when he left his contemplation of the wounded Son of God, he would see His face in all those whom he encountered. Martin died clutching a crucifix.

But that is not the end of the story. If it were, it would be a rather romantic story, but not by any means a Christian one. Instead, that crucifix dropped from his hands at his death, and fell to his chest. Good Friday had passed for Martin, and he was now to rejoice in the beatific vision, all the while offering his incessant help to those who called on him.