Since today is All Saint's Day, I'm calling on a few to throw in a few World Series prayers for Astros: St. Rita, unofficial patron saint of baseball; St. Sebastian, patron saint of athletes; and St. Joseph of Cupertino, patron saint of Astro(naut)s!
St. Rita, became the unofficial saint of baseball in the movie The Rookies and St. Sebastian, who survived an onslaught of arrows to seemingly come back from the dead. He's also patron saint of archers. Go figure.
St. Joseph of Cupertino is patron saint of astronauts because of his neat levitating trick. The Flying Nun had nothing on St. Joseph. He'd be a perfect contestant on a reality show, The Vatican's Got Saints.
Excerpted from Holy Bones, Limbo, and Jesus in My Cheetos
Admit it, reality
TV has us sucked in, so why not use a show to demonstrate what it takes to
become a saint? Each week, we could tune into VNN and watch the latest
installment of The Vatican’s Got Saints.
The Vatican could enlist celebrity judges and televise the process in front of
a live audience. Sorta like the Inquisitions but without executions. Here’s a
glimpse of the pilot:
Nick Cannon, announcing
offstage:
“Welcome to The Vatican’s Got Saints! We’re here in
the Middle Ages at Wells Cathedral trying to uncover a hidden saint or two.
Join us in applause for our renowned judges.”
“Mel B!”
“Awe, peace be
with you,” the former Spice Girl says over and over again, glad-handing with
audience members as she heads to her chair at the judge’s table.
“Simon Cowell!”
Simon ambles to
the front, shaking hands and answering, “Uh, oh, yeah, and, also with you…um, I
mean, and with your spirit,” to the show’s guests offering him the sign of
peace.
“Howie Mandel!”
Howie fist-bumps
his way to his seat, leaving in his wake a string of mutterings like, “Strange
sign of peace,” “Maybe it’s a Jewish thing,” and “Father O’Leary would’ve
kicked his ass after Mass.”
The first
contestant stands on a spot, center stage. Mel says, “Tell us your name and
where you’re from.”
“Joseph. I flew in
from Cupertino ten minutes ago.”
“Airplanes haven’t
been invented yet,” Mel says, wrinkling her brow in bewilderment.
“I know.”
“Joseph, what
miracle will you perform today?” Howie asks.
“Levitation. I’ll
slip into a trance and then drift to the rafters,” the saint-hopeful says. “No
pulley, no cables, no hidden tricks. Before I start to rise, I’d like to warm
up singing a Gregorian Chant Brother Gregg sang for us in the Allman Monastery.
“‘Ramblin’ Man’ so
moved my Allman Brothers.”
“We hope it does
the same for you, Joseph,” Mel says. “Go Ahead.”
Joseph closes his
eyes. After several minutes rocking back and forth, he hums. Just when patrons
begin leaving the auditorium, Joseph belts out a Woodstock-styled rock song. A
buzz fills the room. Hands wave in the air, and heads bob back and forth. Bodies
sway when Joseph serenades how hard it is to earn a living. The judges rock in
their seats, nodding in rhythm.
Joseph’s chant hits
a crescendo and he belts out a warning that it’s time for him to leave. His
body lifts off the stage and floats toward the ceiling. Audience members cannot
believe the spectacle they’re witnessing:
“He’s doing it!”
“Where are the
wires?”
“Will he crash?”
Engulfed in a
flash of light, Joseph zips over the judges’ heads. He hovers low enough to
part Howie’s hair, like Moses and the Red Sea. That is, if Howie had hair.
“Make it so, Number
One,” Joseph cries out. “Within seconds, he’s cruising the vast room,
corner-to-corner in warp speed. Before Howie has a chance to say, “Deal or no
deal?” Joseph lands on the stage. He faces the judges, a halo circling his
head.
“Not bad for a
first miracle,” Simon says. “What else you got?”
I’m certain ratings
would be off the charts for The Vatican’s
Got Saints! but I don’t think the Church is ready to walk down that reality
TV road. They’re not willing to be sandwiched in a timeslot between RuPaul’s Drag Race and Hoarders.
