In the weeks leading up to my reception into the #Catholic #Church, I prepared to not only to be accepted as a #baptized member of my new community, but also to be confirmed. The sacrament of #baptism uses water to communicate grace that takes away sin, while the sacrament of confirmation uses hands that spread oil across the forehead. This oil seals the person with the gifts of the Holy Spirit to help him live out the Catholic faith. Hebrews 6:2 alludes to this sacrament when it says how, after baptism, we receive “the laying on of hands.”
In some churches confirmation candidates choose a new name for the ceremony, which is usually the name of a saint who prays for that person, a patron saint if you will. I chose St. John the Baptist. My believers baptism had been the most spiritually fulfilling moment of my life up until that point, even more so than any of my experiences of speaking in tonges. St. John the #Baptist was one calling out in the wilderness, not of himself but of the one who was to come. As an college student majoring in outdoor rec, and at the time thinking of starting my own Bible camp, this definitely felt that we shared a similar mission. I also wanted an ohmage to the non-denominational #campus #minister who had baptized me in Lake Superior my freshman year of #college, who other than my parents had probably been the most influential human on my faith journey up to that time. He was also named John, and should have been known as John the Baptizer, as his whole mission on campus seemed to be get as many people to choose to be baptized as he possibly could.
I certainly would have big shoes to fill follow in the footsteps of either John, but that's why I needed St. John the Baptist's prayers so much.
Many non-Catholics struggle with the concept of praying to saints because they think prayer and worship are the same thing. Since the Bible says we should only worship #God, then shouldn’t we only pray to God? But the word “worship” refers to giving someone “worth-ship,” or the honor that person is due. We call judges “your honor,” for example, as a way of paying them respect, but we don’t treat them like gods.
“Prayer” comes from the Latin word precariusand refers to making a request for something. In Old English a person might have said to a friend, “I pray you will join us for dinner tomorrow night.” They aren’t worshipping their friend as a god, but simply making a request of them. Catholics do the same thing when they pray to saints; they don’t honor them as gods but ask them for their prayers.
Why should we ask saints in heaven to pray for us when we can just pray to God instead? After all, 1 Timothy 2:5, says, “For there is one God, and there is one mediator between God and men, #Christ #Jesus.” Catholics agree that it is great to pray to directly to God, but if this argument were taken to its logical conclusion, then it would forbid asking anyone on earth to pray for us.
After all, why ask a friend on earth to pray for you when you can go directly to God? Of course, St. Paul encouraged #Christians to pray for everyone (1 Tim. 2:1-4), so 1 Timothy 2:5 must mean that Christ is our one mediator of redemption. Jesus Christ is the only person who unites man and God to one another and removes the barrier of sin between them. But Christ’s unique role as our redeemer does not prevent us from mediating or interceding for one another—either in this life or the next one.
All Christians are united to one another because we are all members of the one body of Christ. Romans 12:5 says, “We, though many, are one body in Christ, and individually members one of another.” If the saints in heaven are Christians, then they must belong to the same body of Christ to which all other Christians belong. This means Christians in heaven are united in the bond of love with Christians on earth, and so there is nothing wrong with asking them to pray for us.
It doesn’t make sense to say Christians who are in heaven are some kind of “amputated” part of Christ’s body that cannot pray for any of the other parts. Jesus calls himself the vine and says we are the branches (John 15:5). If Jesus holds the “keys of Death” (Rev. 1:18), then how could death ever completely separate the branches from one another as long as they are all spiritually connected to the same vine?
Jesus himself said that God “is not the God of the dead, but of the living,” and reminded his Jewish audience that the Father said, “I am [not “I was”] the God of Abraham, and the God of Isaac, and the God of Jacob” (Mark 12:26-27). In the time of Christ (as well as the time of Moses), the Father was still the God of Jewish heroes like Abraham, who had died centuries earlier. To write off saints like them as being “dead” ignores the fact that, by virtue of their heavenly union with Christ, they are more alive than they were on earth.