St. Jean Baptiste Marie Vianney
For many years, my husband and some of his friends ran the "Great Race". The "Great Race" is a 10K through the city of Pittsburgh that usually attracts some 10,000 runners. I am not a runner. I am one of the 25,000 who line the streets waiting to catch a glimpse of their loved one. Yes, you battle for a first line position, wait indefinitely, wave and clap furiously then compete in your own little race as you head down to the finish line at the point.
Truly the Great Race is quite an event. Beyond the Finish line it is just a big party. Friends and family cheer as the runners cross the finish line. There is food, beverages, balloons, entertainment, award ceremonies and a host of other activities. Everyone is happy. Tired and sore perhaps, but happy. We usually hang around for a while milling about the crowd visit with friends. This particular year the race was held on a particularly beautiful day. This added to the breath taking view of the Point State Park. After about an hour of the runners sharing their tales of day, eating bananas and drinking Gatorade we began to make our way back to the car. We walked back past the Paramedics, the stage (the band was tearing down their equipment) and the presentation of the awards. When we walked past the finish line something caught my husband's eye. He stopped dead in his tracks. He pointed as to direct my attention the lone runner making his way to the finish line. He was limping badly. As he drew near we could see that he was disabled, his right leg dragged, his right arm was bent and twisted. Not looking up or breaking his persistent stride, he crossed the finish line. No band; No one there cheering; No one even paying attention. Yet, here was a man who was an inspiration to us all. He was the embodiment of the human spirit. He is the true winner.
It took him close to 2 hours to run the 6.2 miles, but he did it. My eyes filled with tears as I watched him cross the finish line. My husband and I clapped, but I don't think that he heard us . . . although to him, I don't think that it mattered.
St. Jean Baptiste Marie Vianney was born in Lyons, France in 1786. He was not a great student, despite the long hours that he put in. When he was inducted into the army he missed the departure of his regiment because he was in the chapel praying. Knowing that he would be treated like a deserter, the Mayor empathized with his plight and gave him a job teaching school. His father however, was greatly disappointed. After the war, he entered the seminary but failed his final exams. After repeating his studies, he passed.
He was a wonderful pastor, giving sound common sense, yet faith filled advice.
He lived a life that was humble, patient and cheerful. Many miracles are attributed to St. John Vianney.
Both of these men tell us to run, run with our arms wide open to find what brings us joy. Run like there's no one looking . . . and smile.
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"All shall be well, and all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well". St. Julian of Norwich
Jamie Dillon
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