Learning to Fly

Dear Friend,

When our parents told us we were going to see a movie about the life of a saint, my brothers and I were anything but excited. We protested, sulking in the way only children can, insisting we’d rather stay home and play. What we really wanted to see was The Magic Sword – the movie all the kids at school were raving about. According to our classmates, it had everything: dragons, wizards, and a brave young hero.

A saint film? That felt like a punishment. Still, our parents had their way. They made it clear that staying home wasn’t an option. And if we truly didn’t want to come along, we could always spend the afternoon at Mrs. Dora’s house. Mrs. Dora was a kind seamstress, but to us, her home was filled with faded newspapers, fabric scraps, and a silence that stretched endlessly. In a child’s eyes, it was the very definition of boredom. So we gave in. We followed our parents to the cinema, grumbling under our breath, convinced we were in for a long and dreary afternoon.

What we didn’t realize was that we were about to meet a very different kind of hero – one who didn’t slay dragons or wield a sword, but lived a life of profound faith and quiet courage.  It was about a man who followed Christ with such sincerity that heaven itself seemed to lift him up.

The film, The Reluctant Saint, told the story of St. Joseph of Cupertino, a humble Franciscan friar who struggled with learning and was often dismissed by others. But God, who sees into the heart, chose him. Joseph’s life, marked by prayer, obedience and simplicity, became a powerful witness to divine grace. Though considered to be simple, his soul soared with love for God. And sometimes, his body soared as well – lifted in prayer, drawn upward by devotion.

I was immediately captivated. I couldn’t take my eyes off the screen. Time passed so quickly that by the end I wanted to watch it all over again. That night in bed, I kept thinking about how gentle Joseph had been – how often he was mocked and misunderstood, yet never let it harden his heart. He simply kept trusting God.

The following Sunday at Mass, I felt St. Joseph so close to me that I whispered, “Joseph, Joseph, let me fly around the church so people will see that I’m a good boy.” But somewhere deep inside I seemed to hear a quiet voice reply, “Are you sure you are?”

That small, searching question stayed with me. And now, many years later, I find that it still does – though the form has changed. Today, I am a Friar Minor Conventual, a brother in the same religious family as St. Joseph of Cupertino. I no longer ask to fly, of course. But I often turn to him in prayer and ask, “Am I a good friar? Am I living this vocation with the faith and love God asks of me?”

As his feast approaches on September 18, I find myself reflecting again on the quiet strength of his example. Saints like Joseph remind us that holiness doesn’t always look extraordinary. It often hides in humility, obedience and quiet perseverance. It grows not in perfection, but in trust.

“Am I good enough?” It’s not a question of doubt, but of desire – a desire to be true to the call God has placed in our lives. And perhaps it’s a question we all should ask from time to time. We ask it not to weigh ourselves down, but to remain humble and open before God. In the end, you don’t need a magic sword to be a hero in God’s eyes. You don’t need to fly to reach heaven. You just need to love. To trust.