Where's my sword?

I used to look at the sword tucked under the arm of the Joan of Arc statue at church and wonder "Where's my sword?" I thought I needed a champion or a sword or some kind of weapon in the world I perceived as hostile.

Yesterday, looking at the statue, I saw it meant something else.

The sword is tucked under her arm because she isn't using it. She doesn't need it: she has an army; she has armor; she has inspiration. A call from God. From our distance, maybe the details don't matter. She had an idea (she was given an idea?) that took her over, and she armored herself in it. People followed her.

There is what I saw: the best sword is an idea, and other people.Yesterday in church I was surrounded by love as the children in the program made their First Communion. The families, our team, the congregation, all of us in aggregate were an army of love.

And I had my sword. Instead of doing battle, we can march forward as a loving, building community. There are days (like yesterday) when I can say for sure, yes, this can be.

Two footnotes to that inspirational flight though:

She, Joan, did have a real sword, sharp, and people died. There are consequences. 

And we know how the story turned out for her. 

She, like most of the saints, are terrible models if we are afraid of death, suffering and disgrace.

Even if we are afraid, the saints can help us be less frightened; we can look to them for inspiration or we can pray for their intercession.