Saint George is depicted as the dragon-slayer, plunging a long sword from the back of his white horse into the slithery head of an ugly beast, the devil. George was a soldier and may very well have ridden a white horse. Born of Christian parents at the time of Diocletian he was an exemplary soldier and rose to the level of Tribune. When Christians were being executed and tortured he gave it all up, openly rebuking his ruler and pleading for reason. For that he was tortured and beheaded. End of story? Far from it. There are paintings and statues and legends that are revered by Christian and other cultures. Sacrificial love. Courage? We would assume so, but I imagine that his strength came from God, and doing what was right despite the consequences.
Nineteen years ago on this day of remembrance of Saint George, my mother Liz gave up her armor and all worldly titles. Her life was evident of sacrificial love. She was a living saint, and is now a heavenly one. She loved Jesus, her faith, her traditions, her family, and humanity. She was a steadfast, loving and devoted wife and a warm, funny, supportive, completely loving mother. She was willing to mother anyone who needed her, or who simply crossed her path or doorway. She loved every person regardless of race, creed or lifestyle.
I’ll miss her every day. I take great comfort in knowing that she still loves and cares for us, united with Christ in a mystical body that “witnesses” and intercedes for us all. Life is short. We do not know what is around the corner. To live humbly like Liz, sacrificially, prayerfully doing what she could in this finite life has eternal effects.