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S i d e b a r
The Apostolate of Being
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This Rock
Volume 16, Number 9
 November 2005 
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The most powerful way of influencing others is not by intellectual arguments—important as these may be—but what Dietrich von Hildebrand called "the apostolate of being."
There are persons who radiate a peace and joy that, when encountered by others torn by inner conflicts and threatened by despair, leads them to raise the question: What is this person’s secret? The conflicted and despairing might know that the others are exposed to severe trials—whether physical, psychological, or spiritual. It might be living in poverty or being considered to be a failure. Yet there is a sweet perfume emanating from him that is both puzzling and winning.
Such persons do not aim at influencing others; they might not even realize how much influence they have. Holy people—frequently totally unaware of how close they are to God—can draw thousands to the Lord without realizing that God is using them as instruments of his grace. Clearly this refers to saints whose apostolate was mind-boggling, even though they had none of the "trumps" that quacks possess.
St. Francis of Assisi is a case in point. One of his Franciscan brothers could not help but ask him what accounted for his success, for, he told Francis, "You are not a handsome man, and yet thousands of people follow you and venerate you." Full of joy, Francis answered that God uses the most miserable tools to draw people to himself. Man is made for God. St. Augustine expressed this truth in his own unique style: "For thou hast made us for thyself, and our hearts are restless till they rest in thee."
Deep down man longs for God, a longing usually covered by a crust of illegitimate desires, pride, concupiscence, and the allurements of the world. But when he is blessed with meeting one of God’s friends, a man who, however imperfectly, reflects God’s beauty, the longing sleeping in his heart is awakened and might lead him to a conversion. The most brilliant mind, expounding with conviction and ardor the deepest truths of the faith but whose religious life is shallow, will never exercise the influence that a "simple" person whose heart is given totally to God will have on others. St. John Vianney was not a Demosthenes, yet he drew thousands upon thousands of people to his humble parish in Ars, France.
A saint, animated by his love of God, desires to win souls for him—not only because it will glorify God, but also because it is good for man to be God’s servant. The saint wants to serve. The quack wants to "catch" naive persons in his nets, aiming exclusively at his own advantage. As Augustine put it, the bird-catcher is not concerned about the bird but about enriching himself.
Far from aiming at dominating others and bringing them into subjection, the saint wishes only to serve God and dreads the thought that he might become an object of worship. Essential to sainthood is the desire to give God the glory. The saint is a pure channel through which God works. The pleasing radiance that emanates from him simply indicates that he has let God do his work in him. The beauty comes from God, and he modestly reflects it.
St. Therese of Lisieux expressed in her autobiography, Story of a Soul, the glorious beauty of trees illuminated by the rays of the sun. Without the latter, they would be dark. The person responding is touched by the beauty that comes through him but not from him.
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