St. Philip Neri is known as the Apostle of Rome because of his out-sized impact on that city in the 16th century. Known for his sense of humor and magnetic personality, Neri left a lasting legacy, particularly in the development of his Oratory. Known today as the Institute of the Oratory of St. Philip Neri, it’s composed of independent groups of priests who take vows of obedience to serve God in the same manner as St. Philip. It has grown tremendously since he founded it and Oratorians can be found all over the world.
Initially, St. Philip didn’t want to stay in Rome at all. Instead, he was interested in going off to an exotic land like India to be a missionary. He wanted to accomplish impossible feats of sacrifice for the Church. Instead, a wise advisor told him, “Philip, your Indies are here in Rome!” For him, the impossible task was right where he already lived, to seek holiness in the midst of a large urban city with all its distractions and temptations. In a city that had once been the center of the world, full of luxury, good food, and easy living, how is one to achieve greatness?
Going off grid ... and finding myself
It’s easier to envision how a saint might be formed in an exotic mission field or a strict monastery, but what about you and me in our comfortable homes with our mobile phones and televisions and restaurants and shopping malls? I, for one, empathize with St. Philip’s desire to get away from it all. As much as I’m grateful for it, I daydream about leaving the city behind and going off-grid where I can chop wood, milk cows, and walk the forest so as to more easily avoid temptation and laziness. I think that, if I could just change my circumstances and live more purely and strictly, I might be able to accomplish the impossible and finally make some progress in my interior life.
Of course, anywhere I go, I’m still there. The daydream is just that – a daydream. A fantasy. No matter where I go, I’ll be faced with my usual temptations. I’ll still be lazy and sinful and selfish. Becoming the sort of people we want to become isn’t as easy as disappearing into our version of the Indies. The vast majority of us are called to Rome, to our particular home and place and parish. We have our practical duties with our jobs, families, and communities. St. Philip accepted those duties, stayed in Rome, opened his heart to grace, and achieved the best possible version of himself. His Oratory thrived, he was influential, well-loved, and managed to develop spiritual disciplines even in the midst of a practical existence. He was a successful, thoughtful, well-adjusted guy.
But also, there was the flying.
This most practical, friendly, and social saint was known, from time to time, to supernaturally levitate. Around the 16th century, there was an uptick in the number of levitating saints, the most famous of whom are probably St. Philip Neri, St. Teresa of Avila, and St. Joseph of Cupertino. It’s an odd corner of religious history. It seems excessive, all that flying around for no reason. Certainly, it’s impractical.
In his book They Flew, Carlos Eire makes the point repeatedly that the miracle of levitation is not only impossible for a modern, scientifically-minded world to believe, but it’s also weird. Funny enough, this is the same word my editor here at Aleteia used when I asked if I could write this essay; “Be sure it’s not too weird.” She’s quite right, of course (and clearly reads my stuff and knows my proclivities, which I appreciate). We can’t lean too hard on these rare miracles. St. Philip was embarrassed that he levitated. Cupertino was, too. St. Teresa, when told that the levitations were favors from God, said, “I often begged the Lord not to grant me any more favors ...”
Unsettling counter-examples
Nevertheless, the miracles actually happened, and for good reason. I think the weirdness is actually the point. It’s no accident that as scientific rationalism was becoming more popular and denial of the miraculous more common, levitating saints suddenly increased. As a practical this-worldly mindset took hold during the enlightenment, saints like Philip Neri became counter-examples.
Carlos Eire calls the levitating saints, “impossible cases.” The levitations are meant to be unsettling because they’re illustrating that with God all things are possible. Even the imperfections and flaws we’ve suffered from our entire lives can be overcome. Even in the midst of a practical, modern life space can be made for spiritual development and progress in the interior life. Even in Rome, we’re in the Indies. What for me seems so impossible is, with God, eminently achievable if I just don’t give up. In the midst of our logical, normal, everyday lives, grace is overflowing in abundance.
In fact, the inner joy and happiness available to us is overwhelming, the grace of each moment is positively overflowing. We don’t have to be missionaries in far off lands, have some unique vocation. or be yanked out of our lives in any way, really. We are meant to thrive exactly as we are, in our towns, our locales. Parenting, an honest day of work, taking care of aging parents, being a good neighbor, going to Mass, it’s all infused with love. It’s all an occasion for grace. For me, the lesson of St. Philip Neri’s levitations is simple; be faithful to the life you’ve been given and, before you know it, you might be flying.
