So You Want to Be a Saint (Spoiler: I Still Don’t Qualify)

By Cliff Potts
Editor-in-Chief, WPS News
Catholic layman. No apostolic authority claimed.

Let’s clear something up immediately.

Yes—if I’m being honest—I like the idea of being a saint.

Not because I glow in the dark.
Not because I hear voices (unless caffeine counts).
And definitely not because I think God runs a celestial PR firm waiting to polish my brand.

I want recognition.

There. I said it.

At this stage of life, that doesn’t feel arrogant. It feels human. When you’ve spent decades asking inconvenient questions, paying retail for honesty, and watching louder, duller people collect applause like party favors, it’s natural to wonder whether any of it mattered.

Cue Nowhere Man, but with worse knees.

Here’s the problem.

A saint is not someone who wants to be admired.
A saint is not someone who thinks they are special.
A saint is not someone who writes theology with a head cold at 3 a.m. and then rereads it thinking, “Yes, this will age well.”

That alone disqualifies me.

In the Catholic Church, sainthood is not self-appointed. You don’t nominate yourself. You don’t submit a résumé. You don’t attach footnotes and say, “This shows growth.”

Sainthood is recognized only after a life of heroic virtue—consistently, quietly, and without concern for acknowledgment. Saints are usually identified long after they’ve stopped caring whether anyone noticed.

That’s not a loophole. That’s the design.

Then there are the miracles.

They are not required because the Church enjoys paperwork—though it clearly does. They exist to ensure sainthood is not a reward system.

Thoughtful essays do not count.
Being right too early does not count.
Enduring nonsense quietly does not count.
Eye-rolling heroically does not count. (I checked.)

Also inconvenient: miracles are expected after death, which complicates scheduling and severely limits feedback.

And no—freezing in Iowa does not qualify as incorruptibility. That is climate, not holiness.

“Saint Clifford of Guadalupe, preserved by an Iowa winter” will not survive peer review.

Wanting sainthood is not the same as claiming sainthood. Some saints probably wanted it. They just didn’t chase it. They lived in a way that made the question irrelevant.

I am not claiming authority.
I am not claiming holiness.
I am not claiming divine endorsement.

I am claiming to be a Catholic layman who loves the Church enough to challenge bad theology, uses humor instead of pious camouflage, and refuses to pretend that humility requires silence.

I do not qualify because I still care whether I qualify.
Because I am alive and arguing.
Because I want recognition now, not posthumously.
Because I would absolutely ruin the prayer cards.

And that’s fine.

Sainthood is not compensation for being overlooked. It is not God finally saying, “You were right.” It is recognized only after a person stops worrying about it entirely.

Would I like to be a saint?

Sure.

I would also like my knees not to hurt, my writing to reach people, and the world to make more sense than it does.

But I did not return to the Catholic Church to be canonized. I returned to be honest.

I will leave miracles to God.
I will leave sainthood to the dead.
And I will leave Iowa winters out of it entirely.