St Basil Had a Sister?

Yesterday was the feast of St Basil and Gregory. I have come to know them better by meeting their sister, Macrina. I think that is the way with sisters of boys.

I have an irresistible draw to Eastern icons, which is funny because I love real details when I pray to the saints - very human and natural details - beautiful eyes, the REAL smile, the way they held their hands while at prayer or when talking to other people. When you have the rare photograph of a saint, it almost takes your breath away that you are actually SEEING them the way they were.

We sometimes see a stylized effort to show details in western paintings to greater or lesser affect. Fra Angelico especially showed serenity and peace on faces and bodies that seemed to affect me as absolutely real though I realized that they were his own inner images of what it would look like to be holy. I suppose my own images matched up with his.

But the icons are different. They are flat on the canvas. The only nod to the world of sense are their vibrant, gorgeous jeweled pigments. They fascinate me. As though all the faults and flaws have been ironed out and pressed and what remains is powerful holiness that is not of this 3 dimensional world. That is how I see St Basil, St Gregory, and St. Peter. Powerful with wisdom and holiness. Beyond reach. But praying for me if I ask.

St. Macrina has changed all that for me. This feast has suddenly given those three men dimensionality. That they HAD a sister. That they grew up in a family of ten children in a specific place, Caesarea, to two other holy saints: St Basil the Elder (from whom the son Basil received his own name) and St Emmelia.

St. Macrina was the eldest. An older sister is a real treasure if you are blessed to have one. I was given just one girl out of my seven and she brought something wonderful to the mix that no boy could ever bring. Teased mercilessly, expected to join in all the ruckus of rough games without crying about being a girl, she did her part and with aplomb. She defended her little brothers against bullies, she was the designated 3rd on all their dates in high school, gave a good example of actually studying French to a brother who was verrrry ho hum about the prospect and yet later probably thanked his lucky stars in grad school when he had to do some French - that his sister made him do his French when all he wanted to do was draw and write epic poetry with himself as the hero. She was practical, level headed and all in 100%. They saw it. And were the better for it. She loved them and tried to understand them all. Still does. I can attest to it.

That is how I envision St. Macrina. For, Basil, Gregory, and Peter were not always solemn and serene faces on an icon. To do what they did later in life for God, all three MUST have been choleric and a bit bullish. In a family setting, (before the holiness was complete of course), they probably were always competing with each other. They might have ended things in one of those annoying boy fights all twisted up like infernal puppies on the floor. They probably competed with each other ALL THE TIME. Who was better at Greek, better at Latin, better at school, better at sports.

But then they became saints. And great saints. How?

St. Macrina must have had some hand in that. She must have broken up some fights, laughed at their jokes, shook her head with a wry smile at their constant competitions. And they must have loved her, and watched her. And maybe wanted to be like her at times. Her example MUST have been great. Her prayer life, her kindness, her industriousness around the house. Her care for them. Her sympathetic ear perhaps. Or defending them against detractors. And sometimes they must have witnessed Her own inner fires even at twelve years old when she asked not to be married. And they must have wondered and taken pause when they watched her pray to her Beloved at odd moments.

As they grew older and faced the seriousness of the world, she probably encouraged them and prayed constantly for them in their work. Remembering her inner fires, her brothers found an estate for her to stay with other holy women to pray and be at peace and work for God. I imagine both Basil and Gregory, harassed on all sides by the world of men, making their way to to that place at odd times just to sit and talk with her who was wise and loved them and would laugh with them perhaps at the foibles of the world and give them optimistic strength for the battle once more.

No one really knew about Macrina. As her brothers both took up more and more burdens, they did not see her as often. Gregory, who had not seen her in eight years, was able to be there when she died. And he mourned for her with tears. I think he might have been the favorite brother.

It is Gregory who wrote about his sister Macrina. A brother remembering and mourning for a sister who had once fed him, broke up his fights, soothed his depressions, laughed with him, and gave him pep talks. A sister who burned with sanctity.

And I say blessed is the family who has an older sister. They will find her a treasure. She, too, in her way is a saint maker.

She has a lot to do with this feast of her brothers Basil and Gregory.