THE OTHER KIND OF SAINT

Sainthood isn't a tricky business. Either you die in Christ, trusting in the promise that you'll be raised to life, or you don't. It's really that simple. In the earliest days of the Infant Church, there were no eccentric tribunals; no pomp-and-circumstance ceremonies or liturgical rites, no flashy presentations of icons or titles, no over-exaggerated displays of devotion. The process was quieter; more organic, less contrived, entirely devoid of the flashy branding we see in other Christian communities. In that golden-age of decentralized unity, Saints were adopted by the greater whole of the believing population. That's what made the name of a local Saint stick. In our own day and age, there are plenty of mainstream Saints to choose from, but where have all the Folk Saints gone?

Out of beer money?
Down to your last cigarette?
Stash box empty?

We're not advocating for sin, nor are we endorsing violating any laws; but we are real people who have really lived a lot of life. We understand the Christians who end the evening with a frosty brew. We know what it's like to steal a few minutes, just to sneak away to enjoy that last cowboy-killer. We've all celebrated the insomniac in our life who finally found peace at the local medical dispensary. When we choose a Folk Saint, we need to look for someone who struggled their way to the other side; without the fanfare, without an endorsement from the local convention, without the approval of the religious elite. If you're a "Jesus drank wine" kind of Christian, then you're our people. If you're in recovery, you're family. If your favorite vape pen is the remedy for your sleeplessness, we promise not to call it the devil's lettuce.

BISHOP JOHN PAUL STEINBACHER

John Paul Steinbacher, a lifelong son of southern Connecticut, spent the better part of his days rooted in the Naugatuck Valley. He was a staunch conservationist, an avid hunter, an adept beagler, and a rugged outdoorsman; a man never afraid of honest, blue-collar labor.

Yet, that isn't how he asked to be remembered. First and foremost, John was the husband of Karen Steinbacher, the undisputed love of his life. Second, and with equal devotion, he was the father of two beautiful, compassionate daughters, Sarah Balla and Katie Douglas. Finally, his life would have been truly incomplete without his best friend and partner-in-crime: his grandson, Joseph Balla. Perhaps the proudest John had ever been was the day he became Joey’s "Pop-Pop."

John served as this ministry’s first ordained Deacon and remained a wholehearted, ardent supporter until his final day. Toward the end of his journey, having dedicated his remaining years to active family ministry, he was elevated to the Historic Episcopate in the presence of his loved ones.

John’s life stands as a comforting reminder that we don't have to be perfect to participate in the Story of Salvation. While the canonized Saints of Christendom certainly have their place, "St. John the Toolmaker" occupies a special pews-and-pavement spot in the hearts of America's everyday folks. He was a local hero known for his radical hospitality, his willingness to offer a helping hand even to those who crossed him, and his quiet generosity in the face of his own struggles. We don't need a council of stodgy cardinals to tell us what we already know: John is on the other side of the veil right now, undoubtedly laughing at the rest of us for something.

So, whether you are wrestling with addiction, battling alcoholism, fighting to get through a grueling workday, searching for a safe haven, staring at an empty bank account, or facing any of life's adversities—just know you can always ask St. John the Toolmaker to intercede for you.

PATRON SAINT OF
Hospitality
Hard Work
Home Defense
Hunters and Anglers
Pessimists 
Mental Illness Sufferers
Cancer Victims

St. John the Toolmaker, pray for the rest of us.