This particular St. Elizabeth had many very-high ups and many very-low downs. Yet, throughout her scant 24 years of life, she maintained an equanimity that came from an acceptance of life on its own terms, rather than on the terms that she wanted, felt entitled to, or expected. She was a princess and a pauper (literally, though not simultaneously). She was honored and she was reviled. She poured out her riches to care for the poor when a princess, and when cruelly exiled by her dead husband’s brother, she could find no shelter–even among the poor–for her three children and herself. Then her fortunes were restored and Elizabeth again used her riches for the care of the poor. And then she grew ill and died.

Throughout Elizabeth’s life, she contented herself by living simply, by wearing simple clothing (making her an object of disdain at court), eating a simple diet (she had a trick of appearing to eat heartily at state dinners by passing plates, sending her ladies-in-waiting around with dishes, engaging others in conversation, and drawing attention away from what she was not eating!), and amassing no money whatsoever. She privately attuned her soul to God’s will, and she expected no easier road in life than the one Jesus walked.

The title of this blog post uses the word, “perfection.” Too often, we have the idea of perfection as a static concept–getting 100% on a test, having no faults whatsoever, always/never/totally. Actually it’s easier to think of it in terms of “becoming complete” or “bringing to fullness.” For grammarians out there, the “perfect tense” contrasts with the simple past tense: “I have been writing blog posts” is in the perfect tense, rather than the simple (and completed) “I wrote this post.” In a similar vein, Christian perfection involves an ongoing movement rather than a singular achievement.

In writing about takeaways from the life of Elizabeth, Butler remarks:

Perfection consists not essentially in mortification (!), but in charity; and he (or she) is most perfect who is most united to God by love.

Elizabeth employed her austerities as a way to learn detachment from the world and from wanting things her way, and this made it possible for her to love others…whether or not they returned her love for them. Elizabeth’s path–with which Buddhism not so coincidentally resonates–contains great wisdom, great grace, and sustenance through good times and bad.