The cries echoes up from the piazza, Santo Subito! Santo Subito! Sainthood Now!

I can guarantee one thing, no one will ever hear that phrase pass my lips.

I like mail, doctor’s appointments, and State of the Union address to expeditious. But not my saints.

Saints should be like a fine wine made at some remote monastery, made with one part fruit, one part yeast, five parts prayer, and fifty parts of time.

Now, if you have ever made wine, you know that there is always a temptation to open a bottle before its time but experience teaches you not to do it. You must wait.

Look at it another way. How often does popular acclaim ever …

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