There is a useful connection, believe it or not, between today’s Catholic saint, Mary Magdalene, and some of the more explosive headlines in the news.

Public verdicts can turn honor into absolution and shame into damnation overnight, but Magdalene reminds Catholics that salvation belongs to God and God alone. That doesn’t mean such a connection between recent news and the religious must be deep and personal, on equal levels, or sentimental in the least. It simply means that for Catholics, on her feast day, the sudden death of a political figure and the public disgrace of another gives us an example of something Catholics should understand better than anyone: The world can judge sin but has no authority to judge souls one way or another, and it is usually very bad at the work when it tries.

And before we begin, no, we are not judging Lindsey Graham’s soul, nor do we believe the dead should be dishonored, particularly those “pesky politicians.” We understand the sentiment of not kicking a dead man. Our comment today is on the world and her errors alone, and to do it, we use the saint of the day, her repentance, and what just so happens to be two recent events that can apply.

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Lindsey Graham and Misty Roberts

For years, Graham was alternately praised, mocked, condemned, defended, attacked, and explained away depending on what party was speaking their truth and the political needs of the hour. Then, after his death, President Trump ordered flags lowered to half-staff, and the usual process of public honor began doing what it always does. The same world that can question and even devour a man in life learns stunningly quickly how to resurrect his reputation after death.

Put simply, we, especially faithful Catholics, must not confuse public memory with divine judgment—for in the end such misguidance could have eternal ramifications for ourselves and our loved ones.

The traditional Mary Magdalene is useful here because she does not let us sentimentalize or take for granted the notion of salvation. In the older Catholic memory, she is not the flattened modern figure, safely detached from the harder lessons of sin, penance, tears, and grace. She is the penitent sinner, the woman who anointed Our Lord’s feet, the contemplative who chose the better part, and the sister of Martha and Lazarus. The old Matins hymn for her feast says it plainly: María, soror Lázari—Mary, sister of Lazarus. The traditional Mass Collect also preserves the same memory, asking help through her prayers from Him who raised Lazarus, her brother, after four days in the grave.

The old Catholic world knew there was more than one visible pattern of sanctity. The old title “confessor,” for instance, came to describe saints of heroic virtue who confessed Christ before the world, while martyrdom belonged properly to those who died for the Faith. There were apostles, martyrs, confessors, virgins, widows, penitents, bishops, doctors, monks, nuns, holy rulers, and obscure souls known only to God. A martyr witnesses by blood. A confessor witnesses by heroic fidelity without martyrdom. A virgin witnesses by consecrated purity. A widow witnesses through loss, perseverance, and ordered detachment. A penitent witnesses by repentance after sin. These are not inconsequential labels and they certainly don’t belong in the museum of Christianity. They are reminders that salvation then is salvation now, and it is not measured by worldly ceremony, social rank, political career, or public reputation.

Mary Magdalene stands there as the great correction. She does not reach Heaven as a public success story or as someone everyone said was “a great person.” She reaches Heaven as a penitent, as someone who was likely mocked after her conversion, someone who had to be reminded of her past life at every turn.

And this is where the lesson becomes difficult for everyone, because the very people who honor Mary Magdalene’s repentance in Scripture often recoil when anyone suggests that a living public sinner, a disgraced politician, or someone like Misty Roberts—however grave the allegation and however real the wreckage—could become a penitent too.

We hope the same was true of Mr Graham before death as well, as we should hope it for every soul, including our own.

That doesn’t mean sin or crime disappears. That doesn’t mean the victims aren’t central to the tragedy. That doesn’t mean justice should be softened into wrist-slaps and therapy or that outrage at a light sentence is uncharitable. As this space argued in the Roberts case, sin has a wake, and real mercy does not abolish consequence. What it does do is order consequence toward justice, penance, purification, and God Himself.

It is what the Gospel in the traditional Mass demands of us. Simon has the house, the table, the status, and the respectable eye. Mary Magdalene has the tears. Our Lord does not canonize Simon’s reputation. He forgives and will eventually canonize the woman who loved much. The saved soul is not proven by applause, advancement, influence, wealth, office, fame, or the appearance of being honored by history.

It is proven by virtues the world doesn’t cherish.

And because modern Catholics so rarely speaks this way anymore, often partaking gleefully in the mockery of sinners while hiding their own pride, souls are often left with a misty moral fog, where older Catholics like Elias and the Martyrs of Compiègne had sharper categories.

Not every saint was innocent in the same way. Not every saint was purified by the same path.

And not every apparent sinner ended up in Hell.

Final Thoughts

The world makes its judgments, but not every saint canonized by this world is in Heaven right now either.

That is where the psalms of Matins become especially dangerous to the modern mind. They speak of God’s justice, His judgment, His enemies, His throne, His triumph. The Lord really does judge. His justice really can be seen in history. Good things really can happen on earth, and evil men really can be brought low.

But politics and entertainment train us to misread all of it. A woman rises in politics, so God must be with her. A ball player becomes rich, so he must be blessed. A pundit gains followers, a singer fills stadiums, an executive keeps climbing—success on top of success on top of success—and the old lie that we can be like gods finds its modern face. Success starts to look like the very elections we never stop talking about. A holy soul is the product of democracy.

Then death comes, and the same confusion can work in reverse. Tributes become verdicts of eternity. Ceremony becomes absolution from sin. A beautifully arranged funeral and some tears start to look like God’s own stamp of approval.

Mary Magdalene was not saved by public approval. She was exalted because she humbled herself before Christ, and that is the lesson politics cannot teach, entertainment cannot sell, and public opinion can no longer understand.