July 30, 2026

St. Mary of Egypt — The Catholic Saint Who Couldn't Walk Through a Church Door

In this episode of Everyday Saints, a Catholic podcast about the real lives of the saints, we tell the story of St. Mary of Egypt — one of the most extraordinary and least-known figures in Christian history. At 12 she ran away to Alexandria. For 17 years she lived entirely for herself. Then, on a whim, she joined a boat of pilgrims to Jerusalem — and at the door of the Church of the Holy Sepulcher, something she couldn't explain stopped her cold. What followed was 47 years alone in the desert, a monk named Zosimas, a walk across the Jordan River, and a death that left behind one of the strangest and most miraculous accounts in the lives of the saints. St. Mary of Egypt is honored in the Catholic Church, the Eastern Orthodox Church, and the Coptic Church — the ancient Christian church of Egypt — and she's the patron saint of converts and chastity. This week on the porch: what do you do with the door in your own life that will not open?

00:00 - — Cold Open: Forty-Seven Years Alone

01:06 - — Welcome to the Porch

02:39 - — Alexandria: Seventeen Years of Fire

04:32 - — The Pilgrimage and the Door That Would Not Open

07:19 - — Into the Desert at Twenty-Nine

08:44 - — Seventeen Years of War Within

10:19 - — Zosimas and the Woman in the Desert

13:52 - — Back on the Porch: The Door in Your Own Life

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47 years, alone, in the desert, no food beyond
what the wilderness itself could offer. No

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shelter, no other human voice for most of that
time. Her clothes rotted off her body. Her

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hair grew long and turned white under the sun.
Her skin darkened and weathered until the monk,

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who eventually found her, could barely recognize
her as a person. She chose this. At 29 years

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old, after a life most people would call beyond
any hope of redemption, she walked into that

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desert and she did not come back. It started
in Alexandria, Egypt, one of the greatest cities

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in the ancient world, with a 12-year-old girl
who ran away from home and decided she was

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going to live entirely for herself.

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Hi, my name is John O'Connor and this is Everyday
Saints, episode 12. If you have been with

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us since the beginning, thank you. 12 weeks,
12 saints, and this one may be the most unexpected

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story I've told yet. If you are new here, welcome
to our porch. Stick around. We drop a new saint

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every Thursday. This is the story of Saint Mary
of Egypt. She is honored and celebrated in

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the Catholic Church. the Eastern Orthodox Church,
and the Coptic Church, which is the ancient

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Christian church of Egypt, one of the oldest
Christian communities in the world. Across

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those three traditions, she is one of the most
celebrated saints in Christian history. Here

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in the West, the US, most Catholics have never
heard her name. Well, her name was Mary. She

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was born sometime in the fifth century. She
ran away from home at the age of 12. She spent

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the next 17 years in Alexandria, living exactly
the life you are probably imagining, and she

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never pretended otherwise. Then, one afternoon,
at the door of a church in Jerusalem, something

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stopped her cold. Not a lock, not a crowd. Something
she could not push past or explain. Something

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that sent her running toward the Jordan River
and into the desert. What she became in that

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desert over the next 47 years is one of the
most extraordinary things I have come across.

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We start in Alexandria, sometime in the fifth
or early sixth century. The exact dates are

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debated, but the broad strokes of her story
are consistent across every account that it

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survives. Alexandria in that era was one of
the great cities of the known world. A major

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Mediterranean port, densely populated, Sophisticated,
you had commerce, philosophy, art, religion,

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poverty, and every kind of pleasure crowded
together on the same narrow streets. It was

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a place where a person could disappear into
the noise and live almost any life they choose.

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Mary ran away from home at the age of 12. She
never tells us why in the account that survives,

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only that she left her parents, went to Alexandria,
and began a certain kind of life. In her own

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words, she was completely consumed by sensual
pleasure for the next 17 years, not primarily

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as a profession driven by desperation or poverty.
She is specific about this. She often refused

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money. She wanted as many men as possible, and
she pursued that life with an energy she later

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described as a kind of fire she could not control.
I wanna be careful here. She never sanitized

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her own story and I will not sanitize it either,
but reducing her to a travesty would miss something

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important. What the accounts consistently describe
as a woman of remarkable intensity and will,

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someone who lived fully and pursued what she
wanted without apology. That quality did not

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disappear after her conversion. It simply went
somewhere else. So for 17 years she lived

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this way and then more or less on a whim, she
decided to join a group of pilgrims sailing

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to Jerusalem for the feast of the exaltation
of the Holy Cross. Now, not out of devotion,

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out of curiosity, and because there were a lot
of young men on that boat. Now they are in

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Jerusalem, the Church of the Holy Sepulcher.
The church built over the traditional site

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of the crucification and resurrection of Jesus,
one of the most sacred places in the Christian

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world. Mary joined the crowd of pilgrims moving
toward the entrance. She had no particular

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spiritual agenda. She was just curious the way
a tourist is curious. She moved with the crowd

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toward the door and she could not enter. The
door was not locked. There was no physical

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barrier. She could see other people walking
through without difficulty. She simply could

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not make herself cross the threshold. She later
described it as an invisible force, like a

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hand pressed hard against her chest, holding
her back while everyone else flowed past her

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in the church. She tried again and again, each
time the same result. The crowd moved around

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her and through the door she could not cross.
She stood there. for a long time as the understanding

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of what was happening slowly settled on her.
Not as theological conclusion, as a physical

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reality she could not deny. She was not being
held back by a locked door or a crowd, she

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was being held back by what she was. She went
to a corner of the entrance hall where an icon

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of the Virgin Mary hung on the wall and she
wept. For a long time she wept. Then she prayed,

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the broken, halting prayer of a woman who had
not prayed seriously in seventeen years, asking

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the Virgin to intercede for her, asking to
be allowed in, promising, though she was not

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yet sure what the promise meant, that she would
go wherever she was directed. When she finished

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praying, she walked back to the door. She went
through. She stayed in the church for a long

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time. When she came out, she heard or felt or
somehow received a voice telling her to cross

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the Jordan River and go into the desert. She
had three coins in her pocket. She bought three

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loaves of bread. She found the Jordan River,
crossed it and walked into the wilderness.

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She was 29 years old. Now, Here is where most
people's imaginations fail, because what comes

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next is so far outside ordinary human experience
that it's almost impossible to picture it fully.

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She was in the desert for 47 years, alone, no
community, no monastery, no other human being

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for the vast majority of that time. The three
loaves of bread she bought in Jerusalem lasted

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her 17 years. She is specific about this in
a way that no one else has offered a natural

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explanation for. After that, she whatever
sparse wild plants grew in that stretch of

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wilderness east of the Jordan, which was very
little. Her clothes rotted away, her hair grew

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long and turned white from the sun and the years,
her skin became dark and deeply weathered.

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The woman who had spent 17 years in Alexandria
where physical appearance was everything became

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in the description of the monk who eventually
found her a gaunt white haired figure moving

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through the desert like something between a
person and a vision. And she struggled enormously

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for the first 17 years in the desert. She was
tormented by the same desires and appetites

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she had spent her previous life indulging. The
memories came at her constantly and without

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mercy. The smell of wine, the noise and heat
of Alexandria's streets, the pull of every

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pleasure she had walked away from. She fought
them with prayer, with tears, with the words

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of scripture she had heard only in fragments
before her conversion and somehow now knew

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them by heart. This is one of the most honest
accounts of what real conversion actually costs

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that I have ever come across. She did not walk
into that desert and immediately become peaceful

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and holy. No, she walked into the desert and
spent 17 years in open warfare with herself,

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with her memory, her desire, and the life she
had chosen to leave behind. Then after those

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17 years of struggle, something changed. She
describes it as a great peace descending.

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The passions quieted, not all at once, in a
single dramatic moment, but gradually and then

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completely. The battle was over. What came after
was something she struggled to put into words.

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She simply lived, alone with God, in the desert,
for thirty more years. About 47 years after

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Mary first walked into the wilderness, a monk
named Zosimas was doing what the monks of

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his community did every Lent, walking deep into
the desert to fast and pray in solitude. He

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was an experienced monk, serious about his faith,
so not a man easily given to seeing things

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that were not there. He saw a figure moving
among the rocks in the distance, emaciated.

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white-haired, barely clothed in the remnants
of what had once been garments. He called

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out, and the figure fled. He chased her, calling
that he was a monk and meant no harm. Eventually,

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she stopped. She called him by his name. Note,
a name he had never told her. What followed

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was one of the most unusual conversations in
the recorded history of Christian spirituality.

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This educated, devout, experienced monk sat
with a woman who had not spoken to another

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human being in decades and found himself in
the presence of someone whose knowledge of

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scripture and depth of prayer went beyond his
own. Someone who had arrived through the hardest

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possible road at a place he was still trying
to reach. She told him her story, all of it,

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Alexandria, the boat, the church door that would
not open, the 47 years, she held nothing back.

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Then she asked him to come back the following
year on Holy Thursday and bring her the Eucharist,

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which she had not received since the day of
her conversion. He came back as she had asked.

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She walked across the Jordan River to meet him.
He actually watched her walk on the water

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with his own eyes. She received communion.
She cried. She asked him to return one more

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year and bring a burial cloth. When Zosimas
returned the third time, after traveling for

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20 days into the desert to the spot where he
had first found her, he found her body lying

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there peacefully. Near her head, written in
the sand in letters he could read, was a short

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message asking him to bury her there. It also
told him when she had died, the very night

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she had received communion from him, a full
year before. So she had died immediately after

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receiving the Eucharist. She was illiterate,
but the inscription was legible. That detail

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is noted explicitly in the ancient account as
one of the miracles of her death. Her body

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showed no decay. He did not know how to dig
a grave alone in that hard ground, and as odd

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as this sounds, a lion appeared and helped him
dig. When the work was finished, the lion walked

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away into the desert and Zosimas returned to
the monastery. Whether you take every miraculous

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detail of this story literally, or understand
some of them as later embellishments, What

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remains consistent across the ancient accounts
is this. A woman named Mary lived alone in

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the Judean desert for nearly five decades. She
was found by a monk, told him her full story

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without softening it, died, and was buried by
the monk. All right, back on the porch. So

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the thing I keep returning to with Mary, and
likely you are probably returning to this as

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well, is that invisible hand at the church
door. So she did not go to Jerusalem seeking

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conversion and she was not in a season of spiritual
searching. She had not been slowly building

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toward a change of life. She was 29 years old.
She had been living the same way since she

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was 12. And from her own account, she had no
particular plans to stop. But something stopped

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her anyway. Not gently, not as a quiet suggestion.
as an unmovable reality she could not argue

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with, push through, or ignore. I think a lot
of us have met versions of that door. Am I

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right? I the thing you kept trying that kept
not working, the path that kept closing in

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front of you even when you could not see why,
the place where your own will finally ran into

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something stronger than itself. Mary's response
to that moment is worth sitting with carefully.

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She did not get up angry and leave. She did
not decide the universe was against her and

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give up. She went to a corner and she cried
honestly, openly without pretending she had

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anything together. And she asked for help. When
the door finally opened, she walked through

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it. And then she walked all the way into the
desert. That last part is the one that both

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inspires and humbles me. Because most of us,
when a closed door finally opens, want the

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comfortable version of what is on the other
side, the version that does not cost too much.

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Mary got a voice pointing her toward the Jordan
River and the wilderness, and she went. I've

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been sitting with that question. What am I doing
with the doors in my own life that will not

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open? Not the ones I am still shoving against
with everything I have. But the ones I have

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finally quietly admitted are closed, permanently
closed. Am I standing in the corner weeping

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honestly and asking for direction? Or am I still
in the entrance hall arguing with the door

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trying to force it open, resenting it, and
refusing to consider that it might be trying

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to send me somewhere I do not yet want to go?
Well, that leads into the practical challenge

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this week. This week, it is simple. and difficult.
Think of one door in your life that will not

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open, not so you can try to force it one more
time, but so you can ask, genuinely and honestly,

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whether the door closed might be telling you
something, and whether there is a desert on

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the other side of it that you have been refusing
to see. And now it's time for the closing prayer.

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Lord, thank you for Mary of Egypt. Thank you
that you stopped a woman at a door she could

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not cross, not to shame her, but to redirect
her. Thank you that 47 years in the desert

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produced something a lifetime in Alexandria
could never have produced. For everyone listening

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who is standing at that door that will not open,
give them Mary's honesty. Give them the courage

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to stop pushing, to go to the corner, to cry
a little. and to ask for direction. And give

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them the willingness to go wherever the voice
points, even when it points somewhere hard

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and lonely. And for anyone who believes their
past is too far gone, their history too complicated,

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their choice is too many and too public to ever
be redeemed, give them Mary, a woman who told

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her entire story without editing a single word
of it. and who God met exactly where she was.

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We love you, even at the doors that will not
open. Amen. One more thing before we go. Mary

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of Egypt is the patron saint of converts for
obvious reasons, but she is also the patron

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saint of chastity, which is either deeply ironic
or deeply appropriate depending on how you

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look at it. and she is invoked against skin
diseases and fevers because she spent 47 years

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completely exposed to the elements of the desert
and somehow survived it. In the Eastern Orthodox

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and Coptic traditions, she is one of the most
celebrated saints. The fifth Sunday of Great

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Lent is actually called the Sunday of Saint
Mary of Egypt. Her story is read aloud in the

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services. She is not an obscure figure there.
She is central. But in the Western Catholic

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Church, she is far less known. And that is a
real loss. Because her story says something

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about the reach and the cost of grace that very
few other saints' stories say quite as directly

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or as unflinchingly. Her feast day in the Roman
Catholic calendar is April 2nd. The woman who

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ran away from home at 12, who spent 17 years
in Alexandria doing what she did, who stood

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at a door she could not cross at 29 and who
then disappeared into the desert for the rest

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of her life is still being prayed to 17 centuries
later. Well, that is episode 12 of Everyday

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Saints. If Mary's story moved you, share it
with just one person. Someone who might need

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to hear that a door that will not open is not
always a punishment. Sometimes it is a direction.

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Leave a review if you have a minute, it definitely
helps more people find the show. Next week,

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we go back to a name most of you will recognize
immediately and a story that is far stranger

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and far more human than anything you were taught
about them in school. I'm John O'Connor, thanks

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for sitting on the porch with me and I will
see you next week.