This page examines how the Roman Catholic Church has long understood that saints are more than spiritual exemplars; they are instruments of cultural reach. Canonisation operates as a form of sacred branding, extending the Church’s presence into new regions, professions and social anxieties. In this way, sainthood becomes both a theological statement and a cultural strategy, revealing how the Church has navigated influence, memory and authority across centuries.
Market Share and the Church
The modern Roman Catholic Church talks a great deal about tradition, doctrine, and timeless truth, but beneath the incense-lite approach and post Vatican Two lies a far more prosaic concern. Survival and market share.
The hierarchy needs bums on pews, money in the collection plate, and donors who don’t leave in frustration. The financial burden from historical child-abuse cases and the legal processes to handle them has made the institution aware that it can’t afford to lose more members. Stability, loyalty, and consistent income are now as important as religious practices. There is also the ongoing challenge from splinter groups like the Society of Saint Pius X and the smaller Society of Saint Pius V, which both promote traditional ‘full-fat’ Roman Catholicism.
In that climate of market competiton, the Church treads carefully. It needs ‘super-star’ saints who attract crowds, stories that inspire devotion, and religious figures who can be marketed without controversy. The hierarchy wants holiness that sells well across borders and through age ranges. What it doesn’t want is anything that might unsettle the faithful or suggest that the boundaries of holiness and sanctity are wider than the catechism allows. The fear is simple, acknowledge too much complexity, too much humanity, and people might start asking questions the hierarchy would rather leave unanswered.
The Roman Catholic Church has always struggled with the question of saints who might be seen as LGBT+. This delicate issue causes problems and arises from the intersection of tradition, doctrine, and the evolving understanding of human sexuality within society. Historically, many saints who exhibited characteristics or relationships that could now be interpreted as “Gay” have been venerated, although their stories are often shrouded in ambiguity due to the lack of contemporary terminology and understanding.
At the moment the Roman Catholic hierarchy seems intent on ‘playing it safe’ and are more interested in market share. We see the controversial elevation to the altars of Saint Carlo Acutis in record time. Market share is important to the hierarchy and we shouldn’t forget that. What better than a new and un-tarnished saint of the media age to reverse the trend away from the Church?
In thinking about LGBT saints I naturally thought about Sergius and Bacchus. Their names sit early in the church calendar. They were Roman soldiers, martyred together, and their story carries the sound of marching feet on Roman roads. Some say they were lovers although it’s all a little vague and there weren’t any telephoto lenses at that time for the Roman paparazzi to take incriminating photographs.
Others insist Sergius and Bacchus were just friends. The truth is tangled. I remember thinking how hard it’s for the Church to admit such bonds between men, even when the evidence in there in old texts and prayers. SS. Julius and Aaron have even less ‘hagiography’ behind them. They may have been lovers, or not, you decide.
Saints John and Paul sit quietly in the Roman calendar, but their story is far more intriguing than the brief lines they’re usually granted. They were Roman soldiers, martyred in the fourth century, and from the very beginning they were remembered not as two separate men but as a pair, John‑and‑Paul, living together, dying together, and buried together on the Caelian Hill in the City of Rome. Their shared house became the Basilica of Santi Giovanni e Paolo, a place where their names have been spoken side by side for more than 1,600 years.
The Church calls them “companions”, a conveniently elastic word in English euphemism that covers everything from casual friendship to lifelong partnership.
It’s the same pattern of ambiguity we see with Sergius and Bacchus. The pattern is familiar, deep male bonds preserved in liturgy, venerated in art, and quietly stripped of any emotional complexity that might trouble the doctrinal gatekeepers. How could the Church venerate men of sin?
John and Paul are part of that long, unspoken tradition, saints whose intimacy is acknowledged in practice but never explored in official commentary. Their holiness slipped through the cracks, as queer holiness often does, and the Church has spent centuries honouring them without ever quite knowing what to do with the closeness that defined their lives.
John Boswell. in Same‑Sex Unions in Premodern Europe (1994), argued that certain early Christian liturgical rites, particularly the adelphopoiesis or “brother‑making” ceremonies could be understood as a form of same‑sex union, possibly even a kind of religiously sanctioned partnership. I know how this book was trashed by Roman Catholic zealots, although the core of the work seems compelling,
When we explore the creation of modern saints, then John Henry Newman feels an interesting figure. A Victorian scholar, a priest, a man who shaped Roman Catholic life in England. He was canonised only a few years ago in a big Catholic media circus when Pope Benedict XVI visited England (and Scotland) from 16th to 19th September 2010 .
Cardinal Newman asked to be buried with Ambrose St John, his closest friend. It makes me wonder how the Church reads such gestures. Do they see friendship only, maybe companions, or something deeper. Is Roman catholic reluctance to see the obvious more do do with market share and keeping bums on pews. Now, I see a story that indicates that even Pope Benedict may be considered for canonisation although one wonders how popular he would be as a Saint? He’s not exactly a wonder worker and certainly has critics.
The problem isn’t just history. The Church’s teaching on sexuality sets up barriers within the clergy and the laity. It’s hard to reconcile a real life and the complicated human experience with a Church doctrine that is sex-negative. Jean-Paul Sartre made the statement that it’s difficult to be recognised as a saint if you work sixteen hours a day and I hold that thought close to me. Recognition of LGBT+ saints would stir debate and ‘hard-line’ zealots would walk out and vote with their feet. Bishops may fear the noise, the arguments, the backlash from the congregation and zealot clergy. The Society of Saint Pius X is still out there along with the splittist Society of Saint Pius V all nibbling away at Roman market share and supremacy.
Some faithful would welcome a wider, affirming, stance. Others would not. That contradiction within Roman Catholic tradition sits heavy and maybe nobody would be satisfied. Being Church’ is a messy business and it all costs money in an age of huge overheads and Roman Catholic sex scandals.
The Church’s structure makes sainthood challenging. The saints, the lesser saints and even the ‘secular saints‘ are out there waiting for us to discover them, regardless of what the Roman hierarchy teaches. I notice the gap in the door which is only half closed by the hierarchy and I want to explore both the officially recognized saints and the lesser-known ones, including the saints next door mentioned by Pope Francis.
Further Reading
- Saint: Meta Hub
- The Strange Company of Saints: Martyrs, Passion‑Bearers, and the Rest of Us
- The “Register of Lesser Saints” Project