Through her words, we invite you to discover Saint Elizabeth Ann Seton — the first native-born citizen of the United States to be canonized and a foundational figure in American Catholicism and the Vincentian Family.

Elizabeth Ann Seton’s writings — marked by deep faith, maternal tenderness, and a tireless trust in Divine Providence — offer us a window into her spiritual journey and the challenges she faced as a woman, mother, educator, and founder. Though written over two centuries ago, her reflections continue to resonate today, especially as we seek to respond with compassion and courage to the trials of our time.

Text of Elizabeth Ann Seton:

“He is with me and what can I fear? I look neither behind nor before, only up.”

– St. Elizabeth Seton, Collected Writings, Vol. 1 p. 225, 432.

Commentary:

In this simple yet radiant declaration, St. Elizabeth Ann Seton captures the essence of a soul grounded in divine trust. These are not the words of someone who has been spared suffering, but rather they are the fruit of someone who has walked through fire and found her anchor in God alone. Her words evoke the serene courage that flows from living in the presence of God—not in the past, not in fear of the future, but in the now, eyes fixed on the One who is always faithful.

From a Vincentian perspective, this kind of spirituality is not just contemplative; it is profoundly active. To live with our eyes “only up” is to find in God the strength to serve others, especially those who have every reason to fear. In the poor, the sick, and the marginalized, we see reflections of Christ—calling us to look up and outward with love.

“He is with me” — The Foundation of Courage

Everything in this quote hinges on this opening phrase. Seton does not say she feels God is with her; she declares it with certainty. “He is with me.” This is the foundation of her peace. It recalls the promises of Scripture: “I am with you always” (Matthew 28:20), “Do not be afraid, for I am with you” (Isaiah 41:10). Presence—not solutions, not outcomes—is what calms the heart.

In the Vincentian tradition, this conviction gives rise to action. Knowing that God is with us allows us to step into places of suffering with compassion and courage. St. Vincent often reminded his followers that Christ was present in the poor—not in theory, but in reality. Seton echoes this incarnational theology: God is not distant; He walks with us, especially through the storms.

This presence does not remove struggle, but transforms it. When we live with the awareness that we are never alone, fear loses its power. Seton, who faced widowhood, poverty, and social exclusion, knew fear intimately., but she also knew the One who overcame it.

“And what can I fear?” — A Spiritual Defiance

Seton’s question is not rhetorical; it is spiritual defiance. She is not denying the existence of things that could make her afraid. Rather, she is proclaiming their powerlessness in light of God’s presence. This is a deep Vincentian truth: we do not minimize suffering, but we see it through the lens of divine providence.

“What can I fear?” is a question every Christian must answer. For Vincentians, it becomes especially urgent when serving those whose lives are marked by systemic injustice and material insecurity. Fear is real—for the poor, it is often constant, but fear need not paralyze. When we serve in the name of Christ, when we act rooted in prayer, we carry a peace the world cannot give.

Seton’s bold question becomes a prayer of resistance against despair. It invites us to trust—not in our abilities, but in the nearness of God.

“I look neither behind nor before” — The Discipline of the Present Moment

In a world addicted to nostalgia and anxiety, Seton calls us to a radical practice: the discipline of presence. She refuses to be defined by her past or consumed by her future. This is not escapism; it is spiritual maturity.

To “look neither behind nor before” is a grace. Many are haunted by past failures or wounds, or paralyzed by what might lie ahead. Seton, who lost her husband at a young age and had to make impossible choices for her children and her future, surely had reasons to look back and forward. But she chose to look up.

This Vincentian spirituality is grounded in the present moment. We serve today. We love now. The poor do not need us tomorrow—they need us now and God meets us in the now. When we learn to inhabit the present, to find God there, we become more available to others and more open to grace.

“Only up” — The Posture of Trust and Worship

The image is powerful. To look “only up” is to adopt the posture of a child lifting their gaze to a loving parent, of a servant awaiting the master’s word, of a heart surrendered in prayer. It is the posture of those who know where their help comes from: “I lift up my eyes to the hills—from where shall my help come? My help comes from the Lord” (Psalm 121:1–2).

Looking up is not avoiding reality—it is grounding ourselves in a greater one. It means placing our ultimate hope in heaven, even as we walk through the struggles of earth. It is a Vincentian spirituality that keeps us rooted in prayer, even while we labor in fields of poverty, injustice, and pain.

For Seton, looking up didn’t mean escaping hardship. It meant keeping her soul anchored, her mission focused, and her hope unshaken.