Three things I learned from the glorification of St. Olga of Alaska
I used to think of saints as distant figures from centuries past, their lives so far removed from our modern world.
And yet, here is St. Olga of Alaska—a modern woman from North America—being glorified as a saint this week.
Reading her story brought tears to my eyes.
I am struck not by grand miracles or dramatic visions but by her quiet, hidden holiness. She wasn’t a theologian, a monastic, or someone with an international ministry. She was a Matushka (the wife of a priest), a mother, and a midwife in a remote Alaskan village. And yet, through that life, she became a saint.
Born in 1916 in the Yup’ik village of Kwethluk, St. Olga lived a life of service to others: sewing clothes for children, caring for women in distress, and somehow always knowing who was suffering, even without words.
People say she had a particular tenderness toward those who had experienced abuse. She saw what others missed. And maybe that’s part of her sanctity: she truly saw people.
When she died in 1979, the deep-frozen river thawed unexpectedly, allowing people to travel to her funeral, and the birds that should have been migrating south for the winter circled above. Then the deep freeze returned.
Even creation seemed to make room for her.
And now, decades later, the Church has formally recognized what her community always knew—Matushka Olga was a saint.
Watching the services streamed from Alaska, and researching more about her and the concept of sainthood in the Orthodox Church, I learned three things:
1. The power of quiet service.
St. Olga’s life was filled with simple acts of love: sewing clothes for children, comforting those who suffered, and being a source of strength and compassion in her community. Her sanctity reminds me that holiness often blooms in the ordinary moments of everyday life.
She lived life simply by seeing and serving others.
In the Orthodox tradition, holiness is often found not in grand achievements but in stillness, humility, and patient service. Matushka Olga reminds us that it is possible to radiate Christ’s presence without saying a word. Her sanctity teaches me that quiet faithfulness, repeated over a lifetime, can leave an eternal mark.
2. The unexpected signs of grace.
I was taken by surprise when I read that the Church uncovered St. Olga’s body as part of the glorification. Her relics were transferred to a new coffin.
When her relics were uncovered, they were found to have a honey-colored hue, a traditional sign often found in other saints. Her veil, too, remained incorrupt, symbolizing the grace that infused even the material aspects of her life.
The Church’s careful recognition of St. Olga’s relics and the preservation of her veil highlight the profound respect for the material world in Orthodoxy. It’s a beautiful testament to how God’s grace can sanctify not just souls, but also the physical things that are touched by holiness.
These tangible signs of holiness remind us that God’s grace can manifest in the most surprising ways in the physical world. In St. Olga’s story, we find a bridge between the ancient and the modern, and a reminder that sainthood is not about the era in which one lives, but about the love and grace that one brings into the world.
I was also heartened to read about the many people who bore witness to miracles associated with St. Olga long after her death. Physical and emotional healing. Sightings of her. Appearances in dreams, even to people who didn’t know who she was until they saw her picture. The kind of miracles I had long wondered why we no longer saw within Christianity.
It turns out I wasn’t looking in the right places.
3. A saint from the people
Her canonization didn’t begin with a bureaucratic process. It began with the people she touched. Those who received her kindness. Those who were healed. Those who prayed and felt her presence. Those who knew they were in the presence of holiness.
In the Orthodox Church, the recognition of a saint often begins not with a formal declaration from above, but with the lived experience of the faithful. It’s a grassroots process where the local community begins to venerate someone because they’ve witnessed holiness firsthand, through that person’s life, prayers, or intercessions after death.
Over time, this organic reverence spreads, and the Church may formally glorify the person, not to make them a saint, but to acknowledge what the people have already known: that this life reflected Christ in a profound and holy way.
The Church simply confirmed what the people had long believed: Matushka Olga was a saint.
In St. Olga’s story, I find a call to see the sacred in the ordinary, to look for grace in the unexpected, and to treat all that is touched by God with reverence. Her feast day falls on my birthday, and that’s something I’ll carry with humility.
Something stirs in me when I hear about her. I got emotional watching one of the glorification services live-streamed from Alaska. I’m still not even sure why. There’s just something incredibly beautiful about it all: St. Olga’s story, and the deep love and reverence shown by the Orthodox Church.
During one of the services, as hymns filled the space, people filed one by one to venerate her icon. I’ve grown used to seeing veneration, but I had never seen the liturgical fans used outside the Divine Liturgy. These fans, often adorned with Seraphim, represent the angels’ participation in sacred moments, like when they’re held over the Gospel during its reading. To see them held over St. Olga’s icon as a sign of honor and heavenly presence was deeply moving. It felt as though even the angels were joining in the recognition of her holiness.
I can only strive to be a fraction of the person she is, but that’s the journey we’re all on. That’s why we look to the saints—not as unreachable icons, but as living reminders of what becomes possible when we surrender to God’s calling in humility.
These reflections are part of my personal journey—how I’m seeing and interpreting things in the moment. Like any journey, my understanding may be limited or incomplete and will likely deepen over time. I share these thoughts not as conclusions, but as honest glimpses along the way.