Some folks make the jump right over the conventional center of religion. Jeanne Delanoue was one of these. Her dad, a draper, died when she was six, but her mom provided for the family by running a shop selling religious souvenirs and trinkets. It might not sound like much, but the religious pilgrimages were about the only form of tourism in the seventeenth century, so icon shops in Catholic country could make bank. (Protestants of the time were not susceptible to such things. Religious trinkets were perilously close to violations of the second commandment.)
When Jeanne took over the shop when she was around twenty-five, she had a one word mission statement: profit. There were some nasty little caves that she rented to pilgrims (though they probably treasured the hermetic experience; roughing it religious-style). She kept the shop open on Sundays, in spite of criticism from the local priest -- what better day to sell religious stuff? Market purchases were made before each meal so she could honestly tell beggars she had no food in the house when they knocked on her door. In short, Donald Trump wishes he could find an apprentice like her.
Then an old crone named Madame Souchet showed up in town. She was spouting cryptic prognostications that most townsfolk just ignored. But somehow these croakings and ravings struck a chord with Jeanne, who wound up closing her shop and opening orphanages. At first she used her own home and caves, but when a kid got killed in a rockslide, she started shaking down wealthier folks for better housing. It was rough at first, since she was serving the least of God's children ("We'd like to help of course, but we couldn't possibly have those children running around here."). Eventually she got several folks helping and formed the Sisters of Saint Anne. While the Order grew in strength, Jeanne took to personal mortifications as penance for her earlier life. She became more and more severe in her punishments, making her eventual canonization that much more obvious.
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