A New Year Spent on the Shoulders of Giants

I threw my phone onto the couch, feeling a mixture of dissatisfaction and anger at myself, the internet, the world, and whatever else seemed reasonably worthy of annoyance. The last half-hour of browsing social media and reading pointless articles was not the kind of “escape” that I was hoping it to be, and so I resumed my normal habit of running my hand through my seminarian haircut and brooding about life.

It was as if a sudden light caught the corner of the spine of the book; the one that I had borrowed from the library based off of a recommendation, sitting there on the shelf full of similar books (ones that I had systematically collected (and never opened) so that I might look impressive and well-read, much like someone who would buy bowling trophies at garage sales and thrift stores and display them proudly as his own). I walked slowly over to that book, which seemed to be longing to crawl out from where it had been pinned by the winter hats that I had carelessly tossed upon it.

There it was, The Sacred Heart by Dietrich von Hildebrand. The person who recommended this book to me is a wise man, and I had borrowed it from the library as an homage to his wisdom… and subsequently let it collect dust on the shelf for nearly two months as I filled my time with Parks and Rec re-runs. But with the rest of the evening free and a strange pull to dive into the old-smelling pages, I opened the book.

The Heritage

St. Paul tells us that “where sin increased, grace abounded all the more” (Romans 5:20). The more that I learn in seminary and study Church History, the more I realize an amazing pattern: whenever a crisis or upheaval comes about in history, our Lord raises up so many more thinkers, spiritual writers, theologians… saints, who guide the faithful through the confusing and difficult time.

Around the time of the decline of Rome and the seeming death of Western culture, the Church is granted saints such as Augustine, Monica, Ambrose, Athanasius, John Cassian, and Gregory of Nyssa among others. Following the upheaval of the Reformation in the sixteenth century, saints such as Thomas More, Juan Diego, Ignatius of Loyola, Teresa of Avila, Charles Borromeo, and Philip Neri break upon the scene. After the American and French Revolutions at the end of the eighteenth century, we are given Therese of Lisieux, John Henry Newman, Elizabeth Ann Seton, John Bosco, Jeanne Jugan, and Bernadette of Lourdes (to name the all-star list).

Now, looking back at the sea change brought about by the tumult of the twentieth and twenty-first centuries, we face the question: who are the thinkers, writers, and saints that are the shepherds and voices in the wilderness to guide us through all of this? As someone who is concerned with the Church, which “has always had the duty of scrutinizing the signs of the times and of interpreting them in the light of the Gospel,” I feel the weight of finding “language intelligible to each generation” in order to “respond to the perennial questions which men ask about this present life and the life to come, and about the relationship of the one to the other.” (Gaudium et Spes §4) If I’m being honest, at times it feels like a nearly impossible task.

So who are they? Who are these prophets in the wilderness? Who are the voices crying out? Where are the thinkers, theologians, spiritual writers, and saints who will guide us through all of this turmoil?

The list of saints is incredibly long, and so many of them are well-known: Teresa of Calcutta, Maximillian Kolbe, Maria Goretti, Jose Sanchez, Edith Stein, Pius X… Any study of their lives will cause you to certainly re-consider the assumption that there won’t be any modern-day saints.

Regarding thinkers and writers, I would most certainly place von Hildebrand on that list (give The Sacred Heart a read, it’s short and punchy and will make you seriously consider whether you’re praying well and how a Catholic ought to understand emotion). Flannery O’Connor’s fiction and short stories will bring the truth of the Gospel into terrifying focus (start with her short story “Revelation”). Reading Pope John Paul the Great’s Theology of the Body is like getting totally absorbed into a beautiful opera, and Benedict XVI has a knack for taking complex theological ideas and breaking them down for you as if he was sitting across the table at a coffee shop (try Spirit of the Liturgy). Hans Urs von Balthasar (who, for some reason, has a totally unwarranted notoriety) has a beautiful short reflection on the rosary called The Threefold Garland that, if you’re like me and zone out when praying the rosary, will knock your teeth in. Graham Greene, Evelyn Waugh, and Walker Percy will take you on amazing road trips with their novels. If you don’t feel like reading, there are more videos of speakers such as Peter Kreeft, Scott Hahn, Venerable Fulton Sheen, and Bishop Robert Barron than we know what to do with. There’s no excuse for not having access or time for studying this stuff, because there are so many free podcasts, online resources, blogs, and free-access books (public libraries are still a thing, and you can get almost any book in the world for free).

Looking Forward

“Do not be conformed to this world,” begins the well-known verse from Romans… and most people stop there, totally content with the idea of being different from the world through some sort of vaguely Christian notion of “taking the road less travelled.” But the entire verse merits study: “Do not be conformed to this world but be transformed by the renewal of your mind, that you may prove what is the will of God, what is good and acceptable and perfect.” (Romans 12:2) We are given a scriptural command to not only not follow the ways of the world, but to allow the truths of the Gospel to transform and renew our very minds, which according to Paul, proves the will of the Lord. To not be striving to transform our minds is to not be striving for the Lord’s will in our lives. And I just really don’t think that I can transform my mind by looking at memes all day (even if they are from Catholic Memes), or from re-watching The Office (even if it is the “Fire Safety” episode).

If the verse from Romans isn’t enough to convince you, in Luke 16, the rich man who is sent to the place of torment appeals to Abraham across the chasm to send poor Lazarus to go convince his family of the truths of the Gospel and to heed the will of the Lord. In an unsettling response, Abraham refuses, stating that “’They have Moses and the prophets; let them hear them.’” (Luke 16:29) I posit that we have been given great prophets and saints in our time to call us back to the Lord and give us direction in a time when sin seems to be increasing, and it is our duty to listen to them and be transformed by the renewal of our minds.

…

After that evening back in October, when von Hildebrand’s book wrecked me in a space of about twenty-four hours, I made a resolution to finish a dozen books of consequence by the end of the calendar year. I’ll “humblebrag” for a second and say for the record that I finished sixteen, and it was totally worth it. (Get ready, I’m about to continue to Catholic-nerd brag). I found that I started longing to keep reading and studying the great heritage that we’ve all been given by the prophets of our time. I catch myself pondering all these questions and ideas that these authors bring up. I already have another stack of books set for the spring semester that are sitting on my desk, sometimes mocking me, sometimes enticing me, all calling me to spend the new year on the shoulders of these giants. I find that I spend my free time so much better and feel much more rested after reading these amazing books (à la Leisure as the Basis of Culture for all you Catholic Studies goobers), and I get in all sorts of discussions with other seminarians about the Gospel preached in a language intelligible to our generation.

So pour yourself another cup of coffee, put the phone on airplane mode, and get reading. I promise it’s worth it.
 

Nick is a 2018 graduate of Catholic Studies and Journalism at the University of St. Thomas and a seminarian for the Archdiocese of St. Paul and Minneapolis.