Among the thousands upon thousands of words written after the Easter Monday passing of Pope Francis, there were a few mentions of his thoughtful reflection in July 2024 on the role of literature in the formation of priests — and its broader application to the formation of Catholic laity as well. While many may cite one of his encyclicals or apostolic exhortations, this is one letter of his that stands out to me, as one for which we surely can all be grateful.
“How can we reach the core of cultures ancient and new if we are unfamiliar with, disregard or dismiss their symbols, messages, artistic expressions and the stories with which they have captured and evoked their loftiest ideals and aspirations, as well as their deepest sufferings, fears and passions?” he wrote. “How can we speak to the hearts of men and women if we ignore, set aside or fail to appreciate the ‘stories’ by which they sought to express and lay bare the drama of their lived experience in novels and poems?”
The obviously well-read pope quotes a number of stars in the literary firmament, including Jorge Luis Borges, T.S. Eliot, Marcel Proust, and even that most Catholic of stubborn non-Catholics, C.S. Lewis — in the last case, his An Experiment in Criticism. When have you seen this in a papal letter?
One recent Lent, a priest at one of our local parishes hosted a day of recollection. Unlike any sort of retreat I’ve experienced in the past, it was centered around Eliot’s poetry. As a fan of the Midwest-to-British poet since my high school days — where I directed a performance of Murder at the Cathedral despite the advice of my English teacher — I jumped at the opportunity to attend and was not disappointed.
The parish, and the priest, are so far out of the ordinary as to be extraordinary. The parish is one of the two remaining oratories in our 6,000-square-mile archdiocese where the traditional Latin Mass is offered, and the priest has even written a book about the poetry of the Mass. He clearly knows literature, Latin and liturgy all very well.
The day involved three conferences. The first was on Eliot’s “The Waste Land” and focused on identifying and understanding our sins and flaws. The second discussed the poet’s “Ash Wednesday” poem, and the purpose of repentance. Finally, we reflected on the “The Four Quartets” and salvation as transformation.
For a Catholic who has grown used to homilists who base their sermons on popular novels, movies or TV shows, this was far more powerful than had he chosen something like the Harry Potter series or whatever movie might be popular today. The great works of literature that have stood the test of time, such as Eliot’s, speak far more profoundly about human nature, the world, and the God that underlies and rules over us.
The pope’s remarks also call to mind the fact that, over the centuries, priests have made remarkably gifted poets. For the English language, we have several in the canon, starting with St. Robert Southwell, the sixteenth-century martyr. A personal favorite is Gerard Manley Hopkins, a Jesuit like Southwell, who saw clearly how “the world is charged with the grandeur of God.”
Beyond poetry, novels have the ability to help us see inside ourselves. Graham Greene’s novels, for example, show us the power of sin, the ache of guilt and sacrificial atonement. Three of his works could be considered for a Lenten trilogy: The Heart of the Matter, The End of the Affair, and The Power and the Glory. One could easily make a similar study of the works of Charles Dickens and the true meaning of Christian charity, or Jane Austen and the value of chaste romantic love as a doorway to self-knowledge and improvement.
A final reflection on the pope’s writing about the importance of literature is to simply reiterate what many have said in the past. A priest should see the same value in telling stories that their High Priest has seen. After all, while there are some who believe we should not waste our time with fiction, Our Lord himself knew that stories were a good way to reach the human heart, and that was why he used parables: “If I talk to them in parables, it is because, though they have eyes, they cannot see, and though they have ears, they cannot hear or understand.” Stories make it easier to understand, and to remember.
One of the best examples is the story of the prodigal son. This short story — far briefer than a short story, really — allows us to consider our very own lives in three dimensions: as a prodigal child deeply in need of mercy, as a sibling who feels envy at the largesse given a fallen-out rival, and as a father who in his love is eager show ready forgiveness, and watches for the opportunity to do so, speedily. This one brief parable of Our Lord’s has provided insightful substance for so many homilies, essays and books over the years — not to mention recurring themes in popular media.
The pope concludes: “Literature helps readers to topple the idols of a self-referential, falsely self-sufficient and statically conventional language that at times also risks polluting our ecclesial discourse, imprisoning the freedom of the Word. The literary word is a word that sets language in motion, liberates and purifies it. Ultimately, it opens that word to even greater expressive and expansive vistas. It opens our human words to welcome the Word that is already present in human speech, not when it sees itself as knowledge that is already full, definitive and complete, but when it becomes a listening and expectation of the One who comes to make all things new.”
About K.E. Colombini
There’s a fourth character in the parable of the prodigal son – the clever servant, who sets up the elder son’s jealous reaction. By the way, how did the faithful brother know what his younger brother was up to?