On the return flight from his recent trip to Türkiye and Lebanon, Pope Leo made a somewhat passing comment that he has been particularly moved by “a very simple book by someone who doesn’t even give his last name.”
He alluded to the fact that if you wanted to know something about him and his spiritual vision, you may want to read “The Practice of the Presence of God.” I do, and so last week, I did.
I must admit that though it seems to have been popular in English- and French-speaking countries in Catholic and especially Protestant circles in decades past, I had never even heard of the text. It’s a short series of reflections and letters written by Brother Lawrence, a Discalced Carmelite friar who lived in the 1600s. The meditations and insights were gathered and published by a French priest, Joseph de Beaufort, who was moved by a personal relationship with the monk.
It is a quick read, as the translation I landed upon ran about 50 pages, including some introductory materials. Most of the letters and reflections are two to three pages each. Both in terms of style and content, it is rather simple, which is not to say that profound insights cannot be found in its humble offerings.
The main thesis of the book is found in the title: that a life well-lived is one that cultivates regularly and repeatedly a concrete, consistent, disciplined, practical habit of centering all of our actions on their alignment with God’s will for us. It is not an entirely passive undertaking, though it downplays to some extent the human co-collaboration in life’s grand enterprise, and is more aligned with other spiritual writers who have felt themselves “entirely in the hands of God.”
In this way – and in its insistence on the preeminence of God’s gracious invitation besieging us with love, and a willingness to be intimately close to us – the book certainly had echoes of other charismatic masters like Saint Ignatius of Loyola, Saint Augustine and Saint Teresa of Avila.
It has served as a bit of an ecclesial Rorschach test in the few stories I have read about it since the pope’s comment – which has undoubtedly juiced holiday sales of the quaint and somewhat forgotten little book. People are trying their best to draw sketches about what it might say about Pope Leo and his priorities. As much as I try to remain objective and open-minded, I am no less guilty of this than any other commentator.
But here are my own meager (and undeniably pre-conditioned) thoughts after reading the book. The ability to decenter our own longings and fears so as to reconfigure our creaturely nature as one in constant relationship with the divine, seems to me a vital hermeneutical key in interpreting Pope Leo. Perhaps not entirely removed from his Chicago roots – and even his predilection as a young man for wearing dark sunglasses, if you’ve seen some of those seminarian photos – he recognizes himself to be, like the Blues Brothers, someone “on a mission from God.” The ultimate agency of that life’s work comes first and foremost from the divine, as Brother Lawrence unceasingly points out.
But if one takes charge to recognize and return to this insight – not only frequently, but even incessantly, that is to say, multiple times through each day – then his or her soul can be more attuned to the pervasive presence of God’s will, action and irrevocable accompaniment in our lives, even amidst the tumult, distractions and challenges. For Brother Lawrence, these included working amidst the clatter of a refectory kitchen with a permanent disability. But placing ourselves at the “bosom” of divine love as an infant in a lap – to use one of the unassuming images proffered, for Brother Lawrence and apparently for Pope Leo – leads to a liberative ability to act with both trust in providence and conviction that one is making wise and adult choices with eternal consequence.
Doing so constantly would, it seems to my reading, result in living more contentedly and convincedly while here in this world and preparing us well to be with God in the next.
An alumnus of Camden Catholic High School, Cherry Hill, Michael M. Canaris, Ph.D., teaches at Loyola University, Chicago.
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