For those who have not yet had the pleasure, Villanova University stretches idyllically across Philadelphia’s Main Line, a mere pebble toss from the placid ponds and ivied arches of Bryn Mawr College. Under the stewardship of Peter Donohue, O.S.A, the Augustinian institution is expanding that Ruskinesque landscape, as Villanova looks more and more like Catholic Oxford every day.
At the Western edge of its cloistering, in what seems both light years ago, and only yesterday, I experienced one of those touchstone moments to which recent events have so poignantly returned me. It was the dead of winter, deep into night, the sky a fathomless sapphire, with a silver crescent ruling the stillness.
I stood suspended on a footbridge above the railway tracks that skirt Moriarity, Geraghty, and Stone Halls. The air that chilled my bones stirred my soul, and seemed to breathe me as much as I did it. Looking heavenward, I found myself swelling with an ache more profound than any I had known. It was that yearning, rendered so exquisitely by St. Augustine of Hippo, « You have made us for yourself, O Lord, and our hearts are restless until they rest in You! »
At that moment, in St. Mary’s Hall on the opposite side of campus, another young fellow had likely put himself to bed, or was burning the midnight oil of the studious. He may not have been standing moonstruck with me on a bridge, but I have no doubt he too was yearning, and sharing those words of Augustine to express it. That fellow was elected pope just months ago, and now goes by the name Leo XIV.
I remember joking with others from that time about the technical possibility, if enormous improbability, of Robert Prevost emerging from the conclave dressed in white. We were just tickled he had any chance at all. Lo and behold, come the morning of May 8, who should step onto the loggia of St. Peter’s to bless urbi et orbi, but a guy from my German Existentialism class, a guy from Villanova.
We had both gone to the school in the Augustinian pre-novitiate program, he with the Midwest Province, I with the East. As such, we were friendly rivals, academically and athletically, with his crew a little more serious about the former. More introverted too. The mindful composure of the new pope goes back at least that far.
Like most, I was stunned and delighted. I still am. Not only has his election been jarring, it has managed somehow to launch me—maybe not to the stars, but past the quotidian gravity that can lead, almost imperceptibly, to inertia and discouragement. The thrill has hardly faded. Just recounting the experience raises goosebumps. It occurred to me then to wonder why.
It would be pointless to pretend there is no tribalism in it. For better and worse, tribalism is an exercise in self-insistence, and to the best of my lights, what is fueling my enthusiasm runs directly counter to that. It is, in fact, the invitation to transcend the smallness of my self—not in order to join some bigger version, but to move radically beyond it.
More specifically, this election has refreshed the awareness that, if he can do it, I can do it. Not become pope, of course, but rather, what any pope should, and every Christian can, become—someone moved by awe, gratitude, and love, to walk with Jesus; to be his eyes and hands in this world. Eyes that see need, and do not look away; hands that reach out, trusting grace will be given them to heal. This is the purpose of life, and every one of us can excel at it.
There is another element to my elation that is a tad more sensitive. It has to do with age. Most have seen memes such as, « How I See Myself alongside » with « How Others See Me. » I have begun to feel caught in one.
A close priest friend made the observation that I have entered « the youth of old age. » It did not produce the cheery effect he had in mind. I mean, I hold my own at the gym, and can still spin a football better than most guys half my age. The list goes on.
The concern is not about aging per se, but that, in the eyes of others, a number on a page could belie the vitality I know to be meme-proof. This has weighed especially as I look eagerly to a new chapter in my own ordained ministry. Thus, being just slightly younger than Leo, it has been a boon to hear so many commentators refer to him as “young.” This is no small deal. As they say, « If you know, you know . . . »
In the game, « Six Degrees of Kevin Bacon, » players seek to find the fewest number of links between themselves and the Philly-born actor, to determine their Bacon Number. Were we to switch the pope for Kevin, I suppose my Leo Number would be a one. To quote Bill Murray in Caddyshack, “So, I’ve got that workin’ for me—which is nice.”
What Leo and I both had “working” for us at that time was proximity to Augustine through our pre-novice experience at Villanova. In a helpful précis on the development of religious orders, William A. Hinnebusch, O.P. views the distinction between early orders as running along the lines of contemplative and apostolic, pointing out that, “Since the clergy did not embrace religious life, with the exception of Eusebius of Vercelli and Augustine of Hippo, the ministerial element remained generally absent from the religious life until the development of the canons regular.”
For his part, Denys Turner has compared the theological modes of Augustine and Aquinas, with Augustine following a narrative and Thomas an analytical approach. When it comes to the prescription of life for his religious order, a similar juxtaposition could be drawn between Augustine and St. Ignatius Loyola, whose Society of Jesus adheres to the methodological model of self-analysis that are his Spiritual Exercises.
Augustinian formation, by contrast, may be said to be textually oriented, rooted in The Rule he drafted for communal living, as well, of course, as the performative texts of Scripture and Liturgy.
The Rule of St. Augustine is simple, and elegant, with insights into human nature that anticipate those found in Rerum Novarum centuries later. The encyclical, which presented a Catholic alternative to the Marxism (and capitalism) gaining traction in its day, is of particular importance to the new pontiff.
I grew up in an Augustinian parish in New York City, named for the Order’s Patroness, Our Lady of Good Counsel. But, it was at Villanova that Robert Prevost and I experienced community life arranged according to the saint’s principles. For me, it was life-changing. Obviously, for the young Prevost as well. The deep impress of Augustine is manifest in Leo’s personal comportment, underscored by regular references to the saint, not just in these early days of his papacy, but in lectures and interviews given throughout his priestly life, many of which are available on YouTube.
If the evil that men do lives after them, and the good is oft interred with their bones, Aurelius Augustinus would seem an exception. And, because I have come not to bury, but to praise him, I will avoid the problematic elements of his theology, at least in this space. What I will say instead is that he has meant a great, personal, deal to me, through his many heirs, but also directly. And, though I cannot speak for the Robert Prevost who was my contemporary, his record since our campus days suggests I might be forgiven for trying.
The Confessions was my first encounter with Augustine, as is the case for many. Correctly or not, it has been called the first autobiography in Western literature, and its author the proto-existentialist voice of the same. It is fitting then that Robert Provost and I were privileged to sit in a class taught by Jack Caputo, which covered the likes of Kierkegaard, Heidegger, and Husserl. I do not, however, remember any of that being traced to Augustine. Then again, the man who is Leo, having likely paid closer attention, may have a different recollection.
Regardless of its academic designation, to read The Confessions is to gain remarkable proximity to someone whose struggles are expressed with startling honesty, and what seems to me a glorious humility. To read The Confessions is to be with Augustine as he establishes a personal relationship that is in turns teacher, mentor, confidant, and brother. His hopes and pains are ours, as is the limning restlessness of his yearning.
In the film, Shadowlands, a student of the C.S. Lewis character shares the view that, « We read to know we’re not alone. » I would add that, we also write for the same reason. In both respects, Augustine has inspired me, and in the process created a bond. He is, in fact, the first writer I came to regard as a friend. I will go out on a limb then, and suppose something quite similar happened for our new pope.
The Confessions, with its bejeweled network of Scriptural hyperlinks, is among the richest achievements in literature. In a way, though, it is the convergence of two life-giving streams, yearning and proximity. As Augustine himself puts it, what we yearn for most essentially is the God who is closer to us than we are to ourselves, interior intimo meo et superior summo meo.
Returning to the beginning, therefore, the proximity I may have had to Leo is eclipsed by the proximity we both had to Augustine, which is itself eclipsed by the proximity the three of us, indeed all of us, have to Christ, in whom we live, move, and have our being.
In choosing the name Leo, and citing Rerum Novarum as the reason, the new pontiff has signaled that the Church’s perennial commitment to justice is a personal priority, one he has lived in theory and practice. It connects the Kingdom to come eschatologically with the present moment through the service of human dignity, without exception. This reverence for life extends to the physical resources that sustain it, and to the cosmos itself, shimmering with the divine presence, while pointing to its fullness beyond. His is a role I do not envy, but have been reinvigorated to assist to the best of my ability.
We may have once breathed the same air of a campus traversed in hope-teased yearning. From now on, however, that guy from Villanova will move at the highest levels of earthly power and fame. We tend to presume of such people abilities in which we invest our hopes. I can only imagine then what it is like for Robert Prevost to face the mirror and gaze into the eyes of Leo XIV, the pope he now is.
For some, it would be a moment of great, if deluded, grandeur. For him, I suspect it is a moment of utter humility. In that spirit, using other words of St. Augustine, he has begun his papacy by reminding us of a vital truth in the midst of volatile days, If we live well, the times will be good. We are the times.
For this to be so, would that we be open to that inner voice, and together cry out: « You have made us for Yourself, O Lord, and our hearts are restless until they rest in You! »
Seeking the intercession of the Blessed Virgin Mary through prayer