A year ago today, I relaunched this blog. It had lain dormant for many years, largely because after my encounter with clerical abuse, particularly the second and nearly decisive round, I began to lack to energy and perspective to continue. But here we are, a year in, and I am glad to be back.

Although I have explored some other avenues along the way—notably the abuse crisis, Indigenous theology, and eco-spirituality—I made it clear from the get-go that CitM 2.0 was going to be sourced in the teaching of Pope Francis on Christian contemplation.

Enough time had passed that the Holy Father’s spiritual inclinations and doctrinal supports had become indisputable, and they needed to be given their due attention. Hardly anyone in the English-speaking world had perceived Pope Francis’ background in Charles de Foucauld, still less his decisive ideas that Christian contemplation is an experience of beauty, (simultaneous knowing and loving), to which he consistently adds tactile dimensions. Pope Francis, perhaps more than any predecessor since Gregory the Great, has been reorganizing discussion of contemplative prayer in the Church. This needed—and still needs—to be said.

Have I had much success? Is there a large audience who hears? Probably not. But that doesn’t bother me. I’m far more concerned to be there than I am to be effective. And that thought, too, I might add, is something Pope Francis has sourced in his intense familiarity with René Voillaume, a fellow disciple of Charles de Foucauld.

In one of his encyclicals, the Holy Father even quotes Father Voillaume to roughly this effect. He tells us that all people

need to consider that “the modern world, with its technical advances, tends increasingly to functionalize the satisfaction of human desires, now classified and subdivided among different services. Less and less will people be called by name, less and less will this unique being be treated as a person with his or her own feelings, sufferings, problems, joys and family. Their illnesses will be known only in order to cure them, their financial needs only to provide for them, their lack of a home only to give them lodging, their desires for recreation and entertainment only to satisfy them”. Yet it must never be forgotten that “loving the most insignificant of human beings as a brother, as if there were no one else in the world but him, cannot be considered a waste of time”. (Fratelli Tutti 193, quoting Frères de tous [Paris: Cerf, 1968], 12–13)

The theme of fruitfulness over results was proposed to us even earlier than the most recent encyclical letter, however; it permeates Pope Francis’ very first apostolic exhortation:

Because we do not always see these seeds growing, we need an interior certainty, a conviction that God is able to act in every situation, even amid apparent setbacks: “We have this treasure in earthen vessels” (2 Cor 4:7). This certainty is often called “a sense of mystery”. It involves knowing with certitude that all those who entrust themselves to God in love will bear good fruit (cf. Jn 15:5). This fruitfulness is often invisible, elusive and unquantifiable. We can know quite well that our lives will be fruitful, without claiming to know how, or where, or when. We may be sure that none of our acts of love will be lost, nor any of our acts of sincere concern for others. No single act of love for God will be lost, no generous effort is meaningless, no painful endurance is wasted. All of these encircle our world like a vital force. Sometimes it seems that our work is fruitless, but mission is not like a business transaction or investment, or even a humanitarian activity. It is not a show where we count how many people come as a result of our publicity; it is something much deeper, which escapes all measurement. It may be that the Lord uses our sacrifices to shower blessings in another part of the world which we will never visit. The Holy Spirit works as he wills, when he wills and where he wills; we entrust ourselves without pretending to see striking results. We know only that our commitment is necessary. Let us learn to rest in the tenderness of the arms of the Father amid our creative and generous commitment. Let us keep marching forward; let us give him everything, allowing him to make our efforts bear fruit in his good time. (Evangelii Gaudium 279)

Whether anything good can come out of Nazareth, the buried grain of wheat, and what kind of unknown usefulness is mysteriously, mystically present in our presence have long been major themes in the Charles de Foucauld spiritual family. Pope Francis gets this honestly.

I’m unbelievably glad to have his company in which to be.