‘Father, forgive them for they know not what they do” came to mind after, I confess, I’d felt some unholy anger toward people who vandalized a Saint Junipero Serra statue in California recently. It was a somewhat familiar scene at this point. At Old Mission Santa Barbara, his image was decapitated and covered with red paint.
Ho-hum, you might be thinking. We’ve seen this happen in the hours and days and weeks after the shameful violence and hatred on display in Charlottesville over the summer. So much so that it would be quite understandable to not even notice at this point. But the familiarity of the story seemed only to highlight what Pope Francis said in celebrating Serra’s life during his visit to the United States two years ago this fall. It’s important, because it could help us a lot in our current circumstances.
His theme was indifference. Speaking on the steps of the Basilica of the Shrine of the Immaculate Conception adjacent to the Catholic University of America, in Washington, D.C, he acknowledged how overwhelmed we can get:
We all know the struggles of everyday life. So much seems to stand in the way of this invitation to rejoice. Our daily routine can often lead us to a kind of glum apathy that gradually becomes a habit, with a fatal consequence: our hearts grow numb.
We don’t want apathy to guide our lives . . . or do we? We don’t want the force of habit to rule our life . . . or do we? So, we ought to ask ourselves: What can we do to keep our heart from growing numb, becoming anesthetized? How do we make the joy of the Gospel increase and take deeper root in our lives?
Isn’t that an excellent description of the scenes of our everyday life? As we’re glued to our phones, experiencing our lives through screens? Long gone are the days of experiencing a sunset, drinking it in. Now we savor the perfect tweet. (I stand guilty as accused.)
It is the example of Serra, a Franciscan missionary who wanted to bring the joy of the Gospel to souls, in humble service and love, that can help us see there’s another way of living. Going out of your way to encounter people with a tender care that is motivated only by knowing that they have inherent dignity that must be fought for and protected.
Pope Francis, preaching on the readings that day, said:
Rejoice in the Lord always! I say it again, rejoice! These are striking words, words which impact our lives. Paul tells us to rejoice; he practically orders us to rejoice. This command resonates with the desire we all have for a fulfilling life, a meaningful life, a joyful life. It is as if Paul could hear what each one of us is thinking in his or her heart and to voice what we are feeling, what we are experiencing. Something deep within us invites us to rejoice and tells us not to settle for placebos which always keep us comfortable.
We do seem to live in hope that someday everything will click into place, that circumstances will become perfect or secure, if only we have, say, the right president. But life — as history makes quite clear — doesn’t quite work that way. And maybe if we tear down some statues of people we’ve decided didn’t do their best, we’ll feel better about not doing our best in imperfect situations?
In the case of Serra, the ignorance of the vandalism adds to the scandal. At the news of the Serra vandalism, Gregory Orfalea, author of Journey to the Sun: Junípero Serra’s Dream and the Founding of California, wrote for Angelus magazine about the respect Serra had for the Native American tribes. Though “far from perfect,” Serra “was different,” Orfalea writes. “Serra was a brave advocate of the indigenous: opposing colonial overlords, ministering to California tribes he thought better Christians than the Spaniards, constantly clashing with the Spanish military, chiding the Spanish governor of California, Felipe de Neve, for refusing to refer to Indians as ‘gente de razon’ (people of reason).”
He instructed the viceroy that if he were killed, no one should be punished. His was an otherworldly sense of mission and forgiveness.
In D.C. two years ago, Pope Francis concluded his homily with these words:
Father Serra had a motto which inspired his life and work, not just a saying, but above all a reality which shaped the way he lived: siempre adelante! Keep moving forward! For him, this was the way to continue experiencing the joy of the Gospel, to keep his heart from growing numb, from being anesthetized. He kept moving forward, because the Lord was waiting. He kept going, because his brothers and sisters were waiting. He kept going forward to the end of his life. Today, like him, may we be able to say: Forward! Let’s keep moving forward!
That’s probably the very opposite of the kind of destruction we see in the destruction of his statue at the old mission.
Saints aren’t saints because they are perfect but because they demonstrate heroic virtue amid all the evil and complexities of this world. They see goodness and work to help others to do so, too. Getting to know Serra before tearing him down could help us in our own times.
— Kathryn Jean Lopez is a senior fellow at the National Review Institute and an editor-at-large of National Review. Sign up for her weekly NRI newsletter here. This column is based on one available through Andrews McMeel Universal’s Newspaper Enterprise Association.