Pope Francis’ Let Us Dream is a call to act

 “And something ignited in my soul, fever or unremembered wings, and I went my own way, deciphering that burning fire, and I wrote the first bare line, bare, without substance, pure foolishness, pure wisdom of one who knows nothing, and suddenly I saw the heavens unfastened and open” (La Poesia by Pablo Neruda, translated by David Whyte).

This poem fragment describes what Pope Francis’ Let Us Dream has done to me. “We are living a time of trial. The Bible talks of passing through fire to describe such trials.”

I’ve been waiting for a book like this my whole life. It braids together three cords: the Gospel, the real world, and a path forward. When I recommend this book to others, as I’ve done a lot lately, it’s like serving them a generous slice of my own inarticulate self. This is not a review but a brief, personal response. 

Let Us Dream is a call to act, an action flowing from a twofold listening to the Holy Spirit and to the margins. 

First, Francis likens the Holy Spirit’s guidance to a tug on a string. The world is a labyrinth where many get lost in the circular logic of a self-defeating individualism. Taking a cue from Chesterton’s Father Brown mysteries, pilgrims can track their way out by “the twitch upon the thread.”

Big ideas, like the pandemic, economics, fundamentalism, climate, etc., can paralyze. Concrete action sets us free. The Holy Spirit has given us a ball of thread, the gift of truth. Creatively understanding what’s true will lead us out of the labyrinth and into meaningful engagement with the world. When we open ourselves and set selfishness aside, we feel the Spirit’s gentle tug. We advance when we transcend—that is, rise above feeling lost and yet remaining connected to the task at hand.

When I live this way, it is always without regret.

Secondly, Francis looks toward the margins, the outcasts, the excluded. To such as these we should lend an ear. Here the Spirit works through hidden souls “whom no history book every mentions” (Edith Stein). These are the folks “able to pull on our thread.”

Makes me wonder about North Dakota. Pope Francis puts great stock in popular movements, springing from those on the peripheries. These are not very visible around here. Rural life, even when threatened by death spirals sweeping the prairie, seems but faintly represented by these movements. Among other reasons, doesn’t the very fact of the family farm’s gradual disappearance qualify us as folks on the edge?

This summer I moved 100 miles east from Bottineau to Cavalier County. Perhaps as pastor whose flocks hug our national border, I’m tempted to take Francis’ words about the margins too literally. 

 Some poking around the internet and a few calls reveal movements afoot that listen to the needs of an agricultural community—for instance, check out the organization Catholic Rural Life. Bishop Folda just joined their board.

Life in North Dakota is already life on the edge. The Spirit is at work here in ordinary people, but we have to be willing to dial down the syndicated voices noising national anxieties and listen to our neighbors. The Pope’s wisdom is as relevant here as anywhere. Rural living is a place of promise where the future is full of hope.

“Let yourself be pulled along, shaken up, challenged….” Pope Francis wrote. “When you feel the twitch, stop and pray. Open yourself... decenter... transcend. And then act. Call up, go visit, offer your service. Say you don’t have a clue what they do, but maybe you can help. Say you’d like to be part of a different world, and you thought this might be a good place to start.”

My start is to share this book.

To be hopeful sometimes feels like pure foolishness; I know so little. But I can’t deny that our Holy Father’s dream ignites something within me. His vision gives wings to Spirit-sent possibilities, if only I can feed on the fire of truth he calls “tradition.” Our tradition lifts high and embraces the cross, the edge of hope, where selfishness dies and solidarity is born.