The final meditation of the three-day retreat given for the participants of the synod on synodality by Fr. Timothy Radcliffe OP on October 3, 2023, is titled The Spirit of Truth.
The disciples see the Lord's glory; they see the testimony of Moses and Elijah. Now they dare to descend from the mountain and go to Jerusalem. In today's Gospel (Lk 9:51–56), we find them on the way. They encounter Samaritans who oppose them because they are heading to Jerusalem.
The immediate reaction of the disciples is the thought of calling down fire from heaven to destroy the Samaritans. No wonder, for just a moment ago, on the mountain, they saw Elijah, who acted similarly towards the prophets of Baal. The Lord rebukes them, however; they still do not understand the path on which they are being led.
In the coming three weeks, we too may be tempted to call down fire from heaven on those with whom we disagree. Our society is full of such burning anger. Yet the Lord encourages us to exclude destructive urges from our encounters.
This all-pervasive anger stems from fear. But we have nothing to fear. The Lord has promised us His Spirit, who will lead us into all truth. On the night before His suffering, Jesus said: “I still have many things to say to you, but you cannot bear them now. But when He, the Spirit of truth, comes, He will guide you into all truth. For He will not speak on His own authority, but will speak whatever He hears, and will announce to you the things that are to come” (John 16:12–13).
Whatever conflict may arise on the way, let us be assured: the Spirit of truth leads us into all truth. It will not be easy. Jesus warns the disciples: “I still have many things to say to you, but you cannot bear them now.” Peter in Caesarea Philippi did not want to hear that Jesus must suffer and die. On the last evening before Jesus’ death, he could not bear the truth that he himself would deny Jesus. To be led into the truth means hearing uncomfortable, hard-to-digest matters.
What are the truths we face today that are difficult? The extent of sexual abuse, corruption, and depravity in the Church pains us deeply. It feels like a nightmare from which we would like to awaken. But when we dare to look this shameful truth in the face, the truth will set us free. Jesus promises, “You will be sad, but your sadness will turn into joy” (John 16:20), just as a woman gives birth in pain. These synod days may be painful at times, but if we let ourselves be guided by the Spirit, they will be the labor pains of a Church being reborn.
This is our testimony to a society that also flees from the truth. The English poet T. S. Eliot (1888–1965) believed that “the human tribe can’t bear too much reality” (1). We are rushing towards ecological catastrophe, yet our political leaders pretend that nothing is happening. Our world is plagued by poverty and violence, but wealthy nations do not want to see millions of our brothers and sisters who suffer and seek a home.
Western society fears the truth that we are vulnerable, mortal beings, men and women of flesh and blood. We shy away from the truth of our corporeality, playing as if we can determine our identity at will, as if we are only minds, and not also bodies. Cancel culture means that those with whom we disagree must be silenced, annulled, just as the disciples wanted to call down fire on the Samaritans who did not accept Jesus. What are those painful truths that our brothers and sisters on every continent fear to face? That answer is not for me...
When we dare to be truthful about who we are—mortal, vulnerable, fallible beings, brothers and sisters in the Church, which has always been heroic yet corrupt—only then can we speak with authority to a world that hungers for truth, even though it fears that it is unattainable. This requires the courage that Thomas Aquinas expressed as fortitudo mentis—the strength of mind to see things as they are, to live in the real world. The Black poet Maya Angelou (1928–2014) described it this way: “Courage is the most important virtue, for without it, no other virtue can be consistently practiced.” (2)
When St. Oscar Romero (1917–1980) returned home to El Salvador, an immigration officer declared: “Here comes the truth.” Romero was truthful about death. Once, while chatting on a bench with a friend, he asked him if he feared dying. The friend replied negatively. “But I do,” stated Romero, “I am afraid to die.” It was this truthfulness that made his martyrdom so beautiful. From the moment he saw the mangled body of his friend, Jesuit Rutilio (blessed Rutilio Grande, 1928–1977), he knew what awaited him. Romero's murdered body was found sweaty. He likely saw the man who was about to kill him; he was afraid, but he did not flee.
On the night before His suffering, Jesus warned the disciples that if they remain in Him, in the true vine, they will be pruned as branches to bear more fruit. During the synod, we may experience this pruning! It is so that we may bear more fruit. It may mean pruning and cleansing from the illusions and prejudices we have about one another, from fears and narrow-minded ideologies, from pride...
I didn't want to speak about this personally, but one of my young brothers persuaded me. So: a few years ago, I underwent a major, seventeen-hour surgery for jaw cancer. I spent five weeks in the hospital, unable to eat or drink, often confused about where I was or who I was… I was stripped of my human dignity and, in my most basic needs, fully dependent on the help of others. It was a harsh pruning. However, it was also a blessing. In a time of helplessness, I could not claim the slightest importance; I could not achieve any results. I was like every other patient in our ward, sick, bedridden, having nothing to give. I couldn't even pray. It was then that my eyes opened a little more to the absolutely free, undeserved love of the Lord. I could do nothing to deserve it. And it was amazing that I didn’t even have to.
The Spirit dwells in each of us and together leads us into all truth. My guide was Bishop Butler (Christopher Butler OSB, 1902–1986), a great figure, the only participant of the Second Vatican Council who spoke flawless Cicero-like Latin! He liked to say, “Let us not fear that truth may harm truth!” (3) If what another says is indeed true, then it poses no danger to the truth I cherish. I must only open my heart and mind to the spaciousness of divine truth. And if I believe what another says is not true, I must express this with all humility. The Germans have a charming word “Zwischenraum.” As far as I understand it, it means that the fullness of truth is found in the space between us when we speak together. God's mystery is always revealed in the unfilled space—the empty space between the wings of the cherubim on the Ark of the Covenant and the empty tomb at the end.
The clash of apparently incompatible truths can be painful and sharp. Just think of Paul's mention of his conflict with Peter in Antioch, as he writes in the Letter to the Galatians: “But when Cephas came to Antioch, I opposed him to his face, because he stood condemned” (Gal 2:11). However, they shook hands in a sign of friendship, and the Holy See looks upon both as pillars of the Church. They were unified in death, like martyrs.
We must seek ways to express truth without overwhelming the other. Notice Peter's encounter with Jesus on the shore of the lake, as depicted in the 21st chapter of the Gospel of John. On the eve of Jesus’ death, Peter boasts that he loves the Lord more than anyone else. Soon after, he encounters three denials, a supreme moment of shame and disgrace in Peter's life. On the shore of the lake, Jesus does not beat him over the head with it. He gently asks him, perhaps with a smile, three times in a row: “Do you love me more than these?” With infinite gentleness, He helps Peter to face his three betrayals. He encourages him with all the tenderness of love to deal with the truth. Can we behave towards each other with such gentle truthfulness?
The American poet Emily Dickinson (1830-1886) gives good advice: “Tell all the truth but tell it slant – Success in Circuit lies.” It is difficult to translate poetry; I apologize. What she means is that sometimes the truth rings more urgently when it is expressed indirectly with the other in mind. If you tell someone that he is a patriarchal dinosaur, it probably won’t help much. Sure, sometimes it hurts, but Pope Francis encourages us: “Speak the truth, even when it is unpleasant.” (4)
It will require a certain loss of control over ourselves from all of us. Jesus tells Peter: “Truly, truly, I say to you: When you were younger, you used to fasten your own belt and go where you wanted. But when you grow old, you will stretch out your hands, and another will gird you and carry you where you do not want to go.” (John 21:18–19).
If the synod is driven more by the dynamics of prayer than by the dynamics of parliament, we will be called to relinquish control and dominion, to die in a sense, allowing God to be God. In his apostolic exhortation Evangelii Gaudium (December 2013), the Holy Father writes: “There is no greater freedom than to let oneself be led by the Spirit, to renounce every attempt to plan and control to the last detail, and instead to allow Him to enlighten us, lead us, and direct us wherever He wishes.” (n. 280). To relinquish control does not mean doing nothing! Because the Church is so entrenched in structures of control, sometimes a truly decisive intervention is needed for the Holy Spirit to lead us where we would never think to go ourselves.
There is a deeply rooted instinct in us to have things under control, which is why many fear the synod. On Pentecost, the Holy Spirit powerfully descended upon the disciples. They were sent to the ends of the earth—but instead, they settled in Jerusalem and did not want to move. It was not until persecution forced them to gradually leave the nest and head out from Jerusalem that they began to move. That, I call unwavering love! Every year, the swallows build their nests above my office at San Sabina in Rome. And then comes the day when the parents push the chicks out of the nest, and the young birds have no choice but to fly or die. I have often watched them from behind my desk as they struggle to stay in the air. In the same way, the Holy Spirit sometimes pushes us out of our nests and compels us to fly. We flap our wings in alarm, but we will fly.
In Gethsemane, Jesus relinquishes control over His life to the Father, entrusting it to His hands. Not as I will! When I was a young religious, a French Dominican, a working priest, stayed with our community. He was preparing to go to India to serve the poorest of the poor, and so he was studying Bengali at Oxford. I asked him what his plans were: “What plans do you have?” He replied: “How can I know until the poor tell me?”
As a newly appointed provincial, I visited a dying convent of Dominican sisters. Only four elderly sisters remained. I was accompanied by the former provincial, Peter. When we hinted to the sisters that the future of the convent was very uncertain, one of them objected: “But Timothy, our dear Lord would not let the convent die, would He?” Peter quickly replied: “Sister, He let His Son die...” We can let things die. Not in despair, but in the hope that this will create space for something new.
St. Dominic sought to pass the leadership of the order to his brothers—after all, each of them received the Holy Spirit. To be led by the Holy Spirit means to be freed from the culture of governance and control. To be a leader in our society primarily means to keep oneself in power. John XXIII jokingly said that every evening he tells the Lord: “The Pope must go to bed now. So, You, God, must supervise Your Church for a few hours.” He understood well that being a leader can sometimes mean relinquishing control.
The Instrumentum laboris calls us to make a “ preferential option for the young” (e.g., B.2.1.). Each year we recall that God came to us as a little child, as a newborn. Trusting youth lies at the very heart of the Christian understanding of leadership. Young people are not here to one day occupy our places, but to take on tasks that are unimaginable for us older ones. When St. Dominic sent his young novices to preach, some monks warned him that he would lose them. Dominic replied: “I know for sure that my young brothers will go out into the world and return back, they will be sent and will come again; but your young men will remain locked up and will always be running away.” (5)
To be led by the Spirit into all truth means not to be tied to what is now but to trust that the Spirit will awaken new institutions, new forms of Christian life, new services. Over the past two millennia, the work has constantly created new forms of the Church's life: from the desert fathers and mothers to the brotherly orders in the 13th century (even to the Jesuits in the time of the Counter-Reformation!) to the new ecclesial movements of the 20th century. We must allow the Holy Spirit to prepare new paths of existence for the Church among us, paths we cannot even dream of, but the young may.
To let ourselves be guided by the Spirit into all truth is not just a matter of rational argumentation, as has been said. We are not mere brains. Who we are, our vulnerable humanity, is uncovered to one another. St. Thomas Aquinas had a fondness for Aristotle's saying that “anima est quodammodo omnia,” meaning that the soul is – in a certain way – all things. We will deeply realize this as we open our being to what is other. When we allow ourselves to be touched and transformed by encounters with others. The fullness of truth to which the Holy Spirit leads us is not dispassionate knowledge from a distance. It is something more than mere knowledge of thesis. The fullness of truth cannot be separated from transformative love (IL A.1.27). Dominicans walk through knowledge to love. Franciscans through love to knowledge. Both are correct.
We are being led into the mystery of love that is free of any competition. The Father has given everything He has to His Son and the Spirit. Including equality. To share the divine life means to be freed from all rivalry and competitiveness. With this divine love, free from all competition, we are to love one another during the synod. John writes: “If anyone says, ‘I love God,’ and hates his brother, he is a liar. For he who does not love his brother whom he has seen cannot love God whom he has not seen” (1 John 4:20).
The path to the fullness of truth is inseparably connected to learning to love. A truly profound change will occur when the effort to understand God’s will is inseparably linked — like a double helix — to learning to love those with whom it is difficult to get along. This will be difficult to convey to those who are not here with us. Did everyone truly undertake such an expensive journey here just to love one another? Practical decisions are, of course, inevitable and necessary, but they must arise from our personal and shared transformation; otherwise, they remain only on paper.
Imagine the joy that comes from liberation from our mutual competitiveness: that greater space given to the laity does not mean that bishops will come up short; or that authority given to women in any way diminishes that of men; or that the recognition afforded to our African brothers and sisters does not reduce the authority of the Church in Asia or the West.
This requires each of us a generous dose of humility, with which we expect God’s gifts in trust. Simone Weil (1909–1943), a French Jewish mystic, reached this statement on her journey to truth: “I believe in God, in the Trinity, in Redemption, in the Eucharist, and in the teaching of the Gospel.” (6) She wrote: “The most precious gifts are not received by seeking them, but by waiting for them... It is primarily a matter of attentive expectation. The soul completely empties itself of its own content to receive its human being, which it sees as it is, in all its truth.” (7)
If we let ourselves be led by the Spirit of truth, there will undoubtedly be sparks flying among us. Sometimes painfully. We will encounter truths we would rather avoid. But it will lead us a little deeper into the mystery of divine love, and we will know the joy for which people will envy us for being here and will long to partake in the next synodal assembly.
[1] Burnt Norton, The Four Quarters
[2] Convocation, Conrwell, May 24th 2008
[3] Ne timeamus quod veritas veritati noceat'
[4] January 25th 2023
[5] ed. Simon Tugwell OP Early Dominicans: selected writings Ramsey N.J., 1982 p. 91
[6] S. PÉTREMENT, La vita di Simone Weil, Adelphi, Milano 2010, p. 646
[7] Waiting on God, trans. Emma Crauford, London 1959, p. 169
