Remembering Fr. Richard McBrien on the 10th Anniversary of His Passing by Mária Dominika Vanková
“It can take hundreds of years for the light of a star to reach Earth. And by the time we see it, the star might not even exist anymore. The light shines even though the star is gone.”
It was shortly before the 10th anniversary of Fr. Richard P. McBrien’s passing on January 25, 2015, at the age of 78, when I heard these words as a bit of dialogue in a film. They immediately reminded me of my meeting with him. They reminded me that although I didn’t have a personal meeting, experience, or memory to cherish or reflect on, I indeed had something very precious: an encounter with his light that remained shining and made a significant mark on my life.
Five years after Fr. McBrien’s death, I was back home in Slovakia from my international undergraduate studies in Copenhagen due to safety protocols of the Covid-19 pandemic and the school being moved online. Despite being in my early 20s, I had a two-year history with a difficult illness that had upended what was previously a very exciting and joyful life and suddenly made everything extremely challenging. But it was that experience that forced me to redirect myself to renewal and recovery from my wounds, both physical and spiritual. Following the advice of a Carmelite monk, I opened myself to what he called “God’s voice which speaks in the silence.” One rare silent day during summer break, I found a random article online where Fr. McBrien’s Catholicism was quoted: “It is taken for granted that the Church’s moral teaching is normally a source for positive illumination for Christians in forming their consciences,” I read. “If, however, after appropriate study, reflection, and prayer, a person is convinced that his or her conscience is correct, despite a conflict with the moral teachings of the Church, the person not only may but must follow the dictates of conscience rather than the teachings of the Church.” That was the moment when I felt a greater Light was penetrating me, somebody understood me, and I recognized that in my God-given spiritual freedom, nothing could enslave me—not my body, not society, nor any institutional forms. It was a healing revelation.
Right away, I was very curious about who the person was writing such brave and deep lines. Surely, it takes a well-rooted and living faith to have the courage to explore, with such balanced, gentle, and detailed writing, the issue of recognizing God’s voice in conscience. I remember clearly how fascinated I was by Fr. McBrien’s personality and life story. I was thinking: “This priest had some great success—the head of a theology department, the president of a theological society—but stayed humble and focused on marginalized groups and issues. He seemed to know what it entailed to dedicate his life to following the Creator of Light. But he also had some great challenges—he devoted his high intellect and wisdom to the church; wrote over 20 books, including the 1,344-page-long Catholicism and 2,368 columns despite illness, criticism, and discouragement, and yet somehow was marked unorthodox, and the columns—which I regard as a form of prayer—were banned in many newspapers. Still, he kept writing because he was able to keep hope alive within himself. Ultimately, his sight never left the Creator of the Light, so no wonder that now I am continuing to encounter his light.”
As I became intrigued by Fr. McBrien’s writing, it led me to immense self-reflection, and I also increasingly became more interested in academic work. Consequently, I was accepted to graduate school at Lund University in Sweden and did master’s research in Southeast Asia, where I chose to focus on the study of Salesian interfaith dialogue and poverty alleviation. Throughout this time, Fr. Richard P. McBrien’s work not only brought me hope, but also challenged me, and that is why I continue to find his writing so enriching. There are particularly four aspects of his work that I often contemplate.
The first is that in a world preoccupied with self-interest, or the interest of our own closest family members, amidst nationalism and religious barriers, Fr. McBrien emphasized: “In the end, we’re all human—mired in sin and renewed by grace. It’s at that point—our common humanity—where East meets West.” He also challenged readers in human and environmental crisis by further by asking: “Do men really have the will to feed the hungry, clothe the naked, house the homeless, heal the sick, educate the ignorant, reassure the fearful, and give hope to those without hope? Can we really create a social order rooted in justice and shaped by compassion?” Even during Christmas time, when people indulge in the spiritual or material delight of the season, he had excluded groups in mind, stating: “Gift-giving and concern must go far beyond our inner circles to embrace the larger human family, especially those in want and those who are oppressed.” He argued that “Jesus shocked some of his contemporaries because of the company he kept and the people he ate with. Do his disciples today shock anybody by the company we keep?”
In a world that does not value friendship and refuses to seek deep spiritual interconnectedness of all beings, Fr. McBrien insisted that “a community of friendship is possible because God is present to human life as one who unites and reconciles, as one who breaks down barriers and builds bridges” and believed that “we are called to a loving and totally gratuitous dialogue of friendship.” But it is not free; we have to pay by “a personal cost,” and it requires a “change of heart” in order to accomplish closeness, even among religions, because there is “no time to hold back on prayers and initiatives for Christian unity.” His words were echoed decades later by Pope Francis in 2017, when he tweeted: “I invite you not to build walls but bridges, to conquer evil with good, offense with forgiveness, to live in peace with everyone.” And by Salesian Cardinal Cristóbal López Romero in 2019, who said that we have to realize that nowadays in interreligious dialogue, tolerance is worth so little when what is needed is “friendship, mutual knowledge, mutual enrichment: to build together universal fraternity starting with ourselves an understanding shaped by a life of servitude in wide variety of places and people.”
In a world where harmful extremes are preferred, Fr. McBrien was in search not only of justice, but also balance, stressing “openness to renewal and reform, but rooted in Catholic heritage” since “history is not fully honored by either the progressive or conservative side, for history both roots and revitalizes.” On the potential downfalls of such a central position, he elaborated that “what saves us from relativism is the abiding presence of the Holy Spirit which guarantees continuity even in the midst of diversity.” Besides, he underlined that “the tradition is best preserved not by repeating it routinely, but by freshly rethinking and reapplying it in every new age and circumstance, and indeed in the face of every new crisis of growth or decline.” Still, he encouraged people not to be afraid of renewal and transformation, because “change ought to be regarded as a sign and instrument of life.”
And, finally, in a world where he could describe theology in myriad ways, he chose to write that it “is an exercise in religious poetry” because “it sketches a grand vision of God’s loving plan for us in the history of salvation and of our response to God’s love.” After all, Fr. McBrien loved and admired Pope Saint John XXIII, the first pope to leave the Vatican to be close to the sick, the imprisoned, and the local parishes, and who opened the church to the renewal of God’s love in the modern world. In the first year of his column, 1966, Fr. McBrien wrote: “Imitate John, and you shall imitate Christ. Imitate his spirit of warmth and love, his openness to all peoples, of every race, nation, religious belief and non-belief. Imitate his concern for the humble and the neglected, for the ‘cast-offs’ of our society. Imitate his spirit of resignation to God’s will in the face of suffering and certain death.”
Now, almost 59 years later, when I am just a few years younger than Fr. McBrien in 1966, I could write the exact same lines: “Imitate Fr. Richard P. McBrien, and you shall imitate Christ.” Indeed, God is a just judge. The light continues to shine even though the star is gone. ♦
Works by Fr. McBrien Referenced in This Article
McBrien, R. P. (1966, November 4). “On the Theology of Revelation and Pope John XXIII.” Essays in Theology.
McBrien, R. P. (1970, January 23). “Church Urged to Spend Less Energy on Itself, More on World.” Essays in Theology.
McBrien, R. P. (1972, March 31). “Conflict Results When Theory Is Outdistanced by Change.” Essays in Theology.
McBrien, R. P. (1972, March 3). “Identification Plus Interpretation.” Essays in Theology.
McBrien, R. P. (1978, January 13). “Turning Our Thoughts to Ecumenical Matters.” Essays in Theology.
McBrien, R. P. (1979, December 21). “The Meanings of Christmas.” Essays in Theology.
McBrien, R. P. (1988, May 30). “Theology: Poetry or Prose?” Essays in Theology.
McBrien, R. P. (1993, March 12). “After Communism and the Religious West.” Essays in Theology.
McBrien, R. P. (1994). Catholicism. San Francisco: HarperSanFrancisco.
McBrien, R. P. (1997, November). “The Advent Meditation.” Essays in Theology.
Mária Dominika Vanková is a writer from Slovakia. She has worked with peace-building and poverty alleviation initiatives in Southeast Asia, and is currently compiling archives of Fr. Richard McBrien’s syndicated columns on theology. She is the founder of the Club of Friendship Slovakia–Cambodia and a coordinator of humanitarian aid to Cambodia.
Wonderful reflection on Fr. McBrien. He touched many lives but no one has expressed his effect on their lives as beautifully as you have. May God bless you and your efforts at peace in Slovakia and other places you go to in ministry.
Dear Bev,
Thank you so much. Your words mean the world, and it was an honor to share my piece of writing!