Books that are Spiritual Works of Mercy

GUYS I JUST HAD A THOUGHT.

You know the spiritual works of mercy? 

Since some of my catechism kiddos are learning them right now, they're on my mind lately--admonish the sinner, instruct the ignorant, counsel the doubtful, comfort the sorrowful, bear wrongs patiently, forgive all injuries, pray for the living and the dead. A beautiful list of Christian actions. A little less concrete than the corporal works of mercy, which are pretty easy to put into practical practice. We like spiritual works of mercy.

OK hold that thought. 

You know how writing books is hard? 

Like, it's fun but it's hard? It takes a lot of time and effort? And heartache? And sometimes you're like "WHY DO I EVEN BOTHER NO PUBLISHER WILL EVER WANT MY BOOK"? And sometimes it's nice, as a writer, to read and write articles about All the Good Reasons for Writing and Reading Books. 

I don't think we do this to convince other people the world needs writers. I think we do this to convince ourselves that we're doing something worthwhile. 

I mean, in a world as full of suffering as ours, it sometimes seems to me that everyone has a responsibility to go out and become doctors or politicians or something. Or Missionary Sisters of Charity. 

Like, why am I wasting time writing stories about space thieves and pizza guys when I should be DOING something?

Y'know?

Well. 

Obviously, the corporal works of mercy are important and everyone has a duty to humanity to do them. What I'm about to say does not negate our responsibility to kiss Christ's wounds in the wounds of our neighbor.

HOWEVER HOWEVER HOWEVER. I think that writing books is a spiritual work of mercy. Or at least it should be. And I suspect all the truly great literature of the world is literature that fulfills one of the first four on the traditional list. (The last three, I don't think books can really do. Patience, prayer, and forgiveness are choices that you make as an individual human--not something you can offer others in your capacity as a writer. But the first four, I think you can perform through books.) 

Through books, you can EXTEND MERCY TO PEOPLE YOU DON'T EVEN KNOW.

You don't know who's going to read your work. It could be your little sister's best friend. It could be your grandma's neighbor. It could be someone across the country. It could be someone born fifty years after you die. 

But you do know one thing for sure about your reader:

they are human.

Which means, they are suffering. With their own sinfulness. With their own sorrows. With their own doubts. With their own ignorance. 

Which means, they are Christ to you. And you have a chance to be Christ to them. 

Whatever we write, be it a novel or a college paper or a poem or a piece of fan fiction, our work is meant to be read--that is, it is meant to touch a human being's soul. We have a responsibility, as artists, to make sure it touches that human being's soul in a helpful way. In a healing way. In a merciful way.

We can use the spiritual works of mercy to guide our creative projects.

*flails a little bit* 

Christian tradition is so COOL, guys. 

Ahem. Anyway. I am excited about this idea. And I thought it would be fun to end this post with a list of books that I think put some mercy into the world. And to categorize them under the four first spiritual works of mercy. Because #categorization. Is a thing that humans like to do. Since before Aristotle.

BOOKS THAT ADMONISH THE SINNER

The first author who comes to mind is Dickens. Because social commentary. Shame on Victorian England for trampling the poor under the wheels of the Industrial Revolution. 

And I think all tragedies are really about admonishing sinners.

Shakespeare: "Don't be Brutus, kids!" 

Also Shakespeare: "Don't be Othello!" "Don't be Romeo!" "Don't be Juliet!" 

The Great Gatsby is, I think, a scathing indictment of people who use their influential voices for selfish, shallow, and destructive purposes. Also of people who live for wealth and power at the expense of literally anybody else, of course. But it's Daisy's voice that has stuck with me. 

You know an indictment that thrilled me in the best possible way? Robert Louis Steven's Father Damien: An Open Letter to the Reverend Doctor Hyde of Honolulu. This is also a public defense of the innocent, but I hope it moved Rev. Dr. Hyde to a greater self-awareness. In general, angry open letters run the risk of being needlessly vitriolic? But I think this one was motivated by the noblest and fieriest charity. It has endeared me to Robert Louis Stevenson like nothing else. (Even including Treasure Island, which is glorious for other reasons than correcting sinners.)

Really any dark, gritty book that explores the darker side of human nature and the futility of an immoral lifestyle--that's an admonition, right? 

Of course it is.

Generally, these aren't my favorite kind of books. But the world needs them. Hats off to those who do them well. 

BOOKS THAT INSTRUCT THE IGNORANT

Any textbook or nonfiction piece sets out to do this explicitly. 

Some books to which I owe a particular debt of gratitude in this area would be:

Illiberal Reformers by Thomas C. Leonard,

A Song for Nagasaki by Paul Glynn,

Sophie Scholl and the White Rose by Annette Dumbach,

Blessed Charles of Austria by Charles A. Coulombe, 

The Unmasking of Oscar Wilde by Joseph Pearce,

Frontiers of Freedom by Nikki Taylor,

etc. etc. etc. 

Solid theology is probably the most merciful thing an author can write, from a heavenly perspective. But the attainment of truth is always a good thing. *glances at the above list* Apparently I really like biographies? 

BOOKS THAT COUNSEL THE DOUBTFUL

I feel like this category is a little niche, and probably includes a ton of explicitly apologetic works. Theologians writing for the common man, from St. Thomas Aquinas to Trent Horn--we salute you. 

I do love Thomas Aquinas. Not that I've read the Summa or even made a dent in it. But it's always reassuring, somehow, to read it.

JPII's letters and encyclicals are brimful of hope and encouragement on the edge of the new millennium at the end of a very bloody century.

And YO. I Believe in Love, by Fr. D'Elbee? EVERYONE SHOULD READ THIS BOOK. 'Tis so incredibly encouraging. 

And then there's, like, all the Chesterton (Orthodoxy, The Everlasting Man, literally all of his nonfiction) and all the C. S. Lewis (Mere Christianity, Surprised by Joy) and all the thoughtful writings of erudite Christian thinkers where it's not necessarily giving you new information (if you were well-catechized as a kid you kind of already know most of the stuff C. S. Lewis talks about), but it IS giving you a new perspective on your beliefs so it's like, "WHOA! Faith DOES make sense!"

As for the realm of fiction and poetry...I feel like a lot of beautiful literature is about restoring one's faith in humanity. In the beauty of the world. In the worth-it-ness of life. But when they do that, I think they're usually bleeding into the next category as well.

BOOKS THAT COMFORT THE SORROWFUL 

This category is my favorite. Because literally ANYTHING that's good and true and beautiful fits into it. Even the silliest or most nostalgic things that don't seem to be serving any "serious" purpose at all.

Because everyone suffers. Everyone sorrows. And if you give them something to love, you are giving them a crumb of comfort. And even if it's just the teeniest tiniest feeblest crumb--comfort is a work of mercy. You're giving someone something to hold onto. You're helping them feel less alone.

Books that have done this for me are the Chronicles of Narnia by C. S. Lewis, and The Lord of the Rings by J. R. R. Tolkien (we are in the business of being obvious here), and All Creatures Great and Small by James Herriot.

Sometimes it's an old friend who comforts me by version of their old friendliness, like Anne of Green Gables or Little Women. 

Sometimes it's a new find that startles me with its relevance, like In This House of Brede or Brideshead Revisited (the latter of which has now been reread enough times to become an old friend).

Sometimes it's a picture-book like Are You My Mother? and sometimes it's a swashbuckler like Scaramouche.

Sometimes it's a philosophical discussion in novel form, like The Awakening of Miss Prim; and sometimes it's a dogeared adventure book, like Treasure Island. 

Sometimes it's a book my friend wrote. 

Sometimes it's P. G. Wodehouse being P. G. Wodehouse.

Or Lord Peter being Lord Peter.

Or Oscar Wilde being particularly profound.

Or Chesterton being particularly poetic. 

Or Roald Dahl's Oompa Loompas singing a diatribe against television. 

There are the lines I have memorized.

There are the characters I know like friends.

There are the paperbacks that drop into my life at just the right time.

None of these things can fix the world's problems, of course.

But sometimes they do something maybe more important: they give us a glimpse of the world beyond this world, a promise that our troubles will have an end--that laughter is a real thing, a realer thing than despair, and that if only we'll hold on, He will bring us safe across Jordan. 

And the funny ones really can do this as much as the serious ones, you know.

Which gives me great hope that my own silly stories are worth something. And I hope it gives you hope that your own work is worth something, too. Because it is. 

If you could pick one spiritual work of mercy (from the traditional big 7) to make your life's mission, which one would it be? What books have brought you comfort?