What Georges Bernanos Taught Me About Saints


 “Our hearts are with those in the front line, with those who get killed.”

- Georges Bernanos

It is said that when Georges Bernanos was asked why he became a writer, he answered quite plainly,”I began to write to escape from this disgusting era”. Alive for merely sixty years (1888-1948), the French Catholic Bernanos spent his life in Europe during the darkness of World War I and the Spanish Civil War . Subsequently, he endured the evisceration and emasculation of his homeland as an expatriate in South America during World War II. Serving in the blood-filled trenches of the Somme and Verdun, experiencing life-altering battle wounds, observing the disillusioning Franco cause in Spain and then lamenting the “spiritual exhaustion” of France at the hands of the Nazis gave credibility to his claim. Indeed, Bernanos lived in a “disgusting era”.

But for Bernanos, this era would not be without fruit. It would inspire novels and polemics from the fiery, passionate Frenchman such as Diary of a Country Priest, The Imposter, and Tradition of Freedom. These works were lauded for their keen insight into human nature and their zeal for faith and culture. He would be decorated with numerous French awards, asked to serve in the post-war de Gaulle government (he declined) and dubbed “the Bard of the French Resistance”. The words of Georges Bernanos simply resonated.

But why? Well, here is the thing about Georges Bernanos and his writing: Informed by the limitless violence and depravity that technological man was capable of in the 20th century, Bernanos brought two things into sharp, jarring relief: The Devil and the Saints. Bernanos’ works illustrated how the blackness of dark times remind us of the depths of evil there is in the world. But the light that pierces that blackness declares the inextinguishable good still to be found. The Prince of the World rules his domain with a relishing iron fist. But the Resistance is alive and well. No one tells this story better than Bernanos.

As biographer Peter Hebblethwaite would articulate,

“In spite of his sense of hell in our midst, Bernanos does not despair, because saints have existed and do exist. They are the living witnesses to the truths he holds. Christianity is not for him an ideology, but a life, begun in baptism, the incorporation into the Passion and Resurrection of Christ.”

Notably, Bernanos’ themes would consistently remind us of his characters’ (and our) membership in the Body of Christ.
We are made for communion with God and with one another. This is reassuring. But this is not the end. We are also “incorporated into the Passion of Christ”. Suffering is an unavoidable element in the lives of Bernanos’ characters (and in our lives). Sanctity comes at times through fiery purification just as precious metals emerge from the hottest furnace. Finally, Bernanos brings his characters (and reminds us) of the reward that ultimately awaits us. Grace. Bliss. Eternal Union with Christ.

And yet our vision in this dark age is blinded to the ultimate reward. Even seeing these Saints, we are inspired by their faith and courage, yet fearful that we too may be required to endure their unendurable suffering. Bernanos places these figures before us in stark and incomprehensible fashion to drive home a point. Hebblethwaite explains,

“Bernanos prefers to present his saints rather than to talk about sanctity, because otherwise he would run the risk of reducing Christianity to a delicately balanced conceptual system.”

In fact, Bernanos would assuredly agree with Pope Benedict XVI’s teaching,

“Christianity is not an intellectual system, a collection of dogmas, or a moralism. Christianity is instead an encounter, a love story; it is an event.”

Sainthood is the highest calling as Bernanos would insist,

“You know what sanctity is: a vocation, a call. Where God awaits you, you must ascend, either that or you lose yourself.”

And this encounter – this incomparably brilliant relationship – with the Living Christ so overwhelms any hardship accompanied with it that the Saints seem to rush headlong into the privilege of suffering for it. It is not an act of calculation or a thoughtfully considered philosophy. It is a love affair for which one sacrifices his life for the Object of his undying affection. As one of Bernanos’ characters reminds,

“The mission of the Church is to discover the source of lost joy.”

The Saints within the Church discovered this Source of Lost Joy, insatiably wanted to spread it and acutely suffered the Devil’s slings and arrows for doing so. They found themselves baptized together, incorporated into the Passion, and brought gloriously to the Resurrection. For me, any time I want to become too comfortable in my half-hearted efforts at or reception of sanctity, any time I want to piously over-intellectualize my faith into an ideology instead of a personal relationship with Christ, I need to look at a picture of St. Joan of Arc, St. Peter, St. Thomas More, St. Maximilian Kolbe or read Georges Bernanos’ Diary of a Country Priest…and be still.

 As a final note, it is good that we hold fast to Georges Bernanos’ reminder,

 “Our Church is the Church of the saints. If one approaches her with distrust, one sees only closed doors, barriers and fences, a sort of spiritual police force. But our Church is the Church of the saints. To become a saint, what bishop would not give up his ring, his mitre and his crozier; what cardinal his purple; what pope his white robe, his chamberlains, his Swiss Guard and all his temporal power? Who would not want to have the strength to embark on this wonderful adventure; it is indeed the only adventure.”

“It is indeed the only adventure.” Perhaps the most important thing Georges Bernanos taught me about Saints.



“Nothing New”: On Aggression & Inertia
My Quaint, Silly, Ridiculous, Little, Lovely, Lovely Faith
Why That Woman Wept At Confession
Twisted Cross, True Cross
  • Jordan

    Hi Dr. Worner,

    I am responding here to the piece about Martin Buber and Hitler, because strangely that piece does not have a place to comment, while most of your other pieces do. I am very glad that you discovered Buber and his concept of I and Thou, and that it was meaningful to you on both a philosophical and theological level. Buber is appreciated by secular philosophers as well as Christian ones, but it’s important to remember that he was a Jewish theologian, and is considered a major player in the development of the systematic theology of Reform and Conservative Judaism. His I and Thou was certainly a neo-Kantian framework for interpersonal relationship and valuing people as ends-in-themselves, but an even bigger point of the famous treatise is its articulation of a theology of Divine-human relationship with a real, present, personal, living, loving God. He was attempting to counteract a trend in modernist Jewish religious thought that was inching away from belief in a sentient, relational Deity in favor of a more Spinozan/deistic perspective. He had some limited success in winning people back to traditional theism for a time, but it eventually did go WAY in the other direction, unfortunately.

    Now, I have absolutely no problem with the fact that you found I and Thou meaningful, and that you have applied the principle to the notion of the trinity subsisting in perpetual three-way I/Thou relationship. I have no problem with that being appropriated by Christians. But since the piece was also largely about Hitler, and using Buber’s work as a peg upon which to hang a condemnation of Hitler (well done, too!), I was somewhat uncomfortable with the lack of explicit recognition and explanation that Buber was a Jewish theologian as well as a philosopher. I was even more uncomfortable that you posited that the only place “I and Thou” is to be found is in Christianity. Buber’s legacy is living proof that Judaic monotheism with its concept of a Sovereign, yet loving God from Whom morality and goodness and ultimate justice emanate put up a solid fight against the utilitarianism, materialism, and relativism of the likes of Hitler. Yes, of course, Christianity’s message is also a wonderful weapon against hatred. But I wish you wouldn’t appropriate I and Thou without first giving at least a nod to the nobility of Judaism’s relentless proclamation of a God Who stands against hatred with loving relationship as His greatest weapon.

  • Mike

    For some reason i thought of the Ball and the Cross as i passed over that last line about Christ being the only adventure.

  • Lark62

    Catholic thinker – why sre no Catholic bloggers thinking about 800 dead children in a septic tank in Ireland?

    • Fr Euan Marley O.P.
      • Lark62

        You are so right. Only some of the 800 children who died neglected and unloved were buried in the septic tank. The rest were buried somewhere else, but no one bothered to mark the graves.

        Yes, I feel so much better now with all that christian love oozing out.

        The church created and enforced the stigma on unwed mothers. No such penalty was applied to the fathers. The treatment of those poor girls and their children was horrific. And all you’ve got is “we didn’t bury them ALL in a septic tank.”