There is something deeply satisfying about finishing a good book. This feeling is even more whole when upon turning the final page and closing the now-worn pages, you can sense that a new chapter will begun to be written because of the content you’ve poured over for some time.
Such was the case for me with John Paul the Great by Peggy Noonan.
It was the last second to last weekend in April, and I was in Omaha, Nebraska for the wedding of a close friend of mine from FFA days before seminary. Brady was taking Katie as his wife, and I was asked to come concelebrate the wedding and to give the homily.
Thursday evening at rehearsal, I felt a little out of place. At 29 years old, there were certainly no other Catholic priests in Brady’s (or Katie’s) chosen group of witnesses. In fact, although feeling dissimilar, I was amazed at the mix of all the people Brady had chosen to be in his wedding party: body-building buddies from Nebraska, a Capitol Hill staffer from California, an Iowan agribusinessman, and then there was an old friend of mine, Jimmy. An oasis, I hoped.
He, his gentle wife, and I sat together at the rehearsal dinner. Jimmy and I never had spoken at length, but our paths had crossed and our circles of acquaintance and experience overlapped more than not. However, we were not of the same Christian denomination, and while I found an island of connection amidst the driven bunch, I wondered whether I might not have a deeper connection after all.
We passed over the usual fare of chicken, steamed beans and career paths, and then our conversation went deeper. And better.
We discussed ‘why Catholics do / believe / think that’ — one of my favorites, so long as the inquirer is not hostile —and Jimmy and his wife were certainly not. Then Jimmy told me he had read a book about Pope Saint John Paul II by Peggy Noonan, a former speechwriter for President Ronald Reagan and a widely-read columnist for The Wall Street Journal. He told me that I just had to read that book, and when priest hears a non-Catholic 30-something telling him to read something about a Saint, I knew I wanted to buy that book.
Today, I turned the final page over a ham-salad sandwich, orange jello and some steamed carrots at a cloistered monastery in Whitesville, Kentucky. I felt so satisfied. But not just because I finished the book. Sure, finishing chores at one’s house or cleaning the last fish for supper or crossing the finish line in a 5K all gift us with a sense of accomplishment, but I found myself nearly tearing up at one of the final paragraphs on the second to last page.
This book moved me. It touched my heart and mind. Stories about the heroically virtuous life of the pontiff stirred my own desire to live courageously. Tales of JPII's responses to a spectrum of propositions, questions, and comments offered fodder for how I might better respond to others. And, while I do not agree completely with the author's opinion of everything about the Church's past and present, Noonan's bold voice in some chapters was a breath of fresh air amidst often hearing the world talk around very important things rather than directly to them.
I take notes in the front covers of my books on 4x6 inch yellow Post-Its, and this book has notes filling two (and a few notes that didn’t fit onto the Post-Its). As I re-read the insights I gleaned from this easy-to-read reflection from Noonan, I realized why I feel such completion having read it: the words the author used to paint the picture of a great shepherd and now Saint of the Church were words that helped me understand myself better—better as a Catholic, better as a man, better as someone growing up surrounded by modernity, and even better as a priest who has recently been summoned to leave two beloved ministries for the sake of something else.
There is something satisfying about finishing a good book, and this feeling is amplified when that feeling of satisfaction is the seed of motivation.
Go read Noonan’s John Paul the Great. Or don’t. Read about Saint John Bosco by F.A. Forbes or about Saint Therese of Lisieux in her own Story of a Soul, or read about some other Saint from another great writer. But whatever you do, do not let opportunities for growing in holiness pass you too often. That learning might inspire you to rewrite or at least inspire a more saintly chapter in the story of your own life.
