De Sales and the Lessons for Today

By Fr. Eric Banecker

The church where I serve as pastor is one of the most magnificent churches in North America. Of course, everyone thinks their church is beautiful—even the ones that look like the Millennium Falcon from Star Wars. But this one, Saint Francis de Sales in West Philadelphia, is an objectively remarkable building. One of its fine details is a set of D’Ascenzo windows in the nave depicting the life of Christ and the life of the parish patron, Saint Francis de Sales. In one scene of his life, there is an arresting image of a Eucharistic procession taking place, with a group of people watching from across a river. This powerful scene depicts de Sales’ time as a young priest in the Chablis, a remarkable period of his life which offers lessons for all believers today.

The Chablis region, located just south of Geneva, was a complicated part of the diocese of Annecy, of which Francis de Sales was a priest and later the bishop. In the course of just a few decades, the people of the Chablis went from being cradle Catholics to being actively persecuted once the area became occupied by the Bernese Protestants. Then, through a series of events typical of Europe in his time, a Catholic Duke of Savoy reclaimed the area and gave full freedom to Catholic worship again. All that needed to be done, of course, was to convince the 60,000 inhabitants to become Catholic again. This would have to take place with the moral (but not administrative) support of the duke, whose hold on the territory was tenuous. The real power in the region remained with the Calvinists, who were sure to apply heavy pressure against the efforts of de Sales, whose support came from nearby Geneva. Into this political and religious maelstrom, the fast-aging but bold bishop of Geneva sent the 27-year-old, newly ordained Francis de Sales.

Upon arriving, Francis quickly learned that very few people would turn up for his sermons—even if they had Catholic sympathies—because they did not want to incur the wrath of the Calvinists. In a letter to his ordinary, Bishop Grenier (whom he would succeed in short order), de Sales wrote: “The truth is that our job here is not only to get rid of heresy, but most of all worldly self-interest.” Frustrated but undaunted, Francis tried a different strategy. He pursued the idea of printing tracts, pamphlets containing key points of doctrine from his sermons in defense of the Catholic faith. These printed instructions began to spread—secretly at first—until a few people, including some of the local leaders, began to be convinced by his elegant but straightforward writing style. (De Sales for his entire life wrote like the lawyer his father had wanted him to be.)

After about three years on the Chablis mission, the 30-year-old priest decided the time was right for a public demonstration of faith. The Quarant’Ore (Forty Hours) devotion had recently become popular in Rome, thanks especially to the work of Saint Philip Neri. This devotion called for several days of solemn exposition of the Blessed Sacrament, complete with public devotions and celebrations. Such public acts of Eucharistic piety, of course, came with a degree of danger in a largely Calvinist land. Yet the Forty Hours went on, complete with two grand processions in which, we are told, thousands of people joined. A year later, Francis organized two Forty Hours devotions, complete with High Mass and processions and the presence of the duke, newly confident for his safety not because of his effective administration, but because of the young priest’s incredible pastoral success. It is estimated that, at the end of his four-year apostolate, two-thirds of the Chablis’ 60,000 inhabitants had returned to the Catholic faith.

This remarkable story leaves a deep impact on me, and its lessons, mutatis mutandis, are widely applicable in our day. First, the wise old bishop was unafraid to send someone with zeal and skill into a difficult pastoral situation, despite his obvious youth. He could very easily have decided—as many often decide today—to keep him close by or to serve in a more established and “stable” assignment. Francis was undoubtedly a gifted young man, with unique gifts discerned by his bishop. But his gifts came to the surface precisely because he was put in charge of a challenging mission. How many potential Francises do we have languishing in rather easy pastoral assignments? Those who make pastoral assignments should be unafraid to be bold—and to demand excellence instead of mediocrity.

Second, Francis made use of the technology of his day in order to reach his flock. People did eventually come to his sermons—indeed, they packed the churches—but only after he creatively got his message to them in their homes. Hasn’t the internet, despite its many obvious pitfalls, provided us with just such an opportunity today? Yet I worry that we are squandering it. The “Catholic internet” seems largely dominated by the shrillest voices who succeed at attracting people to an ideology rather than to the faith once given to the Apostles. Meanwhile, many priests who have been encouraged to make disciples are instead busy watching Tik Tok (or worse). Not everyone needs to have a Bishop Barron or Father Schmitz-style digital apostolate, of course. And digital evangelization must always serve the goal of in person communion, not the other way around. Yet, if I can get a short talk recorded and sent out to all my parishioners with a few clicks, why wouldn’t I do that? The work of evangelization is hard enough—we should seize the opportunities we have in front of us.

Finally, there are those processions. Public, corporate acts of piety get people’s attention. They have great pastoral value not just in “Christendom” but even more so when walking through the streets means one might end up on the receiving end of eye rolls, mockery, and even violence. Think of the powerful ending of the movie The Mission: it leaves the viewer spellbound, because in that one scene is presented the entire Church as she is meant to be. There is faith in Christ the redeemer, a community united to their heroic pastor by the bonds of charity, the Eucharistic Lord walking among his people, and, yes, the perennial Christian act of witness. With slightly less drama, this was the point of Saint Francis de Sales’ public demonstrative of Eucharistic faith. It forced the onlooker to decide: is this utter buffoonery, or do they know something I don’t?

Screenshot of a Eucharistic Process in New York City

For more than fifty years, Catholics in the United States have worked under the assumption that the more we blended in with secular society, the better. Of course, that has been an unmitigated disaster. For some reason, we decided to make peace with the Zeitgeist at the exact moment when the Main Line American culture transformed itself into a machine of cultural destruction, economic devastation, depravity, and intellectual sophistry. The only proper response to this must be deep interior conversion which manifests itself in our liturgies, schools, social services, and religious congregations.

While some may bristle at this and call it “re-ghettoization,” that isn’t necessarily so. A person can be both a very faithful Catholic and one who is respectful of our separated brothers and sisters in Christ. One can have a certain liturgical preference without denigrating other forms of liturgy approved by the Church. And in public life, there is no contradiction between acting in accordance with Catholic Social Teaching (the whole thing, not just the parts one happens to like) and having respectful conversations with those with whom we disagree. In many parts of Africa, Muslims choose to send their children to Catholic schools—not because they agree about faith, which they don’t, but because the schools provide an excellent and safe education. And can anyone with a straight face accuse Catholics in Africa of watering down the faith? So then, robust, authentic religious belief and practice make us more capable of engaging with others, not less.

I think about these things when I look at that stained glass window, with its onlookers gazing out from across the river, some with looks on their faces as if they too want to join the procession, despite themselves. Those windows look out upon a world, West Philadelphia, so very different from the Chablis. Here the fight is not between Catholics and Calvinists, but some even more fundamental questions: Does objective truth exist? What is a human person? Is reality something which must be manipulated according to my own self-understanding, or is it a gift received from another? Indeed, many of our neighbors have abandoned religious practice or have never had it at all. But this “liberation” from the shackles of the old faith has come at an unspeakable price: mass atomization, loneliness, and cynicism. In the face of such a reality, public processions and devotions aren’t about scoring theological points but reminding people of a necessary question: what if it’s all true?

I am quite convinced, as Joseph Ratzinger once wrote, that however bothered the believer is in the face of mass apostasy and irreligion, the unbeliever, too, is haunted by that question. For, if it is indeed all true, then the unbeliever’s life has inherent meaning, then his suffering need not be pointless, then he is loved more than he can fathom by a perfect love, then his life doesn’t end at death and the eternal joy of the beatific vision is his to choose. This message, drowned out by our secular culture, must be proclaimed by all Catholics everywhere.

What we need now are bishops bold enough to send good men into missions many would consider foolhardy. We need laity, consecrated persons, and clergy to use the means at our disposal to propose the truth of the Gospel in this new age. We need the public witness of faith in all its beauty—music and churches and processions and feasts—which can unite the beautiful diversity of God’s people. And, yes, we need real holiness, the kind of holiness embodied by the “gentleman saint” himself, Saint Francis de Sales, who encourages us: “All of us can attain to Christian virtue and holiness, no matter in what condition of life we live and no matter what our life work may be.” Following his example, may we seek always the face of the Lord and help souls live with Jesus forever in their hearts.

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Fr. Eric Banecker is a priest of the Archdiocese of Philadelphia.