Month: August 2026

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Image Bearers

I finally finished reading Pope Leo’s encyclical letter, Magnifica Humanitas (“Magnificent Humanity”). He signed it on the 135th anniversary of Rerum Novarum (“New Concerns”). Back in 1891, the previous Pope Leo began a longstanding trend: Catholic popes reflecting on how we can best apply the age-old principles of Christianity to new social challenges. Back then, it was the new challenges opened up by the Industrial Revolution, including dehumanizing working conditions and polarizing economic ideologies. Today, there are new forms of dehumanization opened up by the revolution of artificial intelligence. Back then, popes wrote encyclical letters to their brother bishops. Today, people from rather diverse backgrounds are curious to hear what the pope has to say.

Leo XIV does not condemn artificial intelligence any more than Leo XIII condemned the industrialization of labor. Both popes relentlessly invite us to reflect on what it means to be human. I look forward to sharing several of Leo XIV’s insights in the weeks ahead.

I find the majority of Americans, Catholic included, to be unfamiliar with the last thirteen decades of Catholic social teaching. Leo offers a masterful summary (nn. 28-45). Then he provides his own synthesis of the truths that repeatedly emerge in each age. Even though new and complex situations require dialogue and debate about the best path forward, there are certain foundational truths and first principles that do not change, because of who God is and who we are as human beings.

At the foundational level, Leo identifies three truths: (1) the human person created in the image of the Trinity; (2) the equal dignity of each human being; and (3) the supreme value of human rights.  He then articulates five principles of Catholic social teaching that build upon that bedrock foundation.

Today we are considering that first foundational truth – that every human person bears the Imago Dei, the image of God. As Leo puts it, “At the heart of the Christian understanding of the human person lies the great biblical affirmation that men and women are created in the image and likeness (cf. Gen 1:26-27) of the Triune God” (n. 50).

God is love. That is to say, God is a communion of persons: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. God is not an isolated individual. God is inherently relational. We see in God a mutual sharing of love. He didn’t have to create a universe. He didn’t have to create human beings. He would have been just as good and just as great without us. In the Trinity, we find a mutual love that is already infinitely perfect. But God did choose to create us, and he eagerly desires to share his love with us.

We humans, as male and female, bear the image and likeness of God (Genesis 1:26-27). Philosophers and theologians have often reflected on the ways we resemble God – such as our intellect or our free will. Drawing from the wisdom of John Paul II, Leo especially emphasizes our human capacity to receive love and to share love. We discover our truest and deepest identity when we make a free and wholehearted gift of ourselves. It is then that we are living icons of the Trinity.

If we want to learn what human love looks like, we turn to Jesus, the new Adam. “His humanity is completely free, open to others, capable of building healthy and beautiful relationships and committed to the total gift of self” (n. 49). As John Paul II would put it, when we love more and more like Jesus, we become who we are.

Notice that neither pope teaches that we gain more human dignity by living holy lives. Even when we sin, even when we live in dehumanizing or degrading ways, we never lose our inherent worth. We remain bearers of the divine image. In the words of Pope Leo, “Human dignity does not depend on a person’s abilities, wealth or position in life, nor on the right or wrong choices made; instead, it is a gift that precedes and transcends each person, endowed by God as an expression of his unfailing love” (n. 50).

In the West, some of us Christians have fixated on the concept of “original sin,” a phrase that originates with Augustine of Hippo (354-430) in response to the heresy of the British monk Pelagius. Yes, it is important to remember that salvation is always God’s work – from beginning to middle to end. We find ourselves in a human condition that is weighed down by sin. But sin is a condition. It is never our identity.

Eight years ago, I reflected on the Parable of the Lost Coin. Has it really been eight years since I began this blog? Wow, time flies. Anyway, Gregory of Nyssa (335-394) reflects on a gold coin, stamped with the image of the king. It retains its value no matter much it becomes coated with filth. Once cleansed, it shows itself to be what it always was.

Gregory was from Caesarea in Cappadocia (which today is in central Turkey). He was unaware aware of the teaching of the faraway Pelagius (even though their lives overlapped). Gregory’s focus was on the abiding love of the Trinity, and on our amazing human capacity to share in God’s glory.

Every human person has an inestimable dignity, because every human person bears the image of God. John Paul II would add that every human person is a unique and unrepeatable mystery. Each of us bears God’s glory in a way that no one else ever will.

In my more mature moments, I’ve come to appreciate this core truth of Magnifica Humanitas: every human person is the bearer of magnificent beauty.  Whenever I remember that the person in front of me bears the image of God, when I become curious about this person’s story, I am never disappointed. Sometimes there are forcefields around barriers around shielded gates that are manned with a platoon of armed guards. The fiercer the self-protection, the more precious and tender the child of God on the inside. I’ve learned not to push past people’s defenses, rooted as they often are in an intense fear of being unlovable in their deep-down desire to be loved. God always respects our freedom, and so will I. God always delights in the way his glory is uniquely reflected in us, just as a mom or dad marvels at the baby they’re holding in their arms.

Unfortunately, we live in an age of intensifying contempt. The seduction to dehumanize our fellow humans is intensifying to historic levels. If we pay attention, we may realize that we humans are being steadily manipulated by AI into even greater contempt for ourselves and others.

In the weeks ahead, we’ll consider the alternative path Pope Leo offers us. For now, I invite each of you to pause and reflect on how you truly bear God’s image, as do “those people” whom you may find it harder to love. We were all created to share in the amazing capacity to receive and give love. By God’s eternal design, we bear a dignity that cannot be taken away.

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Letting Shame Give Way to Grief

“Shame can never do what grief can do.”

I once heard a wise woman speak these words, before sharing stories about her family’s experiences during and following the Nazi regime in Germany. The collective shame over the Holocaust had enormous impact on the next few generations.

She shared an image of a propaganda poster from the occupying Allied Forces at the end of the war. It depicted the gruesomeness of the concentrations camps and bore the headline, “These Atrocities – Your Fault!”

Her grandparents contended with shame throughout the latter years of their life. Their happiest memories (falling in love, marrying, and raising their children) felt forever tainted because so much of their comfortable lifestyle coincided with Hitler’s rise to power, and was in part made possible by his willingness to oppress and exploit the vulnerable. When the war was over and the evils were more fully exposed, many felt like they had colluded to some degree. There had been warning signs of the atrocities being perpetrated. Some had ignored the cues; others felt powerless to do anything to change it. The result? A culture of shame that pervaded many families for three to four generations. When children are fed with guilt and watered with shame, they will struggle to bear joyful fruit later in life.

As I listened to her sharing, I wept with empathy. I felt the connection of her family story and my family story. My great-grandfather in Poland was executed by the Gestapo. Two of my grandfather’s brothers survived a concentration camp. My great-grandmother died amidst all that heartache before the war ended, not living to see the day of her sons’ release. My grandfather learned of all these events from afar, having moved back to the United States in the late 1930s (he and his older brother were American-born citizens shortly before the family moved back to Poland in 1918). No doubt, he contended with his own unspoken “survivor’s guilt.”

Tears flooded me as I imagined her grandparents and my grandparents, her family and my family, all of us still suffering in the wake of those two great wars. I found it easy to feel compassion. I found it healing to perceive everyone involved as normal human beings, bearing God’s image, both beautiful and broken. I felt her invitation into grief over what it really was like for everyone.

When betrayal or heartache feel crushing—especially when there are feelings of collusion with an abusive perpetrator—shame often steps in. Shame pretends to be powerful, as though it can prevent bad things from ever happening again. This was the motive of the propaganda posters – if we stir up enough collective shame, it will unthinkable for the unthinkable to happen again.

There are two problems here, one more obvious and one more subtle.

The more obvious problem is that bad things still happen. No amount of shaming or fear-mongering can stop them from happening. It’s a hard-to-accept truth that our human existence in this fallen world is indeed that vulnerable that we cannot actually stop bad things from happening.

The more subtle problem is the opening line: “Shame can never do what grief can do.” In the face of unspeakable harm, it feels far easier to seize control of the situation with shame and fear. But shame and fear do not allow space for grieving to happen. Maybe that’s why they are so appealing to so many for so long.

Neither this woman nor I are faulting the massive wave of shame that tends to follow the storms of trauma. How do you face the heartache of something as big as the Holocaust? It feels impossible. It’s easier to cast blame or to attempt seizing power over the situation. These ways of coping and bypassing the atrocities make sense – for a while anyway. Over time, they become increasingly unbearable. Healing cannot happen without facing and grieving the harm and the loss.

There is a reason why we Catholics fruitfully meditate on the “Sorrowful Mysteries” rather than the “Shameful Mysteries.” Shame can never do what grief can do. Our tears and grief become the very path of redemption and restoration. There are no Glorious Mysteries without the Sorrowful Mysteries. There is no Resurrection Sunday without the agony of Good Friday, and without the waiting of Holy Saturday.

In the Beatitudes (Matthew 5:4), Jesus teaches that those who grieve and mourn will be comforted. The Greek actually says “paracleted.” The Holy Spirit anoints the brokenhearted, if we will allow ourselves to abide in our heartache and receive divine remedy. He brings comfort, encouragement, and peace. God’s love heals.

This healing does not mean that the heartache goes away! It brings love and truth, meaning and purpose into the midst of what had seemed to be only chaos and absurdity. Jesus reveals himself as Lord even in the darkest places of our heart. I find, in fact, that the more glimpses and tastes I receive of the goodness of God, the more I will suffer in aching for more. I see the same experience in the lives of the Saints and the prayer of any great mystic in our spiritual Tradition.

So what does happen when others kindly witness my heartache, and the Holy Spirit anoints me in my grief? The most important change is that I am no longer alone. What once was trapped in isolation and fragmentation is now set free. What was frozen begins to thaw (which sometimes hurts!). What was rigid and inflexible can now flow and move toward wholeness and connection. I begin to experience love and communion in places which (I thought) love could not possibly enter. Only love did enter. That’s the entire point of Jesus’ rescue mission – to become flesh and go to the deepest places of human agony, conquering with a love that is both human and divine. Jesus duped the devil, concealing his glory in human flesh and bringing his love into the depths of sin and death.

Without Jesus’ suffering, death, and burial, the dark side of our human existence is indeed unbearable. Now, however, no matter how deep I go into my own heartache or the heartache of another, I will discover that Jesus is already there. He’s already descended deeper. He’s already issued the summons to come to the heavenly wedding celebration, in which all God’s scattered children, and all the scattered fragments of our hearts, will be gathered at table for the feast. Then, at long last, there will be no more weeping and no more death.

In the meantime, on our pilgrim journey through this “valley of tears,” grief becomes a guide far more reliable than shame. Shame will show up – especially in the wake of abuse, betrayal, or atrocity. Shame helps us to survive – for a while. Then it begins to isolate us, exhaust us, deplete us, and slowly kill us. We can appreciate how hard our shame has worked to try to protect us from agonizing heartache. Then, if we dare, we can ask it to take a seat and allow grief to do what only grief can do.

Blessed are those who grieve. They will be comforted.