Joseph T. LaBelle, OMI
Confidence in God’s ultimate goodness and enduring providence is considered a concrete expression of the theological virtue of hope.[1] Present in the early ministerial life of Saint Eugène de Mazenod (1782-1861), this quality was further strengthened at several moments during his years as bishop of Marseilles (1837-1861) and is indicative of his growing spiritual maturity. This article examines the attribute more deeply as manifested throughout de Mazenod’s ministerial life.[2]
Before delving into his later period, it will first be helpful to consider briefly several earlier moments of de Mazenod’s life which facilitated his long-resisted embrace of God’s plan for him in the episcopacy.
The foundation of de Mazenod’s early confidence in divine love
The roots of Bishop de Mazenod’s confidence in God were already established in young adulthood. Following a period of spiritual tepidity, his spiritual reawakening between 1805 and 1807 brought him an experience of God who had patiently and mercifully awaited the young Eugène’s return. A retreat journal entry from several years later recounts this experience.
I looked for happiness outside of God and for too long with resulting unhappiness…. [But afterward]…never was my soul more satisfied, never did it feel such happiness…[;] my soul took wings for its last end, towards God its only good…. Blessed, a thousand times blessed, that he, this good Father, notwithstanding my unworthiness, lavished on me all the richness of his mercy.[3]
With this memory in mind, de Mazenod reflected considerably upon what would be his remarkable way of expressing confidence in God – through abandonment to the mysterious plan of divine providence.
Have I taken as a model in this total, absolute abandonment this divine Master who only acted…to give me the example of what I should do? Hardly… I have too much fear of failure, I do indeed pray a little, but not enough, not as if I were counting on prayer, as the foundation…. Yet nothing could be more reasonable than to abandon myself entirely to God in my needs as in my enterprises. He knows my needs, he is my Father and omnipotent Father. He directs everything in the universe; the smallest insect does not die except by his will…. Yes, even for life’s needs, for the successful outcome of undertakings, for everything in a word; his tenderness will provide for it if my trust is without limits….
This trust, abandonment, is even a duty for it renders glory to God[;] for glory being an appreciation accompanied with love and praise, we cannot find a better way to indicate this appreciation, love, praise to God than by abandoning ourselves entirely and with a perfect submission to his will. It is the grace, O my God, that I am asking you for. I feel that over and above these determining and peremptory reasons, there is one that I must not overlook: It is that without this abandonment, I will never possess my soul in peace.[4]
The practice of spiritual abandonment does not mean to cast one’s fate to the wind. It rather means to put into practice the belief that God’s love for us will be found through the joys and sorrows, the freedoms and limitations of daily life, and that embracing the divine plan for us in every moment is a sign of spiritual maturity. Jean-Pierre de Caussade popularized this practice in the eighteenth-century work, L’abandon à la providence divine (Abandonment to Divine Providence, also known as the Sacrament of the Present Moment); and it continues to influence many Christians today. De Caussade regarded the practice of abandonment as akin to a virtue; it also gives expression to one’s confidence in God, a concrete practice of the theological virtue of hope typical of a Christian disciple.
Numerous moments in de Mazenod’s early ministry and in the first decade of his missionary society tried his sense of confidence in God. A time of crisis came in 1823 following his acceptance of the position of diocesan co-vicar for the sake of his elderly uncle, the bishop of Marseilles.[5] It was a thankless grind of fostering church reform within a resistant diocese, notably among its clergy. Toward the end of a spiritual retreat, Eugène revealed his gritty determination to resume his responsibilities:
… [I]n two days’ time I will find myself once more in contact with it. I must resume my post. This will be, I hope, again to do my duty there…. [T]here was never a reform without hurting, wounding plenty of people! No matter; have God alone before us, the honor of his Church, the salvation of the souls entrusted to us…. But one must have much virtue to sacrifice one’s peace for one’s duty, to face the hatred and persecution of men precisely so as to do good for men. This virtue is acquired and conserved only by union with God, prayers and meditation, etc., walking always before God and keeping one’s eyes on heaven alone and its rewards which are none other than God himself.[6]
A perilous beginning for Eugène as Bishop of Icosia
Perhaps the most striking example of this attribute is found in the long drama that surrounded the Founder’s episcopal appointment and the roiling controversy that followed.
The French Revolution, erupting at the close of the eighteenth century, continued for many decades to influence French society and its relationship with the Church. The 1830 political upheaval, which resulted in the overthrow of the Bourbon monarch Charles X by the progressive favorite King Louis Philippe, upset a government compromise that had been in place from the 1815 restoration of the French monarchy. Bishop Fortuné de Mazenod, a royalist by his noble birthright, now in his mid-eighties and depending upon the assistance of his two Oblate diocesan vicars, was losing the necessary physical stamina to navigate his diocese through the ceaseless political acrimony. When the government revealed in February 1832 that the diocese and its troublesome bishop might incur suppression as a solution to his recalcitrance, Fortuné conceived a plan that would hopefully thwart the danger by suggesting that Eugène be named as bishop of a diocese outside France and return to assist him in Marseilles. His reason was threefold: Eugène could serve as an assistant for the demands of the uncle’s episcopal ministry and better aid in defending the diocese from government pressures. Perhaps the most compelling reason for him, however, was to have a worthy bishop “in the wings” and ready to assume the Marseilles episcopacy when the elderly prelate would ultimately relinquish his office, thus avoiding a vacant see and inviting suppression of the ancient diocese.
The difficulty was that the French government had a voice in approving episcopal appointments, a centuries-old practice that the post-revolutionary government insisted upon continuing. Fortuné wrote to Pope Gregory XVI shortly afterward with an earnest appeal that Eugène be ordained bishop, without government knowledge, for the sake of the Marseilles diocese and the autonomy of the Church. The pope approved the plan; Eugène, who had been recovering from an illness outside the diocese, was called to Rome during that summer under a veil of secrecy where the plan was explained to him. To circumvent the French government approval, he would be ordained in Rome as bishop of Icosia (in the mission territory of Tunisia and Tripoli); he would then return to Marseilles to assist his uncle and otherwise secure the future of the diocese.[7]
Upon his presbyteral ordination Eugène had vowed never to pursue an ecclesiastical career; since the pope had mandated this step, however, Eugène was able to reconcile an episcopal appointment in light of the pressing needs of the Marseilles diocese, the Church, and the survival of the Missionary Oblate congregation.[8] Eugène nonetheless feared his lack of holiness for the office, a quality that had been heavily emphasized in his French priestly spirituality. He mentions his concern several times among the available letters and journal entries around this time of his ordination retreat. After reviewing the earlier years of priestly ministry and what he considered a lukewarm state of zeal due to his numerous obligations as diocesan vicar, Eugène noted:
And even so it is in this state of affairs I am called suddenly to receive the plenitude of the priesthood…[,] my good God! If you had not accustomed me to the traits of your infinite mercy, if already you had not inspired in my heart a gentle trust, there would be every reason to draw back with horror…. [E]verything you have done for me in the course of my life is too present to my memory, I feel again still today too vividly the effects…. As always, nothing happens to me that you have not willed, and my happiness and my joy will be always to do your Will.[9]
To be noted are his recollection of where God had graced him in the past and of finding his greatest joy in cooperating with the divine plan. These are reinforced in a letter he wrote during those days to Tempier, his Oblate confrère and co-vicar of Marseilles.
It is enough for you to know that God in his goodness is helping me as usual… [that] he is revealing himself as he is, infinitely good, infinitely merciful, every time I approach him; that he is purifying my heart, illuminating my feeble understanding, stirring up my will and bringing it to perfection; that I am happy in his presence… Thus, whether my thoughts go to the immensity of God’s goodness that he has accompanied me from childhood…or whether I meditate on the interior workings of grace…or whether I reflect on my sins…[,] I know all the time that it is my Father who is in heaven I am dealing with, who has at his right hand his Son Jesus Christ, our Savior, who is our advocate, our mediator, who never ceases to make intercession for us…. I think I can say that I am firmly resolved… so to conform myself to God’s will that not a single fibre of my being will knowingly swerve from it.[10]
Eugène’s firm resolution of trust in God’s way was tested shortly following his October 1832 episcopal ordination, a peril that would last for more than four years. Behind his ordination were three distinct sets of intentions which would collide and over the next few years try his confidence in God’s guidance in his personal life. The bishop of Marseilles astutely presented Eugène’s appointment as a way to secure the continuation of his diocese after his death and to provide an auxiliary bishop to aid in the ordinary episcopal diocesan duties. Pope Gregory XVI shared his concern for the leadership of the Marseilles diocese that would soon become vacant, given Fortuné’s age; at a more strategic level, the bishop was also notably concerned for the overall welfare of the Church in France during a period which was threatening its security and autonomy. Eugène, meanwhile, resigned himself to accepting his episcopal appointment to aid his uncle and ultimately the good of the Church by securing the future of the ancient see of Lazarus; he was also keen to protect the future of his still-fledgling missionary congregation. These three separate motivations would not easily coexist over the next several years and almost proved disastrous for the new bishop.
Eugéne initially managed to avoid drawing excessive attention to his episcopal status, but that did not last. Some members of the government had already been ill-disposed to Eugène and became piqued that he had been ordained without government consent. Aided by disaffected members of the diocesan clergy, they eventually composed a collection of exaggerations, half-truths, and lies against the new bishop. Most serious was the accusation that he supported a group that was sympathetic to the exiled king, the Bourbon Charles X. A formal complaint was lodged with the Holy See that Eugène’s purported “Carlist” activities had placed him in poor standing with the government as a politically dangerous person, subject to legal sanction. The result was that the pope suddenly recalled Eugène to Rome in the summer of 1833 with no reason given.
De Mazenod waited for some days with this mystery before finally being admitted to a papal audience, where the initial accusations were explained to him. Some days later, these were coupled with an even greater menace for Eugène: The government contended that the new bishop had been ordained to serve in the mission lands rather than in France where he had no civil authorization to minister. Ineligible for the normal government salary paid to bishops, Eugène could therefore be considered as lacking a means of ministerial employment, making him vulnerable to losing his French citizenship and being exiled from his native land.[11] Eugène with his characteristically Provençal temperament was immediately ready for the legal battle, noting to Tempier that “we will have a little something to say.”
More difficulty was to follow, however. A note from Tempier informed him that his perilous legal position could easily provoke a confrontation at the French border when he tried to enter the country.[12] The pope also insisted that Eugène should remain in Rome for a while, a two-month delay to his return that was aggravated by the French ambassador’s delaying tactics in granting him the needed passport. Having convinced the Roman authorities that the accusations against him were politically motivated and groundless, Eugène was finally able to return to France by mid-December 1833. During his wait, Eugène could not believe that he might, in the end, be kept from episcopal ministry and forced into early retirement or seclusion in a secluded religious community; he nonetheless accepted the prospect as being part of God’s overall plan for the present.[13]
He had initially intended to keep a low profile for the near future by residing in the diocese of Aix, adjacent to that of Marseilles, while seeking to vindicate his reputation in the courts. Very shortly after his arrival, however, Eugène returned to Marseilles at the behest of his elderly bishop-uncle to assist with advising and the usual episcopal duties of sacramental celebration and pastoral visits. His increased diocesan activity in August 1833 inevitably drew the attention of authorities who, enacting a poorly-applied law from an 1808 provision of the Napoleonic code, struck his name from the election roll (signifying his citizenship) in response to his unauthorized ministry and employment.
De Mazenod initiated legal proceedings to challenge the issue against him, the result of which had the effect of drawing disapproval from the Vatican. The pope was fearful of a French legal precedent with damaging consequences for French bishops and issued a rebuke of de Mazenod. Eugène had always possessed a supernatural outlook on Rome and the Church, and was saddened by the prospect of having displeased the pope and placing the French Church more harm’s way. So he volunteered to withdraw his brief despite legal counsel that his case was most likely winnable.[14] In effect, Eugène threw himself into the hands of Providence with the hope that the situation between Paris and Rome would eventually be reconciled.
Alas, that did not occur anytime soon as the government and the Church entered a sort of diplomatic stalemate over the issue. For the next nine months de Mazenod was left in a kind of legal limbo. It was only broken through the intervention of his fellow Oblate Father Guibert, in Paris for another purpose, who was able to initiate a reconciliation with King Louis Napoleon. By mid-September 1835 Eugène was formally reconciled with the government, his episcopacy recognized, and his French citizenship once again secured. At year’s end, he informed his fellow bishop Forbin-Janson in an almost cavalier way that “I am really glad to know that the affair is over. It was the wish of the Sovereign Pontiff and of all my friends…. Providence has visibly had a hand in it, and I bless him for that, accustomed as I am to allowing myself to be led by his paternal hand.”[15]
An unsolicited appointment to the Marseilles episcopacy
Eugène’s episcopacy having been finally normalized with French authorities, he once again became accustomed to the relative freedom to minister and to lack of administrative responsibility, as is evident in some letters and journal entries. But that was not to last for more than a year and a half when the eighty-eight year-old Fortuné, having secured the succession of his nephew with civil and Roman authorities, submitted his resignation. Scarred by his earlier legal perils wrought by some Marseilles residents and his rejection by others, Eugène had resolutely written earlier that he held neither the intention nor the inclination to become their chief pastor.[16] The moment of Fortuné’s announcement found him ill-prepared for it.
My own consternation must have been in striking contrast with the sentiments my uncle was expressing. This appointment was his doing, he had succeeded in getting all he wanted, he was happy to see his see safe and confided to a man he judged fitted to continue his episcopate…. I was dumbfounded to see myself as it were caught in the trap…. I…have always dreaded the responsibility of a diocese, and was happily content with my independent position in the Church[;]…now here today all this future happiness vanishes. I must submit to this yoke that I have done everything to avoid. The will of God is manifested in a way that cannot be mistaken. And I find myself in a position of not being able to refuse.[17]
Providing a good example of his often mercurial provençal temperament, Eugène in the same writing calmly arrives at reconciliation to the idea, recalling the need to guide the good works already begun in the diocese, the good and security of the Oblate congregation, and the need to actively support those for whom he was responsible.[18]
His correspondence for the next several weeks reveals, however, that he still struggled to accept the weighty responsibility of the appointment and to let go of his earlier idea of a tranquil retirement in an Oblate community. He gradually recalls that divine assistance will come to him, stating in a letter to a government official that “I place all my trust in the Lord and hope that helped by his all-powerful grace and the commitment of my will, I will succeed in fulfilling the task imposed on me and in responding in this way to the King’s trust.”[19] Writing to a friend that the impending responsibilities left him with sadness at having to abandon his earlier dream, and with a dread of the responsibility for souls which a diocesan ordinary accepts, he noted “[I will] have to summon up my inexhaustible trust in God’s goodness” and in the prayerful support of others.[20]
His retreat before assuming possession of the Marseilles see reveals his still-felt distaste at what was being thrust upon him.
Since the die is cast and in spite of all my efforts up to the present to avoid the burden of the responsibility of a diocese, my calculations and hopes have come to nothing…. I must resign myself to it and make the most I can of my new and in my eyes rather sad position.[21]
The young bishop recognized that God’s plan was to take him from a place where he was able to exercise his episcopal ministry chiefly for the sacramental good of others, a much more carefree existence.
I must attach myself to this people as a father to his children. My existence, my life, all my being must be consecrated to it. I must have no thought but for its good, no fears other than I have not done enough for its welfare and sanctification, no other solicitude than that which must include all its spiritual interest and in a certain way its temporal welfare. I must in a word consume myself for it, be ready to sacrifice my leisure, my desire, rest, life itself for it.[22]
His ministry would bring him to confront many obstacles: his perceived lack of holiness, a diocese that largely did not understand the episcopal ministry, and an unusually independent and notably adversarial clergy.
Dear God, when one looks at things with the eyes of faith and with a strong conviction about one’s duties, when one sees the difficulties which conspire against their fulfillment, there is every reason to be discouraged and deterred. However, let us be brave and count on [God’s] grace…. Lord, come to my aid; come yourself to help me…. To you alone it belongs to give strength to my soul; you alone can renew in my depths the sacred fire of your love which must first enkindle fire in my heart, and then pour itself out by my ministry in the souls whom you want to confide in me…[23]
Eugène’s concerns remained with him through the next several months and as he assumed canonical possession of the Marseilles diocese during a Sunday mass of 24 December. His first pastoral letter is dated Christmas day; it echoes his concern for the great pastoral responsibility that a new episcopal ordinary assumes for his people, an obligation not to be taken lightly since he will ultimately appear before the throne of God. Eugène admitted that he would have much need of God’s assistance in his new ministry upon taking up the diocesan mantel, aware that “apprehension and trembling are come upon us, and our soul is very troubled.”[24]
Overall, it is obvious that Eugène resigned himself to the position as one of duty and as an inescapable expression of God’s plan for him; his various writings and correspondence during this period reinforce the clear sense that he had no ambition for the Marseilles episcopacy. His accomplishments over the next decades, however, would reveal how he grew into the vocation and how much he was able to accomplish, always relying on divine assistance.
De Mazenod’s trust in Providence before the continual specter of cholera
Throughout the period of Eugène’s episcopacy, there was always the real possibility of death by various serious diseases; among the most dreaded was cholera. A persistent cholera pandemic had established itself in different areas of France by 1831. The first Marseilles case that was reported in early December 1834 began to subside by the end of the following April; it reemerged with a vengeance at midsummer for several more months before once again subsiding. The disease again developed in 1849 for a short time, and yet again in 1854.[25] Though it was to be found in different areas throughout the region of Provence, city and large village populations were especially susceptible. The dense mid-city population and poor sanitation of Marseilles meant that the disease, once reemerged, could quickly spread and victimize its population with virtually no knowledge of vaccination and no access to antibiotic treatments that modern readers take for granted.
The early cholera outbreak had become a particular pastoral concern for Eugène by mid-March 1835. He noted in a letter his belief that he was surviving only through divine assistance, writing that “Every day I had to visit a number of the sick in the hospitals and private houses. God was always my help, and so not for me is the palm, so much desired, of the martyrdom of charity.” He maintained a positive attitude toward God’s way in the world despite the malfeasance he had endured which continued to jeopardize his citizenship; the citizens’ experience of faith reinforced his sense that “Ever since I came into the world, God has led me by the hand; he has had me accomplish so many things for his glory…. God will be my sole reward, as he is already my sole strength, my only hope.”[26]
The 1849 recurrence of the illness happened at a time when the now sixty year-old bishop had already experienced many instances of what he considered to be God’s guidance and providence in his life. One notes an attitude in Eugène which had developed into what has traditionally been called “spiritual indifference,” his inner freedom and courage to serve victims according to the love of Christ while leaving health implications to the plan of divine providence. He had survived an almost fatal attack of typhus during his early years of ministry as he desired to spend himself as a visible sign of Jesus’ love for those in need. While being delayed near Paris awaiting the birth of his nephew, he wrote to Tempier:
You know me well enough to be convinced that the least thought of fear did not even enter my mind[.] I have all my life desired to die as a victim of charity. You know that this crown was withheld from me…. The Lord had his designs since He wanted to trust me to give a new family to His Church…. Now that the work that God has called me to is done, what could be a more happy event for me than to die, especially if the sacrifice of my life were to be accepted not only as expiation for my sins, but as a holocaust to the Lord, to appease God’s anger and to turn away God’s scourge from my people and especially from our priests whose life is so precious.[27]
One senses here that Eugène had the courage to die for love of God and his spiritual flock if necessary, evoking the New Testament image of Jesus as the self-sacrificing High Priest, a central theme in his nineteenth-century formation for the priesthood.
De Mazenod continued to show this willingness to trust in God’s care for him shortly after the 1854 recurrence of the illness, and to concurrently reveal his concern for “his children,” his brother Oblates who were called once again to minister among the affected population. He writes in several letters to reassure his readers that he is doing well without significantly changing things such as ministry schedule or even modifying his diet as was commonly done,[28] despite reporting to another that more than one hundred Marseillais had died the previous day.[29] He was not, however, unduly cavalier in his zeal; he noted in several letters that one must exercise at least some prudence in the face of such a perilous disease.
… [Y]ou must urge those whom you have sent to help the people struck down by the plague not to indulge in the slightest apprehension, to place their confidence in God, which ought not to hinder them from taking certain precautions that are à propos…[;] the essential thing is not to allow oneself to be gripped by fear.[30]
Conclusion
Bishop Eugène de Mazenod’s confidence in God, tested and refined many times over the years, was for him an essential attribute of his personal view of the “apostolic man” and a continual exercise of what is found in his cherished Oblate rule, to be “full of confidence in God.”[31] As evident in many letters to Oblate sons and others, he would frequently exhort them to have the same confidence as an effective way of giving oneself unreservedly to God.
Our study of de Mazenod’s maturing confidence in God also suggests several interesting points worth the consideration of contemporary Oblates and anyone who takes Saint Eugène as a model:
1) Personal experience of God’s place in one’s life, and of God’s undying love, is essential! One might become convinced in this love only in retrospect. This was true for Eugène; those who emulate him might also take the time to “look back” over their lives and in so doing find the basis for a deeper trust in God’s providence.
2) The above experiences reveal the bishop’s gradual acceptance and wrestling with what he saw as God’s plan for him; our hesitations, particularly among the less spiritually mature, are not so strange as we seek to prudently interpret the Spirit’s activity in our lives at a given moment.
3) Eugène’s gradually maturing trust in divine Providence, along with an “inner eye” more habitually attuned to some of the divine ways, enabled him to throw himself into the maelstrom, uncertainty, and the “fog” which life sometimes presents, moments when one is called to trust the Spirit’s guidance.
4) Confidence in God does not mean a passive acceptance of one’s circumstances, as evident in de Mazenod’s feisty responses and actions toward the government charges against him. God works through the strengths of our personality, while, often through the same experiences, seeking to refine the weaknesses.
“Confidence in God” was an expression of Jesus’ filial love and trust in his Father’s love for him, a dynamic indicator of the theological virtue of hope. Saint Eugène de Mazenod endeavored to follow the example of Jesus in his tireless service to the Gospel. May Saint Eugène’s example strengthen our individual confidence in God’s love for us in service to our Christian discipleship, as witnesses to the risen Christ who journeys with us in our particular lives and vocations.
Rev. Joseph T. LaBelle, OMI is a professor of spiritual theology at Oblate School of Theology.