Image: Christ Washing the Disciples’ Feet by Garofalo, ca. 1520/25, in the public domain from the National Gallery of Art Patrons’ Permanent Fund.

Readings for the Sixth Sunday of Easter can be found here.

We are drawing near to the end of the Easter season, as next Sunday we will celebrate Jesus’s Ascension, with the following Sunday devoted to the coming of the Holy Spirit at Pentecost. Our gospel passage from John Chapter 14 today foreshadows this when Jesus mentions the Father will send another Advocate, the spirit of truth. Likewise, our first reading from the Acts of the Apostles also highlights the Holy Spirit, recounting that Peter and John prayed for the Samaritans to receive the Holy Spirit, and they did (Acts 8:14-18).

Yet if our eyes are looking ahead to Pentecost in a fortnight, nonetheless the immediate context for today’s gospel actually places us within the Last Supper discourse, with Jesus celebrating the Passover with his disciples. The previous chapter of John features the account of Jesus washing the disciples’ feet, and we find a common theme extending throughout these chapters and presented by Jesus in the foot-washing: “I give you a new commandment: love one another. As I have loved you, so you also should love one another” (13:34) and echoed later: “This is my commandment: love one another as I love you” (15:12-13).

This theme is crucial as we consider Jesus’s words that bookend today’s gospel. First, “If you love me, you will keep my commandments” ( John 14:15) and then, towards the end, “Whoever has my commandments and observes them is the one who loves me” (John 14:20). The interesting wordplay is almost like a logic puzzle; we could spend hours reflecting on the phrasing of these sentiments and how they differ–why they were presented again in a different formula. We add another piece to consider when we hear Jesus emphasizing that his commandment is to love one another.

The focus on love might seem to accord well with modern sentiment; from Valentine’s Day to the plethora of rom-coms to the words of Taylor Swift: “don’t we try to love love?” Yet contemporary and secular understandings generally pale in comparison to Jesus’s robust understanding of love: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends (John 15:13). This love is not primarily about warm, fuzzy feelings or sweet words, but a choice to sacrifice one’s desires or needs for another’s good.

Very often we hear moral advice that pits “love” against “commands” or dismisses moral rules in favor of “love.” Sometimes it’s even phrased in terms of “being authentic.” Yet, what our Church teaches us is that the rules or commands are meant to facilitate our love and our freedom. True freedom and love are not found in capricious choices based on the haphazard whims or fluctuating emotions of life, but on the intentional decision to follow Christ and to love as he loved, despite the cost. Jesus’s own words confirm this: “the world must know that I love the Father and that I do just as the Father has commanded me” (John 14:31). Here Jesus does not announce that he lacks freedom, but shows that freedom is doing out of love what the Father commands. We hear it again in the Garden of Gethsemane: “Father, if you are willing, take this cup away from me; still, not my will but yours be done” (Luke 22:42).

One interesting consideration here – appropriate since the gospel passage is part of the Last Supper discourse, linked to the Eucharist – is the Sunday Mass obligation. The Church requires Catholics who are able to attend Mass on Sunday. This is not intended as a restriction on our freedom, but as a way of facilitating our freedom to love God and one another. Some may suggest that the important task in life is just to love each other, not to sit in a pew for an hour on Sundays. Yet it is precisely the communal celebration of the Eucharist that is uniquely able to sustain us for the task of sacrificial love. Others may say that “they don’t feel like it” and thus it’s hypocritical or inauthentic to attend Mass. Of course, the ideal is to want to go, to attend Mass out of heartfelt desire, motivated by love for God. Yet, the choice to attend Mass when we aren’t feeling it demonstrates a sacrificial love born of commitment: “not my will but yours be done.”

In fact, we have many obligations that ought to be occasions for loving and serving others: our daily professional work, our presence with our family, our daily tasks of life. Often we fall short of the intention of loving, sacrificial service. However, few of us will decline sending the email, taking out the garbage, getting up with a sick child at night, or brushing our teeth because we just aren’t feeling the true motivation of love. Instead, we remain committed to our duties and seek to rectify our intention as best we can, reminding ourselves why we do what we do.

And this is where we can return to Jesus’s promise of the Holy Spirit. The Holy Spirit helps us to love and to keep the commandments. Of course we will not always have perfect intention, and we will often fail at loving as Jesus loved. We sometimes will choose to sin, whether because we aren’t recollected and purposeful or because we just want to do what we want, without reference to what God calls us to do. We may feel like hypocrites: able to make ourselves go to Mass out of obligation, but nonetheless sinful and impatient with others. Yet even this flaw reminds us of our dependence upon God for redemption. We have already been saved by Jesus’s choice for the cross, the will fully aligned with the Father’s will: “Put to death in the flesh, he was brought to life in the Spirit,” as we hear today in 1 Peter 3:18.

Through that love, we are redeemed in the resurrection that we still celebrate in this Easter season. Our sins do not lead us to despair, but to healing repentance and conversion. And we are not left alone, but sustained by Jesus’s body and blood, soul and divinity in the Eucharist. We are guided by the Holy Spirit, who will help us to love God by following his commands, and in this, we will find the freedom of friendship with God.

While we are still awaiting Pope Leo XIV’s first social encyclical, he has already started to reflect on the tensions between AI’s growing influence on daily life and the Christian understanding of the person. The Pope thinks that AI “offers great opportunities, but it is also fraught with danger,” because it “raises serious concerns about its possible repercussions on humanity’s openness to truth and beauty, and capacity for wonder and contemplation.”

In his “Message for the 60th World Day of Social Communications,” Pope Leo offers a clear-eyed and stark judgment on the current moment:

By simulating human voices and faces, wisdom and knowledge, consciousness and responsibility, empathy and friendship, the systems known as artificial intelligence not only interfere with information ecosystems, but also encroach upon the deepest level of communication, that of human relationships. The challenge, therefore, is not technological, but anthropological. Safeguarding faces and voices ultimately means safeguarding ourselves. Embracing the opportunities offered by digital technology and artificial intelligence with courage, determination and discernment does not mean turning a blind eye to critical issues, complexities and risks.

In the message, Pope Leo spells out the risks of AI in great detail:

• “Algorithms designed to maximize engagement on social media… reward quick emotions and penalize more time-consuming human responses such as the effort required to understand and reflect… [Thus], these algorithms reduce our ability to listen and think critically, and increase social polarization.”

• By relying in a naive and unquestioning way on AI and treating it as “as an omniscient ‘friend,’ a source of all knowledge, an archive of every memory, an ‘oracle’ of all advice… [We] erode our ability to think analytically and creatively, to understand meaning and distinguish between syntax and semantics.” While AI is simply using complex algorithms that analyze data and then create well-formed sentences, people mistake its product as an expression of meaningful judgments that are the fruit of intelligent, conscious, and moral deliberation. In the long run, the Pope warns us, “choosing to evade the effort of thinking for ourselves and settling for artificial statistical compilations threatens to diminish our cognitive, emotional and communication skills.”

• A third area of concern pertains to the difficulties that generative AI introduces in distinguishing between what is real and what is simulated. The digital space is now inundated with videos, images, and “persons” that are not real but created by automated agents instead. This is a problem in and of itself, but it is made even graver by the fact that such simulated realities influence public debates and individual choices. “Chatbots based on large language models (LLMs),” Leo warns us, “are proving to be surprisingly effective at covert persuasion through continuous optimization of personalized interaction. The dialogic, adaptive, mimetic structure of these language models is capable of imitating human feelings and thus simulating a relationship.” The result, he concludes, is that “they can become hidden architects of our emotional states and so invade and occupy our sphere of intimacy.” It is hard to escape the judgment that, ultimately, the AI labs and the myriad of companies that are starting to use their technology are exploiting and monetizing people’s psychological vulnerabilities to maximize interaction and nudge users to use more of their features and purchase more of their content. According to the Pope, more and more we will be tempted to “substitute relationships with others for AI systems that catalog our thoughts, creating a world of mirrors around us, where everything is made ‘in our image and likeness.’” As a society, we have started to reckon with what happens when screens and social media take an oversized space in people’s lives, imaginations, and habits. We should apply the wisdom gained from these hard lessons and apply it to the challenges posed by AI so as to avoid falling into fabricated parallel realities that usurp our faces and voices.

• Finally, Pope Leo alerts us to the problem of bias. “AI models,” he explains, “are shaped by the worldview of those who build them and can, in turn, impose these ways of thinking by reproducing the stereotypes and prejudices present in the data they draw on.” Since such commitments and perspectives remain covert and implicit, though, they nudge in ways that are surreptitious and concerning.

All of this leads us to the problem of using AI in educational settings. Learning to read, consider, study, discuss, and write about important texts and ideas is an essential component of the intellectual and moral formation at the heart of education. This is especially true for Catholic institutions that wish to embody the Church’s vision of formation as the creation of an environment where students “freely associate with their teachers in a common love of knowledge” that steers them towards “searching for, discovering, and communicating truth” (Ex Corde Ecclesiae, no. 1). The Church teaches that the classroom should be a place where both students and teachers grow in their ability “to wonder, to understand, to contemplate, to make personal judgments, and to develop a religious, moral, and social sense” (Gaudium et Spes, no. 59). None of this is possible by outsourcing the work necessary to develop our intellectual and moral abilities to AI.

Paul Scherz and Brian Patrick Green call this process deskilling: “the person never acquires or fails to maintain the habits and skills necessary to act well because many activities are taken over by machine.” Of all the problems spelled out above, this is the most pressing in the context of education. Reading, writing, conversing, arguing, thinking, creating, evaluating, and disagreeing (just to name a few of the tasks that people may now outsource to AI) are not simply technical skills. They have moral salience and touch on constitutive human elements. In fact, these abilities are important for the development of virtue such that deskilling in this area easily leads to what Scherz and Green call “de-virtuing,” a fundamental impairment of human development and moral growth. Pope Leo is very aware of this issue: “Just as all the muscles in the body die if we do not use them, if we do not move them, the brain needs to be used, so our intelligence, your intelligence, needs to be exercised a little so as not to lose this ability.” He even explicitly told students to refrain from using AI to do their homework and urged priests to keep preparing their own homilies!

Considering all the problematic features of AI, I think that we should severely limit it (if not outright ban it) in educational settings so as to cultivate the intellectual, moral, and social skills that human beings need to develop and flourish. These are the ones that, in turn, may allow people to find ways to eventually use AI in ethical ways that serve the common good, protect human dignity, and encourage authentic and integral development. Without spaces that cultivate our humanity and allow it to grow in virtue, though, it is hard to imagine a future where AI is used for the good rather than to simply accelerate our societal ills. Niall Ferguson has suggested that, while living in today’s world is akin to operating a starship, it is essential for education to still function as a cloister where the time and space to develop our intellectual and moral virtues is carved out. Catholic institutions, the Pope tells us, are primed to create such a space to “teach young people to use these tools with their own intelligence, ensuring that they open themselves to the search for truth, a spiritual and fraternal life, broadening their dreams and the horizons of their decision making.” Without such a humanistic formation, he continues, we will grow blind to “the logic behind economics [of AI], [and the] embedded biases and forms of power that shape our perception of reality. Within digital environments — structured to persuade — interaction is optimized to the point of rendering a real encounter superfluous; the otherness of persons in the flesh is neutralized, and relationships are reduced to functional responses.” In contrast, Pope Leo urges us to “return to the reasons of the heart, to the centrality of good relationships and to the ability to get closer to others, without excluding anyone.”

Here are a few highlights from the conversation:

Editor’s Note: This post is part of an ongoing collaboration with the Journal of Moral Theology curated by the journal’s Associate Editor Alessandro Rovati. For more conversations with the journal authors and responses to their essays, check out HERE.

Yet there is one issue that has received little serious attention from Catholics: democracy.

This is surprising because there is strong evidence that democracy is declining in many other parts of the world. “No Kings” has become the focus of protests against the Trump administration in the U.S. Political analysts on the right and left have shown the rise of authoritarianism in countries across the globe. Scholars note that, today, authoritarian regimes are more likely to come to power not by military coup but by election. Then, using legal means, those in power dismantle democratic institutions within government, disempower other social institutions, and disregard democratic norms. Some even argue that the U.S. can no longer be called a democracy, though certainly, other countries have moved even further from democratic norms.

But is this the concern of Catholics or is it enough to call out violations of human rights and dignity, as Catholics are doing when they stand up for immigrants and the poor, and call for an end to war? Is it our business to talk about political systems?

Pope Leo seems to think so. In a speech this month to the Pontifical Academy of Social Sciences as they gathered to discuss, “The Uses of Power: Legitimacy, Democracy and the Rewriting of the International Order,” the pope said that “legitimate power finds one of its highest expressions in authentic democracy … [which] recognizes the dignity of every person and calls each citizen to participate responsibly in the pursuit of the common good.” He quotes St. John Paul II’s affirmation of democracy in Centesimus Annus (1991) and echoes his caution that democracy must be “rooted in the moral law and a true vision of the human person.”

It’s not just Pope Leo and Pope John Paul II. Throughout modern Catholic social teaching, there are affirmations of the essential elements of democracy, including the rule of law, a balance of powers, and popular sovereignty which are linked to CST principles of human dignity, subsidiarity, and participation. In the early 20th century, the Catholic church was agnostic about forms of government and lent its support to authoritarian regimes. But in the mid-20th century, with help from John Courtney Murray and Jacques Maritain, it came to embrace democracy as the imperfect best option for politics. And it kept insisting that authentic democracy had to be linked to basic truths, most importantly human dignity and human rights.

All of this might sound abstract, depending on who you are and where you live. I spent much of the fall semester in El Salvador, where authoritarian government means: a mix of armed police and military patrolling streets, shops, and parks; changes to the Constitution to reduce the power of their legislative body and extend presidential terms indefinitely; over 80,000 people in prison without due process. While grateful for streets no longer ruled by gang violence, the vast majority now live in fear of offending the government and joining the 80,000 incarcerated under President Bukele’s “state of exception,” who have little hope of ever getting out. All of this makes speech, protest, and political advocacy too dangerous to take up, except for the very brave.

Living under advanced authoritarianism in El Salvador while reading about democratic decline in the U.S. convinced me of the urgency of political activism here. Democracy does not guarantee human dignity or human rights but, without it, it is nearly impossible to fight for either. Catholics legitimately claim the freedom to choose their political party, but we should all care about democracy, because it aspires to limit the power of sovereigns, affirm the rule of law, balance powers within government, and respect human dignity by giving people voice and vote.

And if tempted to despair about its imperfections and decline, we should, as Leo suggests, ground our hope in the “Kingdom of God.” Not via a distorted Christian Nationalism that seeks to integrate church and government. Instead, with a healthy sense of the limits of politics, we can work for a more authentic democracy, where “the logic of charity” trumps the logic of fear.

My students learn pretty quickly in my classes that moral theology is a lot more complicated, involved, and profound than they expected it to be when they walked in the door on the first day. I give a little pre-quiz in many of my classes, and one of the questions asks what they expect to learn in class. “Right and wrong,” many of them will say. “What is forbidden for us to do.”

They want clear answers to specific questions - and let me also be clear: by the time they leave my bioethics class (for example) they should have a basic understanding of the Church’s teachings about life and death issues, the principle of double effect, and the kinds of yeses and nos they probably expected in that first week.

But I also hope they have a much broader understanding and engagement of moral theology than that - and this week’s Gospel offers one of the reasons why.

The Gospel events this week take place during John’s account of the Last Supper. In the previous chapter 13, Jesus has washed the disciples’ feet and begun to talk with his disciples. Part of what marks out his messages to them is that he keeps talking with his disciples about two main things: 1) where he is going; and 2) what the disciples need to do. In chapter 13, actually, he tells the disciples they can’t come with him yet.

But in chapter 14, Jesus begins to tell us a little about where he’s going - and also begins to give hints about how we can follow him.

The central image he offers is the house with many dwelling places, where he will prepare a place for us. Not only that, but Jesus take us back to himself so that in this dwelling place we are in the same place where Jesus is.

I love Thomas’s honest question in this week’s Gospel reading: “Master, we don’t know where you are going; how can we know the way?” His question here is reminiscent of the statement he makes after the resurrection in chapter 20, when he insists that he must put his hands in the marks, and put his finger in Jesus’ side, before he’ll believe Jesus is risen.

Thomas wants what so many of us want, including my students at the beginning of my classes. We want the map to the mansion, the definite details about whether, in fact, it is Jesus who has risen from the dead. He and my students share that in common, that desire to know, and to be sure. How can we get to the mansion if we don’t know the way?

But Jesus resists getting into specific details about where, what, and when, preferring instead to focus on Who. “I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life.” “I am the True Vine.” “I am the Good Shepherd.”

He asks us to know him deeply. When we can do that, then he asks us to live our lives in such a way that we truly do remain in him; love each other as he loves us; lay down our lives for our friends.

First, we need that relationship. Then we discover that loving each other as he loves us is difficult to do. We often miss the mark. And trying to live that way means that in fact, we don’t always know exactly where we are going. Moral theology in some way involves reflection and discovery about who Jesus is, and who we are in response.

But what we also discover is that because we are seeking to remain in Jesus, he is keeping us. As this Sunday’s Gospel says: “I will come back again and take you to myself, so that where I am you also may be.”

In Jesus, we are already walking (without quite knowing exactly all the next steps, but knowing who we follow) on the way home to that dwelling place Jesus has prepared. We seek to act in love - we fail - we seek to act in love again.

As John Henry Newman put it,

We grope about by touch, not by sight, and so by a miserable experience exhaust the possible modes of acting till naught is left, but truth, remaining. Such is the process by which we succeed; we walk to heaven backward…

As a computer scientist, my vocation is to engineer digital technologies. As a Catholic, I desire to do so in a way that genuinely promotes human flourishing and the common good. The recent rapid advances in AI technologies have certainly caused a number of valid social concerns, yet the Catholic Church is not anti-technology. Thus, my fellow Catholic computer scientists and I are hungry for a clear and robust positive ethical vision for AI. Much of the conversation around AI ethics thus far in both the secular and theological realms has clearly articulated AI’s harms. This is important work; however, the positive visions for AI that I have encountered tend to be underdeveloped in comparison to AI’s critiques. In contrast, the volume Reclaiming Agency in the Age of Artificial Intelligence (which I will refer to henceforth as “the volume”) provides a fresh perspective and clear guidance on both the harms to avoid and goods to foster in AI development through the lens of human agency, which proves to be an effective lens for considering these questions.

As a computer scientist, I have contributed to scholarship on ethical technology design, including creating a Catholic Social Teaching-based framework for technology design and developing a design method inspired by virtue ethics. The goal in these works is to redesign interfaces, especially for AI and social media technologies, in ways that encourage virtuous behavior: what design features encourage or hinder the practice of particular virtues? The volume puts forth a clear articulation of when an AI system upholds or violates human agency that has strong consonance with my research. Agency, while not a virtue itself, is what allows us to have the freedom to choose to act virtuously. Thus, designing to foster agency is a precursor to designing to encourage virtue. The volume’s frameworks for determining if an AI system upholds agency can be easily used by any developer wanting to build an ethical AI system.

Additionally, the volume provides the clearest moral guidance I have encountered (and I have read a lot of technology ethics literature!) on three sticky ethical design questions: when nudging is unethical, when we should be concerned about deskilling, and when advertising is harmful.

Nudging, as defined in the volume, is when a design strongly encourages someone to perform a particular action (even if they are not completely coerced to do so). One example mentioned in the volume is a mapping program that routes the user past particular restaurants around lunchtime to encourage them to stop and eat there. We can be nudged towards good behaviors too: my research asks the question, how can we nudge users toward virtue? Thus, the ethicality of nudging is ambiguous. The previous literature I had read on the ethics of nudging focused primarily on whether the nudge has a good or bad intent. While intent is important, it felt insufficient: is it ethical to coerce someone to do a good thing? In contrast, the volume puts forth a more robust framework for determining the ethicality of a nudge through the lens of agency. This framework takes into account not only the ends sought by the nudge but also the modality of nudging and the nudge’s relational context. It is the clearest ethical framework I have encountered for developers to think through the ethicality of their nudges.

Deskilling is the phenomenon of losing our ability to perform tasks when those tasks are replaced by technology. For example, frequent usage of a calculator may impede one’s ability to perform mental math. The majority of technologies deskill us, and it seems concerning that technology could erode our natural human capacities. At the same time, Catholic Social Teaching tells us that technology has a powerful capacity to bring about human flourishing. With its great number of capabilities, AI has an unprecedentedly large capability to deskill us. In deciding what technologies to build and how to build them, technology developers must navigate the tension between technology’s capacity for deskilling and its potential to help forge a better society. The key question, highlighted in the volume, is what marks the difference between good and bad deskilling? Previous literature on the ethics of deskilling by the philosopher Shannon Vallor highlights moral deskilling as the primary concern. While I agree that moral skills are critically important for humans to preserve, we can’t neglect our practical skills! The volume’s framework for determining when to be concerned about deskilling is the most comprehensive I have seen, categorizing tasks into three different levels of caution for outsourcing to AI based on the nature of the task.

Advertising enables many online platforms to be offered as free services. A consequence of online advertising is that, at the service of an unchecked capitalistic mindset, many online platforms build in nudges to keep us hooked on the platforms for as long as possible to show us as many advertisements as possible. This leads to addictive behaviors, consumeristic mindsets, and even manipulation into buying products that one did not previously intend to buy. At the same time, having these platforms be free increases accessibility, and sometimes targeted advertising can be helpful in leading us to products that we genuinely want or need. The volume gives the clearest ethical guidelines on advertising I have seen, articulating when advertising can be genuinely helpful by helping users discover their needs and wants, versus when advertising is manipulative by creating needs and wants.

In multiple of my scholarly outputs, my collaborators and I have highlighted subsidiarity as a particularly salient principle for ethical technology design. Because of this, I greatly appreciated the mention of subsidiarity in the positive vision for AI design and distribution. According to the volume, an AI system that abides by subsidiarity will be more decentralized across a number of different dimensions, including decentralizing the models, the data, the computational capacity, and even the talent developing the AI systems.

I have two minor criticisms of the volume. The first is that AI systems take a diversity of forms, from large language model chatbots to decision-making algorithms. At times, when the term “AI” was used, it was unclear what type of AI system was being referred to. Second, the volume posed universal basic income (UBI) as part of a positive vision for AI. While the pitfalls of UBI were briefly discussed – namely that UBI cannot become merely a handout that undermines human meaning and purpose – I wish its criticisms were discussed in more depth. UBI is often criticized as being a band-aid rather than an actual solution to the social problems caused by AI. I was surprised that that perspective was glossed over.

Overall, I found the volume provided one of the clearest articulations of AI ethics I have encountered, both in articulating the harms of AI and in casting a positive vision for AI. I intend to draw from it in my research and teaching going forward, and believe it will be a powerful resource for anyone in the tech industry who wants to engineer AI that advances, rather than hinders, the common good.

Editor’s Note: For more conversations with the Journal of Moral Theology’s authors and responses to their essays, check out HERE.

Daniel, a 50-year old man living in the Midwest, didn’t have a positive outcome from his experience of immersive AI eyeglasses from Ray-Ban Meta. While it happened gradually, Daniel’s use of AI plunged him into a psychosis that, according to Futurism, “left his life in shambles.”

Meanwhile, on the college campus where I teach, advertisements have started to appear in the coffee shop for “Joey,” an AI Matchmaker service. Marketed to young adults familiar with apps such as Tinder, PURE, and Grindr, Joey promises to understand “your values, your goals, your lifestyle” and apply “logic and reasoning” to find your perfect partner. Doesn’t that sound nice?

Image courtesy of Corazón.svg: User:Fibonacci. This file is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution-Share Alike 3.0 Unported license.

Such is the world college students are navigating today. In such a context, how might Catholic theologians speak meaningfully to students, and what parts of our faith tradition should we engage in this important work? This week marks the one-year anniversary of the death of Pope Francis, and two particular insights from his legacy can guide us fruitfully in our engagement with college students today: accompaniment and the critique of the technocratic paradigm.

First, nonjudgmental listening is key to conversations with college students about how AI is transforming intimate relationships and changing hookup culture. In Evangelii Gaudium, Pope Francis explained the importance of listening as we accompany people in challenging situations today.

“Today more than ever we need men and women who, on the basis of their experience of accompanying others, are familiar with processes which call for prudence, understanding, patience and the docility to the Spirit, so that they can protect the sheep from wolves who would scatter the flock. We need to practice the art of listening, which is more than simply hearing. Listening, in communication, is an openness of heart which makes possible that closeness without which genuine spiritual encounter cannot occur. Listening helps us to find the right gesture and word which shows that we are more than simply bystanders. Only through such respectful and compassionate listening can we enter on the paths of true growth and awaken a yearning for the Christian ideal: the desire to respond fully to God’s love and to bring to fruition what he has sown in our lives.” (EG, 171).

Listening is an important practice; when faculty, parents, and mentors really listen to young people, it opens up possibilities for young adults to name what is happening in their lives. In order for me to understand the kinds of relationships my students desire, and the values they affirm, I need to listen to understand. I can’t simply come into the dialogue with a preformed opinion about what students should think, say, or do. In many ways, this first step aligns with a model of accompaniment and witness that resonates with much of Catholic pastoral approaches to moral dilemmas. Pope Francis described the importance of walking alongside others on the synodal path. This posture is particularly important on college campuses because students are themselves on the front lines of AI tool adoption and experimentation. Listening is important because students already know so much about these tools, including their benefits and their potential for abuse and harm! If we are to have meaningful dialogues about sexual and reproductive health on college campuses, we need to open up honest conversations about what it means to be sexual, embodied persons. Those who are interested in thinking about this in more detail can explore Karen Peterson-Iyer’s Reenvisioning Sexual Ethics: A Feminist Christian Account and Jennifer S. Hirsch and Shamus Khan’s Sexual Citizens: Sex, Power, and Assault on Campus. While these authors do not treat AI and intimacy in these texts, they do explain the importance of holistic sexuality education and dialogue with young people about the confusing messages our culture sends to young people about sex and relationships.

A second key theme from Pope Francis is his suspicion of the technocratic paradigm, evident especially in the third chapter of Laudato Si.

“Humanity has entered a new era in which our technical prowess has brought us to a crossroads. We are the beneficiaries of two centuries of enormous waves of change: steam engines, railways, the telegraph, electricity, automobiles, aeroplanes, chemical industries, modern medicine, information technology and, more recently, the digital revolution, robotics, biotechnologies and nanotechnologies. It is right to rejoice in these advances and to be excited by the immense possibilities which they continue to open up before us, for ‘science and technology are wonderful products of a God-given human creativity.’… Technoscience, when well directed, can produce important means of improving the quality of human life, from useful domestic appliances to great transportation systems, bridges, buildings and public spaces. … Yet it must also be recognized the nuclear energy, biotechnology, information technology, knowledge of our DNA, and many other abilities which we have acquired, have given us tremendous power. More precisely, they have given those with the knowledge, and especially the economic resources to us them, an impressive dominance over the whole of humanity and the entire world. Never has humanity had such power over itself, yet nothing ensures that it will be used wisely, particularly when we consider how it is currently being used.” (LS, 102-104).

Here, the pope describes how technology can be used for good as well as for evil, and directs us to considerations of value, power, and justice. When we consider the testimonies of Angie, Daniel, and “Joey,” we see the problems of some uncritical early adoptions of artificial intelligence, and the repercussions for human-human relationships.

When I asked my students to engage these stories and name what questions came up for them, they asked:

What does Angie talk to Ying about for hours? Does Ying ever challenge or question Angie? Has Angie’s husband been displaced by an AI Companion? Should we use the language of “infidelity” to describe Angie’s actions? How can a human claim to marry an AI companion? How are tech companies benefiting from Angie’s long-term relationship with their “product”? What warning signs of technology addiction did Daniel miss? Who bears responsibility for Daniel’s psychotic break—Daniel (the technology user), witnesses/bystanders to his use, the company who created and sold this product? How can we reliably fact check information we receive from artificial intelligence? What private information will Joey store? Why would I want to talk to a machine about my date/hookup instead of a friend/roommate? Is Joey a mandated reporter if I share an experience of relationship violence? How can I possibly capture everything I’m looking for in a relationship by summarizing that in a phone call with a machine? Why would I trust the logic and reasoning of an AI tool more than my own?

All of these are important questions! Even without drawing explicitly on Pope Francis’s critique of a technocratic paradigm, my students are already developing the skills for thinking critically about how technology can be used for good or evil. The students who had been exposed to Peterson-Iyer’s framework of sexual flourishing and Hirsch & Khan’s understanding of sexual citizenship were also able to explain their concerns about distorted relational intimacy, a lack of mutuality/citizenship, and the inadequacy of a ‘marriage’ that is not an experience of embodied love.

Will some of them keep experimenting with some of these AI tools? I assume so. Students continue to receive lots of messages about how college is a time of self-exploration, building skills, and preparation for adult responsibilities. They manage busy workloads and AI tools can seem “good” when the student thinks they can use the tool to be more “efficient.” Short cuts on writing research papers then undermine their development of writing skills. We may see the same issues in relational intimacy. AI companions tell us what we want to hear. They don’t hold us accountable. They don’t make demands on us. In the same way that students are tempted to ask ChatGPT to write their term paper, the temptation to rely on AI for meeting intimacy needs is very real. Communication has to be practiced; relational intimacy takes time; real human interactions are messy and relationships are often nonlinear. People are complicated. But I think it is important for educators to open up pathways for students to talk about these challenges, ask and answer their own questions, and feel well supported as they wrestle with the impact of AI tools in their lives. Hirsch and Khan explain that our core mission of education includes assisting students in both skills and critical thinking, including in thinking about students’ own sexual projects (or goals for relationships, as described in their book). By accompanying students and listening well, and by affirming students’ critical evaluation of technology and its role in their lives, we enable them to consider and reconsider their own deep values and the real limits of AI tools in advancing healthy relationships.

Here are some of the conversation highlights:

At the heart of our readings for this Sunday is the image of God as a shepherd, which is one of the earliest and most enduring ways Christians have described the person and work of Christ.

We encounter it in our psalm for this week, Psalm 23, in which the Lord is the shepherd, even amid“the darkest valley” (Ps 23:4). In our second reading, 1 Pt 2:20-25, Peter reflects on the passion of Christ, especially how it serves not only as an example for us to follow but also as a source of grace that comes to our aid in times of need and enables us to return to the shepherd and guardian of our souls. And finally, there is Jesus’s identification of himself as the Good Shepherd – one of central images of Jesus in John’s Gospel – an identification that draws deeply on Israel’s scriptures, including Psalm 23.

Interestingly, our Gospel reading begins not with the image of the Good Shepherd itself. It begins with the question of the access point to the sheepfold – the secure, often roofless enclosure where sheep take shelter at night and find protection – and, above all, with a warning. “Very truly, I tell you, anyone who does not enter the sheepfold by the gate but climbs in by another way is a thief and a bandit” (Jn 10:1).

In contrast, the shepherd enters by the gate that the gatekeeper opens, and the sheep recognize him immediately by the familiar sound of his voice. The shepherd, to use a formulation Pope Francis often did, smells like the sheep. He is among them, tending their needs. He feeds them and slakes their thirst, shelters them at night and protects them by day, and cares for them when they are sick. This proximity – this steady, attentive, caring presence – is why the sheep know and respond readily to his voice. When the sheep leave the sheepfold, the shepherd simply walks ahead, and the sheep follow because of this preexisting relationship of familiarity and care (Jn 10:4-5).

Because the disciples did not understand Jesus’s message, we are told that he spoke even more plainly: “Very truly, I tell you, I am the gate for the sheep. All who came before me are thieves and bandits, but the sheep did not listen to them. I am the gate” (Jn 10:7-8). And as we will learn later in this passage, Jesus also says, “I am the good shepherd. A good shepherd lays down his life for the sheep” (v. 11). Jesus, then, is both gate and shepherd – and dual image speaks not only to those who followed him in his own day, but also to us. It teaches something essential about the task of those entrusted with the care of the flock after Jesus’s crucifixion scatters the sheep, and after the power of his resurrection, together with the work of the Holy Spirit through Peter’s preaching, gathers them again and brings new ones into the fold. The lesson is this: even after his ascension, Jesus remains the gate to the sheepfold, as well as the shepherd who cares for those within it. He is the one who still goes ahead of those outside it, and who, as we read in the Gospels of Matthew and Luke, seeks out the lost sheep. He is the one who, when he finds the one who is lost, “lays it on his shoulders and rejoices,” calling others to share in that celebration (Lk 15:1-7; Mt 10:14).

In our reading from Acts, this is Peter’s message: Christ is the gate to the sheepfold, and the way to enter through that gate, Peter says, is through the confession and forgiveness of sins in the name of Jesus Christ. In this case, Peter is speaking to communities whose transgressions are great. He is addressing those who crucified Christ, as well as those who, like himself, abandoned him (Mt 26:69–74; Lk 22:54–62). He is addressing those who, like the other disciples, scattered in fear after the crucifixion. He is speaking to us. For all of us, confession and the forgiveness of sins in the name of Jesus Christ open the gate to God and gather us into the movement of the Holy Spirit in the world.

In our second reading from 1 Peter, the message is that Jesus is the Good Shepherd. The author is very clear: accessing God through the gate of Christ does not free his followers from suffering. We must still walk through dark valleys; we must still live in the midst of enemies and those who would do us harm (Ps 23:4-5). What is promised to us is not freedom from suffering, nor answers to all the difficulties of reality, but the ongoing presence of the Good Shepherd – the one who laid down his life out of love for us and who continues to love us in this way here and now. And this shepherd does more than remain present to us: even now, according to 1 Peter, he gives us the “grace” – the ongoing gift of his empowering and enlivening presence – to love as he loves, to follow his example, and to be healed by it (1 Pt 2:21–24). In doing so, we return “to the shepherd and guardian” of our souls (1 Pt 2:25).

The brother of one of my daughter’s closest friends died tragically this week. In these past days, this family has been in a valley of unfathomable darkness. And yet, in the midst of that darkness, there are signs of the shepherd’s presence: the hope they hold for their son, who went to confession that very morning; the goodness of his life, glimpsed in the many messages and testimonies shared about him; the prayers and masses that his family and their communities have offered on his behalf; and the care and foresight with which the parents have surrounded their daughter – who lost her only sibling – with friends, including my daughter. The world they knew has been plunged into darkness, and they cling to the Good Shepherd.

One of the other key lessons for us from our readings is that we will recognize the followers of Christ and leaders of the church not by how they elevate their own voice and presence, but by how they use that voice and presence to point to Jesus Christ as shepherd and gate. This is what Peter is entrusted to do at the end of John’s Gospel, when Jesus asks him three times, “Do you love me?”

Each time Peter answers yes, Jesus responds: “Feed my sheep” (Jn 21:15-17).

The sheep are Jesus’s; he remains the shepherd and the gate. The role being entrusted to Peter – to care for the flock, to gather those who have been scattered, to go after the lost – begins and ends in being bound to Christ in love. And this is the pattern for all leaders and members of the church: not to replace the shepherd, but to point to him; not to claim the flock as their own, but to serve it like him, in his name. Their task is to continue the shepherd’s work of care and to help cultivate in others an attentiveness to the shepherd’s voice. As Óscar Romero reminds us, the church prolongs the work of the Good Shepherd in the countless people and communities throughout the world who know his voice, share it, and embody his care.

However, we must be on our guard, because there are others in the vicinity of the sheepfold who are neither sheep nor shepherds – those who do not seek the good of the sheep but want the sheep for themselves. To them, the sheep are objects to be possessed and manipulated for their own benefit.

Our Gospel calls these figures “thieves and bandits,” and tells us that we recognize them because they come “only to steal and kill and destroy” (Jn 10:10). They do not regard the sheep as entrusted to their care – a responsibility that would call for devotion, sacrifice, and even risk for the sake of the flock. Rather, they see the sheep as a kind of property to be taken for their own gain.

We see this wherever leaders cozy up to power rather instead of speaking the truth, wherever the Gospel is treated as something to be marketed or sold for gain, wherever fear and division are stirred up to secure loyalty, and wherever people are handled as instruments to serve someone else’s ambition rather than as souls entrusted to their care. These are not the marks of the shepherd. They are the signs of those who would climb in by another way – who take hold of the flock, not to serve it, but to use it for themselves.

In these descriptions from John’s Gospel, we can hear the prophet Ezekiel’s words echoing as he critiques the leaders and kings of Israel. Listen to his censure of Israel’s shepherds: “Woe to you shepherds of Israel who have been feeding yourselves! Should not shepherds feed the sheep? You eat the fat; you clothe yourselves with the wool; you slaughter the fatted calves, but you do not feed the sheep. You have not strengthened the weak; you have not healed the sick; you have not bound up the injured; you have not brought back the strays; you have not sought the lost, but with force and harshness you have ruled them. So they were scattered because there was no shepherd, and scattered they became food for all the wild animals” (Ez 34:2–5). In the prophet’s vision, the flock is not abandoned and scattered by chance. Those entrusted to guard it and lead it are to blame.

According to the prophet Ezekiel, because Israel’s leaders failed to lead the people to the Lord – or to imitate the Lord’s own care for the sheep – the Lord himself must come to search for the sheep, to care for them, and to bring them home: “I will bring them into their own land, and I will feed them on the mountains of Israel… I myself will be the shepherd of my sheep, and I will make them lie down, says the Lord God. I will seek the lost, and I will bring back the strays, and I will bind up the injured, and I will strengthen the weak… I will feed them with justice” (Ez 34:11–16).

Christians believe that Jesus Christ is that shepherd who has come to gather the scattered and lead them into life. “I came that they may have life and have it abundantly,” he says at the conclusion of the Gospel reading for today (Jn. 10:10). Jesus says he came so that people might have life (Gk. zōēn) – not bare, biological existence, but a full, living relationship with God – and have it abundantly (Gk. perisson), a life that overflows beyond what is merely necessary. The phrase suggests life that is rich, whole, and exceeds any ordinary measure.

The good news in our readings for this Sunday is not that God takes away darkness or spares us from having to walk through valleys. Instead, it is the promise of a life so abundant that it can be found even there, in the darkness. It is a life so powerful that it can bring forth life even from death.

The dam is starting to break. Recently we learned that AI programs will apparently be permitted to prescribe medicine. For now, it will be limited to re-authorizations of very common drugs for mental health, but there is no principled reason it will stay here. We also recently learned that one of the world’s leading AI companies, Anthropic (maker of Claude), signed a three-year MOU with the Government of Rwanda committing to deploy AI toward eliminating cervical cancer, reducing malaria, and lowering maternal mortality. Again, for now. There is no principled reason it will stay there.

There are clear goods associated with these moves, especially Anthropic’s move in Rwanda. Indeed, there are Catholic organizations in that country working toward very similar goals.

But, importantly, Reclaiming Human Agency (RCA) equips us to go deeper and ask, “What vision of the good underlies the deployment of these tools?” Having good goals is not the same as having a coherent vision of the good. The missing teleology in Anthropic’s plan, a missing sense of what the human person and health care are for, is not only a concern—but it also reveals a Catholic-sized hole is in Silicon Valley which cries out to be filled. Happily, as I learned at a recent convening at Anthropic with some of their leadership, they are very interested in engaging with Catholics and others on these and related questions.

RCA points out that much of the AI industry sells “freedom from.” Freedom from inefficacy, drudgery, and the mundane. But our tradition insists on “freedom for.” Freedom for love of God and neighbor, virtue, and excellence. RCA’s global point is that AI’s promise to free us risks undermining the very things which build up who human beings with agency are meant to be.

I thought RCA’s worry about “deskilling” in Chapter 6 was of particular relevance. The worry is that we will not just be de-skilled in a technical sense, though that is certainly part of the deal, but moral capacities atrophy as well. Especially those that are developed through practices requiring judgment. This is the deepest and most worrisome form of deskilling and it is of particular concern in health care. RCA notes that, in clinical settings, health risks are increasingly indicated by algorithms and physicians must decide whether and how to act on them. The key question is then raised: are AI mere tools supporting ends that God and human beings have decided upon—or is AI shaping the ends themselves?

Anthropic commitments to Rwanda are not abstract, but are measurable, national targets. They imagine that their health care tools can be used safely and independently by teachers, health workers, public servants, and other regular folks. This is meeting a very serious need, for many communities in Rwanda have difficulty accessing both information and relationships with clinicians on a regular basis.

These are very, very good goals. Goals which, again, are supported by local Catholic groups working in the country. But the number of bioethical issues here abound. Some obvious/classic topics which come to mind map onto issues in AI ethics more broadly: accuracy, safety, informed consent, data security and privacy, etc. But the ideas in RCA help us dig deeper. Here are three concerns I have about these moves that are related to and indeed build on each other.

1. Directive language in clinical AI. In clinical medical ethics, we often worry about “directive” language: that is, when a provider steers a patient toward a particular outcome (sometimes subtly, sometimes not) rather than presenting options neutrally. A classic example is in end-of-life counseling; a physician who says something like “most patients in your situation choose comfort care” is technically presenting options, but practically she is also directing an outcome. This can be problematic for any number of reasons, but most often because it reflects a particular bias of the physician. Employed in health care contexts, the way Claude phrases options, sequences them, frames probabilities, or describes outcomes will inevitably have directive weight. There is no way to ensure a neutral AI presentation in this context. Every design choice embeds a value judgment about what a good outcome looks like.

2. The unlimited options problem. Or the problem of Burger King medicine. The logic of consumer AI in health care tends toward what one might call “radical optionality:” the idea that a good AI health tool gives patients more choices, more information, more access. But this actually undermines the concept of a profession: a practice with internal goods, standards of excellence, and goods that cannot be achieved by just any means. The American Medical Association’s recent and repeated affirmation that physician-assisted suicide is incompatible with the healer’s role is exactly this: medicine has certain constitutive commitments that cannot be traded away for patient preference. A physician is not a vending machine. A medical clinic is not Burger King where the customer “has it their way.” Will Claude limit patient options? If not, this risks undermining the very nature of medicine itself as a profession. If Claude will limit options, then the question becomes: on what basis will those options be limited?

3. Which vision of the good is medicine based on? It certainly would make things easier if there were a neutral, purely rational ground from which we can answer this question. The answers all seem to come from a very particular vision of the good. Again, Anthropic’s goals in Rwanda are very good. But having good goals is not the same as a coherent vision of the good. And this difference matters enormously for how one pursues one’s goals. A purely consequentialist/utilitarian framework insists that we achieve these outcomes by whatever means produces the best aggregate result. But such a framework has well-known implications: it can justify coercive population health interventions, triage systems that deprioritize the less productive, the systematic devaluation of patients whose conditions are expensive to treat, and many, many more very bad things. But then the question arises: if one is not doing a consequentialist/utilitarian analysis, that requires that some means to your good ends will be ruled out. Which vision of the good will be used to do so?

RCA’s turn toward Catholic social teaching’s principle of subsidiarity is directly applicable here. Anthropic has said that the Rwanda partnership prioritizes local autonomy over how new technologies are introduced. This is promising language, but subsidiarity in the Catholic sense means more than local capacity-building. It means that the people most immediately affected should have genuine decision-making authority over how AI shapes clinical encounters in their particular context.

In Rwanda, it is not only the case that the Catholic Church runs a significant share of the health care infrastructure, but Roman Catholicism is the country’s largest religion, with four-in-ten Rwandans claiming it. Catholic institutions have long experienced navigating the tension between technical medicine and the human, relational, spiritual, communal dimensions of healing. They have long worked with the foundational view that not every means to a good end should be pursued.

RCA helps us understand that a Catholic vision in Rwanda would make sure to use Claude only in ways which preserve both health care itself and, in a related story, the authentic agency of those who practice it. In short, it must preserve the notion that health care is a human vocation, a calling from God. Goods external to the practice of health care, including a consequentialist focus on efficiency, must not threaten the goods internal to the practice of health care.

Anthropic’s origin story is one of putting their internal values and ethics ahead of external goods like efficiency, market capture, and financial expediency. This mattered, most recently, in their courageous stand against the Department of War when it came to autonomous weapons and mass surveillance. And, again, they seem quite interested in dialogue with Catholics and others who want to suggest additional ways in which a foundational commitment to a vision of the good means doing things differently. I have hope that their increased influence will create an opening for ideas like those presented in RCA to gain increased traction at this crucial historical moment.

Editor’s Note: For more conversations with the Journal of Moral Theology’s authors and responses to their essays, check out HERE.

· “You know that to the winner belong the spoils. Go for the spoils. I’ve said why don’t we use it to the victor go the spoils.” – Donald J. Trump, April 6, 2026

· “[Y]ou can talk all you want about international niceties and everything else. But we live in a world, in the real world … that is governed by strength, that is governed by force, that is governed by power.” – Steven Miller, January 5, 2026

· “We’re going to go on the offence, not just on defense. Maximum lethality, not tepid legality.” – Pete Hegseth, September 5, 2025

· “We fight to win. We unleash overwhelming and punishing violence on the enemy. We also don’t fight with stupid rules of engagement. We untie the hands of our warfighters to intimidate, demoralize, hunt and kill the enemies of our country. No more politically correct and overbearing rules of engagement, just common sense, maximum lethality and authority for warfighters.” – Pete Hegseth, September 30, 2025

· “Let every round find its mark against the enemies of righteousness and our great nation. Give them wisdom in every decision, endurance for the trial ahead, unbreakable unity, and overwhelming violence of action against those who deserve no mercy.” – Pete Hegseth, March 25, 2026

These quotes reflect a significant – and dangerous – shift concerning the use of armed force during President Donald J. Trump’s second term in office. During his first term, Georgetown law professor Rosa Brooks wrote that “in contrast to Bush, Trump makes no secret of his disdain for the laws of war.” In her judgment, “Bush at least tried to cloak his administration’s use of torture in legal sophistry, a backhanded testament to the strength of the norms his aides sought to circumvent.”

As for his current term, in a new book, Killing Machines: Trump, the Law of War, and the Future of Military Impunity, Thomas Gift argues “that Trump is unique among US presidents in the extent of his willingness to discard the law of war.”

Indeed, the approach to armed force that is reflected in the above quotes from President Trump, White House deputy chief of staff for policy and homeland security Stephen Miller, and Defense Secretary (or as he calls himself, “Secretary of War”), Pete Hegseth is a hybrid of might-makes-right realism, a hypermasculine warrior ethos, and holy war. None of the above quotes are consonant with the Catholic moral tradition and just war theory, which influenced what we now refer to as the laws of war and the rules of engagement.

To his credit, Vice President JD Vance, who has a book about his conversion to Catholicism due out this summer, brought up the “more than 1,000-year tradition of just war theory,” but he did so to question a remark by Pope Leo IVX that “God is never on the side of people who wield the sword.” Vance offers his advice: “If you’re going to opine on matters of theology, you’ve got to be careful. You’ve got to make sure it’s anchored in the truth and that’s one of the things I try to do and it’s certainly something I would expect from the clergy.”

Attributed to Gerard Seghers - http://www.nationaltrustcollections.org.uk/object/1257059, Public Domain, https://commons.wikimedia.org/w/index.php?curid=43661956

To be fair, in his Palm Sunday homily, the pope specifically spoke of Jesus: “Jesus is the King of Peace, who rejects war, whom no one can use to justify war. He does not listen to the prayers of those who wage war, but rejects them.” On this point, Pope Leo appears to have in mind Christians, such as Hegseth, a member of a church affiliated with the Congregation of Reformed Evangelical Churches, founded by Doug Wilson, who self-identifies as a Christian nationalist. The conservative evangelical Christians, with their biblical fundamentalism, hold an apocalyptic worldview that includes holy war. Although the Catholic Church, going back to Pope Urban II’s call for the First Crusade in 1095, has held such an approach in the past, it now teaches that, as the US bishops put it in their 1983 pastoral letter, The Challenge of Peace, “a crusade mentality” is no longer legitimate, and “no state should act on the basis that it has ‘absolute justice’ on its side” (#93). As Darius von Güttner-Sporzyński notes, “Where just war limits violence, holy war sacralises it. War is no longer a tragic necessity, but an act aligned with divine will.”

In an apparent response to Vance, Bishop James Massa, chairman of the US Conference of Catholic Bishops’ Committee on Doctrine, clarified that “for over a thousand years, the Catholic Church has taught just war theory and it is that long tradition the Holy Father carefully references in his comments on war.” In this connection, Bishop Massa refers to the Catechism of the Catholic Church, #2308, which – quoting from Vatican II’s Gaudium et Spes, #79 – states that “governments cannot be denied the right of lawful self-defense, once all peace efforts have failed.” Bishop Massa adds, “That is, to be a just war it must be a defense against another who actively wages war, which is what the Holy Father actually said: ‘He does not listen to the prayers of those who wage war.’” In other words, Pope Leo was referring to aggressors who unjustly choose to embark on war.

According to the Catechism, #2309: “The strict conditions for legitimate defense by military force require rigorous consideration,” and “the gravity of such a decision makes it subject to rigorous conditions of moral legitimacy.” The Catechism notes that these criteria are “the traditional elements enumerated in what is called the ‘just war’ doctrine.” Although the number of criteria vary from source to source from St. Augustine to the present, the Catechism highlights four:

1) the damage inflicted by the aggressor on the nation or community of nations must be lasting, grave, and certain

2) all other means of putting an end to it must have been shown to be impractical or ineffective;

3) there must be serious prospects of success;

4) the use of arms must not produce evils and disorders graver than the evil to be eliminated.

In contrast to all the quotes at the beginning, according to the Catechism, “The Church and human reason both assert the permanent validity of the moral law during armed conflict” (#2312). Moreover, “Actions deliberately contrary to the law of nations and to its universal principles are crimes, as are the orders that command such actions.” In this connection, the Catechism states, “Thus the extermination of a people, nation, or ethnic minority must be condemned as a mortal sin” (#2313).

For Vance, “We can, of course, have disagreements about whether this or that conflict is just.” And this is true, we can, but should we? Especially after “rigorous consideration” as the Catechism put it? True, the Catechism notes, “The evaluation of these conditions for moral legitimacy belongs to the prudential judgment of those who have responsibility for the common good” (#2309).

As William T. Cavanaugh wrote in a 2003 article, originally published in Commonweal magazine, in response to those who questioned whether Pope John Paul II and the bishops “had overstepped their competence” in judging that the war against Iraq was unjustified on just war grounds, this line from the Catechism has been incorrectly interpreted to mean “that we should hand over responsibility for judging the justice of war to the president on the basis of his superior access to information.” For Cavanaugh, while the Catechism “lays an obligation on civil authorities to consider moral truth, and not merely reasons of state, in deciding issues of lethal force,” it also “nowhere limits the church’s own competence in these matters.”

Furthermore, Cavanaugh homes in on “prudential judgment” as a reminder that “information is secondary to moral formation in the making of moral judgments.” For Catholics, just war theory is more than a checklist of criteria or a tool of statecraft. Just war requires virtues such as justice, prudence, fortitude, and temperance -- and even mercy. Accordingly, I agree with Bishop Massa: “When Pope Leo XIV speaks as supreme pastor of the universal Church, he is not merely offering opinions on theology, he is preaching the Gospel and exercising his ministry as the Vicar of Christ.”

Readings for the Third Sunday of Easter

Though the season of Easter lasts for 50 days, few of us can sustain the initial Easter joy of Easter Sunday or the octave of Easter for a full 50 days. Instead, we often settle down into life as usual, quickly forgetting the Lenten penances we lived and the Easter chocolate we consumed. Yes, the Lord is risen, but we already knew that anyway.

Our Mass readings for the Third Sunday of Easter draw us back into the mystery of the resurrection, however. The Easter season is unique for featuring two New Testament readings, along with the psalm and gospel passage. In the first reading from the Acts of the Apostles 2:32, Peter preaches: “God raised this Jesus; of this we are all witnesses.” And in 1 Peter 1:18-19, we hear that we were ransomed from futile conduct “with the precious blood of Christ as of a spotless unblemished lamb.”

We may be accustomed to Jesus’s resurrection, but we should not be so, especially if it means we miss out on the remarkable turn of events where the agonizing death on a cross brought victory. Perhaps we are similar to these two disciples on the road to Emmaus. They are clearly still thoughtful and intrigued about Jesus’s death and the reports of the women seeing angels who announced Jesus was alive. Yet, somehow, they are just going about their daily life, not really understanding or believing the women’s accounts, and thus they are not able to recognize Jesus walking alongside them.

It is commonplace to see a type of the Mass within this account. Jesus opens the Scriptures to them, like the Liturgy of the Word that features Bible readings and a homily. Then Jesus blesses and breaks bread with them, like the Liturgy of the Eucharist that features the consecration and reception of the Eucharist. It is not until Jesus vanishes that they understand what has happened and can share their story with the remaining eleven apostles. The risen Jesus walked with them and was made known to them in the breaking of the bread!!!

As the Easter season continues, we should make this joy our own! Though we may not have shared the women’s experience at the empty tomb except vicariously, we actually do share in this Emmaus experience. Each time we go to Mass, we have the opportunity to feel our hearts burning within us and to recognize Jesus in the breaking of the bread.

In a world constantly in the midst of conflicts and wars, political spats and disagreements over every little thing, nothing could be more countercultural than the unity offered by the risen Jesus in the Mass. We will have to go about our daily work, living amongst division and unrest, but the joy of the resurrection can transform our lives when we know he is still here with us in the Eucharist, a lasting gift and presence, and a reminder that God has won and that God always wins.

Editor’s Note: This post is part of an ongoing collaboration with the Journal of Moral Theology curated by the journal’s Associate Editor Alessandro Rovati. For more conversations with the journal authors and responses to their essays, check out HERE.

Well, we did get a decent readership, and at its peak in the early years of the Francis papacy, we had thousands of hits and nearly-daily posts by a wide variety of voices. That also generated opportunities for many of us to publish in other spaces, and while the blog kept going, it certainly slowed down. All of us got older and busier. The United States (and many parts of the world, too) seemed to get more and more polarized, making it harder and harder to hit the right spot in discussing issues publicly. None of us took to the aggressive and constant nature of social media, which seemed more and more necessary to promote online content. And, we should add, none of this involved anyone getting paid.

Still, there is a lot of valuable content in that blog history. And there is certainly still a need for intelligent online public discussions of Catholic moral teachings and its relevance. The election of (Chicago’s Very Own!) Pope Leo XIV prompted a sense of a new era, and energy from the Journal of Moral Theology, spurred us to regroup. Substack has clearly become the medium by which substantial writing of this form gets pushed out.

So, starting next week, we will be running a renewed catholicmoraltheology.com, here at Substack. Many regular contributors will be back, in addition to some new voices. We will continue our popular weekly lectionary commentary from the perspective of its significance for moral theology. We hope to focus especially on important episcopal and papal statements as jumping-off points for perspective on our divided world. We look forward to the pope’s first major solo encyclical soon! And we’ve partnered with the Journal to make its more scholarly mission accessible to a wider audience, through podcasts and public-facing forums on important articles and issues of the Journal. We also will be featured material from our archives that continues to be relevant.

Thank you for joining us, and please spread the word.

David Cloutier and Jana Bennett

Hegseth's aggressive push to embrace the still-developing technology stands in contrast to the Biden administration, which, while pushing federal agencies to come up with policies and uses for AI, was also wary of misuse. Officials said rules were needed to ensure that the technology, which could be harnessed for mass surveillance, cyberattacks or even lethal autonomous devices, was being used responsibly.

The Biden administration enacted a framework in late 2024 that directed national security agencies to expand their use of the most advanced AI systems but prohibited certain uses, such as applications that would violate constitutionally protected civil rights or any system that would automate the deployment of nuclear weapons. It is unclear if those prohibitions are still in place under the Trump administration.

https://www.npr.org/2026/01/13/nx-s1-5675781/pentagon-musks-grok-ai-chatbot-global-outcry

In the War & Peace class that I teach, the module on machine learning and weapons systems is one of the most challenging (and chilling). The benefits of machine warriors are often framed in contrast to the normal limits of human warriors--what Kara N. Slade references as a problem of "theological anthropology." Human soldiers are embodied; have rights; can die; need time to think, understand, process; can make errors of judgment; are capable of empathy, even with the 'enemy'; are capable of moral intelligence; can be held responsible for their actions; have to be paid a fair wage; can feel pain; require medical care and other expensive benefits; and so forth. In contrast, machine warriors are faster, can operate at high altitudes and cold temperatures, can process complex data more quickly, don't have the limits of embodiment, are cheaper to deploy, can't be held liable, have difficulty distinguishing between combatants and civilians, and cannot experience human suffering. Regarding cost alone: previous DoD estimates indicated that each soldier in Afghanistan costed the Pentagon $850,000 per year, but a TALON robot can be outfitted with weapons for under $230,000. Slade argues that the American military-industrial bureaucracy is influenced more by national anxiety and fear than by ethics. She cites the Unmanned Systems Integrated Roadmap as an example.

DoD and industry are working to advance operational concepts with unmanned systems to achieve the capabilities and desired effects on missions and operations worldwide. In building a common vision, DoD’s goals for unmanned systems are to enhance mission effectiveness, improve operational speed and efficiency, and affordably close warfighting gaps… By prudently developing, procuring, integrating, and fielding unmanned systems, DoD and industry will ensure skillful use of limited resources and access to emerging warfighting capabilities. Pursuing this approach with unmanned systems will help DoD sustain its dominant global military power and provide the tools required by national decision-makers to influence foreign and domestic activities while adapting to an ever-changing global environment.

https://jmt.scholasticahq.com/article/11278-unmanned-autonomous-drones-as-a-problem-of-theological-anthropology

Notice that in this framing, removal of human agency through deployment of "unmanned systems" are supposed to increase mission effectiveness and increase efficiency-- claims made also by Musk's dominant ideology of "government efficiency" through the use of artificial intelligence.

Most students don't realize that lethal autonomous weapons systems are not limited to science fiction. In 2021 NPR reported that in March 2020, a lethal autonomous weapons system (Kargu-2) was used during fighting between the UN-recognized Government of National Accord (Libya) and forces aligned with Gen. Khalifa Haftar. The attack drone, made by the Turkish company STM, can be programmed to attack targets without requiring data connectivity between the operator and the munition: what the UN calls a "fire, forget, and find" capability. At the time, the Vatican permanent observer mission expressed alarm, and the Holy See's concerns were repeated in 2024 with a call for a permanent ban on lethal autonomous weapons systems. That statement expressed Catholic teaching that technological progress should be used to improve human life, and that "no machine should ever choose to take the life of a human being."

Today, my tax dollars are being spent to prepare for exactly this scenario: machines deciding who lives and who dies and how. The US voted against a UNGA resolution on autonomous weapons in November 2025. And the latest announcement from Hegseth indicates a full-speed ahead integration of Grok without attention to critics' assessments of Grok's flaws or any attention to long-standing principles of military ethics and/or the just war tradition.

It is time to ask whether Catholics can licitly participate in the US military-industrial complex at any level. Trump's second term has seen a movement to "war-making" over "self-defense," with the most obvious example being the renaming of the Department of War. Trump does not seem to feel beholden to the just war tradition and its emphasis on last resort, proportionalism, international law, and humanitarianism. Nothing about the priorities of Stephen Miller align with Catholic values. But one-fifth of active duty military identify as Catholic. The persistent moral injury of working within the objectively evil operational framework of the military under a second Trump administration should be getting more attention-- including by US bishops. If US objectives are to amass greater power and influence, to bully, to use force without justification under law or ethical principles, and now we are training artificial intelligence to achieve these ends more "efficiently," we have lost our way entirely. Without significant course correction--minimally, rejection of unilateral warfare and commitment to the telos of peace-- it is unclear how Catholics could licitly cooperate with present US leadership.

Although one of my friends, who is a senior theological ethicist, said to me when it appeared that "there is nothing new in it" -- and I initially agreed -- I would highlight how Pope Leo's use of Scripture and the writings of theologians and saints (often in reference to Scripture) is very different from Pope Leo XIII's reliance on more philosophical natural law reasoning in Rerum Novarum, which inaugurated modern Catholic social teaching in 1891.

To be sure, the Second Vatican Council's call for moral theology's "scientific exposition [to] be more thoroughly nourished by scriptural teaching" (Decree on Priestly Formation, no. 16) had influenced Pope John Paul II, whose "references to scripture in his encyclicals," according to Charles E. Curran, "far outnumber any of the other references made within these documents" (The Moral Theology of Pope John Paul II [Georgetown University Press, 2005], 45). It may be an interesting exercise during Leo XIV's papacy to compare his approach to Scripture with St. John Paul II's.

In addition, Delexi Te is much more theological -- and Christological -- than papal documents from the past century. Leo XIII's Rerum Novarum mentions "Jesus," "Christ," or "Jesus Christ" less than a dozen times; in contrast, Leo XIV's Delexi Te refers to him around 40 times. To be fair, Rerum Novarum's paragraphs 22-24 anticipate in many respects what Delexi Te says about Jesus, especially how he "for our sakes became poor" (Rerum Novarum, no. 23; Delexi Te, no. 18; both citing 2 Cor 8:9), and how he identifies with the "least of these" at the Judgment (Rerum Novarum, no. 22; Delexi Te, no. 5; both citing Matt 25:40).

Yet, there is a deeper Christological undercurrent in Delexi Te, I think. While Rerum Novarum refers to the Incarnation only once, and Delexi Te mentions the Incarnation only twice, what Leo XIV writes about it runs throughout his apostolic exhortation: "It is not enough to profess the doctrine of God’s Incarnation in general terms. To enter truly into this great mystery, we need to understand clearly that the Lord took on a flesh that hungers and thirsts, and experiences infirmity and imprisonment" (no. 110). Indeed, throughout Delexi Te, "flesh" is mentioned several times to refer both to Jesus and to the poor in ways that bring to my mind the Eucharist. In his article (see below) about Delexi Te, Stan Chu Ilo similarly observes, "To meet the poor is to meet Christ; to love them is to enter the Eucharistic economy."

In my article (again, see below), I also note this connection between liturgy and social justice (I also wrote about it on this blog 14 years ago). Although absent in Rerum Novarum, this link was significant for a number of Catholic social ethicists and liturgical theologians, including Virgil Michel, OSB (and his Catholic Worker friend Dorothy Day, who wrote on "Liturgy and Sociology"). Accordingly, Vatican II's Sacrosanctum Concilium, echoing Virgil Michel in many respects, taught that "the sacred liturgy ... is the primary and indispensable source from which the faithful are to derive the true Christian spirit" that should infuse our lives, activities, and work (no. 14). Even though Pope Leo XIV does not mention this connection explicitly, it is discernable in a number of places in Delexi Te.

Of course, unlike Rerum Novarum, which Pope Leo XIII wrote to his "Venerable Brethren the Patriarchs, Primates, Archbishops, Bishops, and other ordinaries of places having Peace and Communion with the Apostolic See," and unlike most other papal encyclicals that were addressed also to "the faithful" and to people "of good will" (as well as Pope Francis's Laudato Si', which was addressed to every human person on the planet), Pope Leo's apostolic exhortation Delexi Te is addressed to "to all Christians," so it makes sense that it is more biblical, theological, Christological, and liturgical.

So, here are some of the initial reactions to Delexi Te by my friends and colleagues. If I have neglected anyone, please share in the comments. Also, as more responses to it come out, feel free to share them in the comments.

• David Lantigua wrote an article at Commonweal magazine.

• Kevin Ahern wrote an article at America magazine.

• Meg Clark wrote an article at America magazine.

• Massimo Faggioli wrote a blog at Fordham's Sapientia.

• Daniel P. Horan wrote an article at the National Catholic Reporter.

• Stan Chu Ilo wrote an article at the National Catholic Reporter.

• Phyllis Zagano wrote an article at the National Catholic Reporter.

• I wrote an article at U.S. Catholic magazine.

As a former law enforcement officer, I have owned a firearm, including for a time afterwards. But I still think that gun violence in the US is a moral problem. The Annunciation, from the Gospel of Luke 1:26-28, has the angel Gabriel reassure Mary, saying "The Lord is with you." One of the things that the shooter at Annunciation Catholic School in Minneapolis is said to have written beforehand was "Where is your God?" As a theologian and as a Christian, I want to believe Gabriel got it right. I hope so. But these days it ain't easy.

Although I had written a little about guns and gun violence prior to that terrible day at my daughter's school, I have felt compelled to write more about this moral issue ever since. I also welcome the attention that several other theological ethicists have been devoting to this problem in recent years. I am not going to rehearse the facts and dispel the misconceptions in this present post. Instead, for those who are concerned and interested, I am going to share some links to my articles on the subject.

I also invite other moral theologians to tackle this issue. I am pleased that the board of the College Theology Society issued a statement on gun violence on June 1, 2023, and that the Catholic Theological Society of America has a three-year interest group focused on "Gun Cultures and Gun Violence."

In 2023 the Journal of Moral Theology devoted a special issue to the topic of "Guns in the United States," which includes articles by a number of Christian theologians and ethicists (some who contribute to this site: Connor Kelly and Luis Vera, ), as well as a response from myself to them. The special issue was edited by Michael R. Grigoni and Cory D. Mitchell, and the articles are accessible for free.

My most recent academic book chapter was first presented at the annual meeting of the College Theology Society in June 2024 at Regis University in Denver: “Gun Violence, Vulnerability, and Flourishing," in Vulnerability and Flourishing, College Theology Society Annual Vol. 70, edited by Cristina Lledo Gomez and John Sheveland (Orbis Books, 2025) 84-100. This essay contains references to the very small but growing number of articles addressing gun violence. If you are interested in this article, please email me (tobias.winright@spcm.ie).

In addition, I wrote "School shootings – slaughter of the innocents" for The Tablet on January 2, 2025. There is a paywall, but registration allows for access to a few free articles per month. Earlier I authored "What does Catholic teaching say about using guns for self defense" in the National Catholic Reporter on August 2, 2023, and "A parent's worst nightmare: An active shooter at my daughter's school" in the National Catholic Reporter on November 2, 2022. An earlier attempt was “What St. John XXIII Has to Say about Gun Rights” in America on February 23, 2018, which was based on a post I did here at Catholic Moral Theology in 2013.

Todd David Whitmore (who was my PhD dissertation supervisor) and I noted the problem of school shootings during the 1990s in our essay, “Children: An Undeveloped Theme in Catholic Teaching,” in The Challenge of Global Stewardship: Roman Catholic Responses, eds. Maura A. Ryan and Todd David Whitmore (Notre Dame: University of Notre Dame Press, 1997), 161-185. Among the few theological ethicists who have addressed gun violence are: William P. George, “Guns and the Catholic Conscience,” Chicago Studies 35, no. 1 (April 1996): 82-95; Richard C. Sparks, C.S.P., Contemporary Christian Morality: Real Questions, Candid Responses (New York: Crossroad, 1996), 136-137; William C. French, “In Harm’s Way in America: Gun Violence and Religious Ethics,” Shalom Papers: A Journal of Theology and Public Policy 2, no. 3 (2000): 39-73; and Patrick T. McCormick, “Weapons of self-destruction,” U.S. Catholic 74, no. 1 (January 2009): 42-43. If you can find any of these, I highly recommend them. Sadly, they are still very relevant.

More recently, Rebecca Bratten Weiss wrote an excellent, accessible piece, "Can gun ownership be ethical? Should Catholics be willing to give up their guns?" for U.S. Catholic on June 25, 2024. Colleagues here at Catholic Moral Theology have also published pieces on the topic: Tom Bushlack, "Guns, God, and Rights" (December 20, 2012); David Cloutier, "The Children of God: The Catholic Response to Gun Violence" (May 1, 2018); David Cloutier, "A March for Peaceableness" (March 24, 2018); Christiana Zenner, "Liberty, Idolatry, and the Culture of Violence" (April 21, 2013); and Jason King, "What I Wish the NRA Had Said" (December 24, 2012).

Finally, the Archdiocese of Saint Louis, where I used to belong, has a task force on gun violence with helpful resources and suggestions for Catholics and parishes.

Non-tenure track (NTT) in the College of Arts and Sciences at the University of San Diego are on strike for the second day this week. Today I accepted the invitation to speak at their rally, and I'm sharing my speech here. On the picket line yesterday, I carried a homemade sign with a picture of Pope Francis and a quote from him about the dignity of work. Today I carried that sign in the morning, took a break from the picket line to see the white smoke and coverage of the new pope's appearance, and returned with another homemade sign (hastily thrown together, I'll admit). I hope that my remarks speak to faculty, students, and administration in a meaningful way during this important time of negotiations between NTT union representatives and USD. I was not the only speaker who invoked the popes, and it felt particularly meaningful on such an eventful Catholic news day.

I’m proud to work at the University of San Diego. We are a contemporary Catholic university. We confront humanity’s urgent challenges by fostering peace, working for justice, and leading with love.

That’s why I’m here today – to talk about what it means to work for justice and to lead with love.

You see, being a Catholic university means that we have a rich tradition of thinking about what justice and love look like.

For over one hundred years, authoritative Catholic teachings have supported workers and advocated for labor rights – rights such as the right to unionize, the right to safe working conditions, and the right to a just wage.

Here at USD, these rights are more aspirational than realized. I’m here today because I think that all faculty, tenure line and non tenure line, should be fairly compensated for their work.

I am here because all faculty should have access to the materials, support, and office space they need to teach students well. I’m here because I support the right of my non tenure track colleagues to collective bargaining.

Academic Excellence is the first of our CORE VALUES– and students rightly expect excellence of their faculty. But all across higher education today – including at Catholic universities—administrators are making decisions that undermine academic excellence in their institutions. When a class of faculty experience economic precarity, it is harder for them to devote their energies to excellence in teaching. And this is not meant as an insult to my NTT colleagues – who are doing an amazing job in the situations in which we find ourselves. Rather, I want to suggest that if academic excellence really is central to our mission, we need a structural response at the university. We need to be sure that all faculty are well supported. Some of you may know that 43% of THRS courses on campus this spring are taught by faculty who are not on the tenure track. These courses are essential to the core curriculum and our students deserve to be taught by faculty members who are not experiencing the precarity of job instability and poverty-level wages.

I am someone with privilege – as someone who benefits from tenure, I have greater job protections and greater job security. This helps me to be a better teacher. I can focus more of my energies on my students’ needs and on research that furthers my discipline. I have stable access to my university office and email. I can participate in the governance structures of USD. I am here today because I think that all faculty should have the support that I enjoy in my role at the university.

You certainly don’t have to be Catholic to find a home at USD. But one of the distinct aspects of the USD identity is the mission rooted in Catholic social teachings. These teachings talk about the dignity of work and of workers – a basic principle in Catholic ethics is that human labor cannot be treated as a commodity because that denies human dignity and reduces the worker to the status of a “thing.” In the Second Vatican Council, the bishops explained their support for human rights including the right to food, clothing, and shelter; the right to education, to employment, and to activity in accord with one’s conscience, as well as freedom of religion…. Popes of the last 50 years have continued this tradition of advocacy for workers. John Paul II said that work is for the person, not the person for work. John Paul II said that labor unions are a “mouthpiece for the struggle for social justice, for the rights of working people.” Benedict XVI talked about the church’s consistent support for labor unions. Francis explicitly critiqued the gig economy, exploitation of contingent workers, and wage theft. Pope Francis warned against what he called a “throwaway culture” – where we treat people as disposable. The University of San Diego should not treat workers as disposable. And our new pope has taken the name Leo. This is important. Some of you may know that the first social encyclical, Rerum Novarum, was promulgated by Leo XIII in 1891. There, in the context of the Industrial Revolution, Leo XIII advocated for just wages. "To make one's profit out of the need of another, is condemned by all laws, human and divine. To defraud anyone of wages that are his due is a crime which cries to the avenging anger of heaven." (RN 20). I look forward to seeing what Leo XIV will do to carry forward this tradition of solidarity, social justice, and worker rights.

To really live up to our mission, USD employment policies need to align with these papal teachings about worker justice. I think that to live up to USD’s Catholic identity, we shouldn’t only look at things like Mass schedules, saint statues on campus, or the THRS course in the core curriculum. Sure, those are important, but that’s not the only way we live our Catholic identity. We also need to scrutinize our budgets. We need to ask hard questions about why we tolerate a two-tier faculty system that perpetuates inequality right here on our campus.

That’s why we are here today.

One final note – lately my research has focused on reproductive justice. It is a hot topic in today’s world, in the church and politically. But I want to suggest here – especially to those parents, students, and faculty who describe themselves as pro-life – that support for workers is a pro-life justice issue. It isn’t fair that some faculty have parental leave and others don’t. Or that some have group health insurance for their families and others don’t. If my kid is sick and I have to cancel class to take them to the doctor, I don’t worry about losing my job. But some of your faculty members do have this worry. At USD we talk about a culture of care. But it is time to actually live that out.

I’m grateful for the courage, integrity, and energy of NTT faculty who have led this movement. I’m grateful for my students who continue to ask thoughtful questions about what it means to seek justice and lead with love in this particular political moment. And I thank you all for coming out today in support of the hard working NTT faculty who deserve justice at USD.

Responsorial Psalm – Psalm 118:2-4, 13-15, 22-24

Second Reading – Revelation 1:9-11a, 12-13, 17-19

Gospel – John 20:19-31

There is something fitting about the fact that the Church will be celebrating the Sunday of Divine Mercy as the first Sunday Mass without Pope Francis. Francis, of course, made mercy a hallmark of his pontificate, choosing “miserando atque eligendo” (having mercy and choosing [him]) as his motto, instituting the Jubilee of Mercy near the start of his papal ministry, and generally setting mercy as the driving force for all his work as the bishop of Rome.

As the Catholic Church mourns and remembers Francis, the notion of divine mercy provides a poignant reminder of who Francis was and all he taught. The readings for this Sunday therefore give us an opportunity to appreciate where Francis sought to steer the People of God. In particular, two dimensions of mercy stand out in this week’s readings, helpfully informing the work of being the Body of Christ in a way that is shaped by the legacy of our last pope.

First, the readings show how God’s mercy is primarily a response to need. The Gospel story of “doubting Thomas” is the prime example. Thomas displays his insecurities when he questions his friends’ testimony that they had seen the risen Christ and insists that he needs proof. When Jesus appears one week later, he does not chastise Thomas for his lack of faith but instead turns to him with compassion and says simply: If you need this material proof, you shall have it. Come, touch my wounds and know that I am truly with you.

This is an amazing scene (captured so vividly by Caravaggio’s famous painting above) showcasing the fullness of divine mercy. Jesus is moved on a deeply affective level to understand, and empathize, with Thomas’s doubts so that he can see what Thomas needs and respond to that need. Jesus offers a tremendous gift with this understanding, turning what could easily be a stumbling block to a relationship (‘How DARE you doubt me?!’) into an invitation to deeper connection.

Francis, of course, stressed this loving nature of divine mercy whenever he preached about the concept. “The mercy of God is not an abstract idea,” he stressed in his Bull of Indiction for the Jubilee of Mercy, “but a concrete reality with which he reveals his love as that of a father or a mother, moved to the very depths out of love for their child. It is hardly an exaggeration to say that this is a ‘visceral’ love” (Misercordiae Vultus, no. 6, emphasis added). The readings for this Sunday remind us what Francis emphasized, namely that God feels our pain and thus reaches out in mercy and compassion, not condemnation.

Second, the readings remind us that God’s mercy is not merely a response to need but a truly a comprehensive response to whatever we lack. The Gospel showcases Jesus’s mercy on a spiritual level, with Jesus effectively putting the spiritual works of mercy on full display. He also directly offers his followers the forgiveness of their sins and instructs them to go out into the world to forgive others, in a passage understood to be the divine inauguration of the Sacrament of Reconciliation (see Catechism of the Catholic Church, no. 1441). It is clear that mercy operates on a spiritual level.

At the same time, it is also clear in this Sunday’s readings that mercy is not confined to this spiritual plane alone. The first reading, from the Acts of the Apostles, recounts the work Jesus’s disciples did in the earliest days of their ministry after Jesus’s ascension and focuses on the “many signs and wonders…done among the people at the hands of the apostles.” These signs included miraculous healings, prompting people from all around to bring “the sick and those disturbed by unclean spirits” to see the apostles who then cured them with the power of God.

The inclusion of these signs and wonders among the readings for Divine Mercy Sunday underscores that God’s mercy is a response to needs on all our human levels. Certainly, it includes the forgiveness of sins commonly associated with the term and fully on display in the Gospel, but it also includes a no less compassionate response to the physical needs that define our human existence as well. It is for this reason that the Church promotes the corporal works of mercy alongside the spiritual works—they are two sides of the same coin and together reveal the fullness of God’s mercy.

Francis, again, has reinforced this same message, pointing to the corporal works of mercy as self-evident goods for the faithful and describing them together with the spiritual works of mercy as the space where “we put our credibility as Christians on the line” (The Name of God is Mercy, 98, 99).

For this Divine Mercy Sunday, as we mourn the passing of the Holy Father, may we take inspiration from his work as a missionary of God’s mercy in the world and strive to appreciate the fullness of Divine Mercy so that we may better imitate this gift in our lives.

The White Lotus is a satirical comedy-drama television series intended for mature audiences. The third season was set at an upscale resort and spa in Thailand, and like previous seasons it juxtaposes scenes of magnificent natural beauty with examples of human opulence tinged with melancholy and even misery. Each character is, in their own way, in a period of discernment. They are making choices that reinforce their understanding of who they are, what really matters in life, and what their future should hold.

Ignatius of Loyola (d. 1556) was a Spanish saint and the founder of the Society of Jesus. His Spiritual Exercises are a classic text in Christian spirituality because they have helped so many spiritual seekers across five centuries. The exercises lead a pilgrim through reflection across different thematic weeks and ever closer to a direct experience of God and to greater self-awareness. In this reflection I will focus only on a narrow slice of this wisdom tradition: Ignatius of Loyola’s account of the rules for discernment of spirits. There he talks about a “good angel” and an “evil one” who present competing narratives in our inner spiritual lives. The task of spiritual growth is a process of recognizing these competing narratives and choosing the good over the evil. Ignatius sees the human person on a journey to God, which involves increasing awareness of and acceptance of the good in one’s life. But “the enemy” provides constant disinformation, doubt, and distortions that make “bad” actions look “good.” Importantly, one need not believe in a “devil” to see the value of Ignatian reflections on discernment. If the language of “evil spirit” trips you up, consider the language of “inauthentic voice” or “lie” instead.

The enemy is accustomed ordinarily to propose apparent pleasure to those persons who go from mortal sin to mortal sin. He thus causes them to imagine sensual delights and pleasure in order to hold them more and more easily and to increase their vices and sins. The good spirit acts in these persons in a contrary way, awakening the conscience to a sense of remorse through the good judgment of their reason.

St. Ignatius Loyola

As viewers see the luxurious linens, gorgeous views, and fine dining of the resort & spa, it is easy to see how “sensual delights and pleasure” draw one in and distract from the proddings of conscience. Now, to be sure, a beautiful beach isn’t evil, nor is the enjoyment of a cocktail with one’s family while on vacation. But Mike White seems to enjoy poking fun at the ways that wealthy Americans like Veronica Ratliff (played by Parker Posey) can live in such a bubble of affluence and creature comforts that they become disconnected from the world around them and even from the signs of distress within their own family. “I just don’t think at this age, I’m meant to live an uncomfortable life. I don’t have the will,” she says. And what she doesn’t know is that she is not as wealthy as she thinks she is. Somehow this becomes both hilarious and deeply sad for the viewer. Since her entire identity is rooted in her social privilege, Veronica doesn't seem to have the skills of navigating the difficult days in her future. “We’re lucky,” she tells her daughter in the final episode. “No one in the history of the world has lived better than we have.” And does this lead Veronica to recognize the injustice of economic inequalities and the wealth gap? Does she soften a bit and begin to recognize the dignity of each person, including those most poor? Does she ask how she can use her considerable power to make the world a better place? Nope. Ignatius might say that her vices only increase as she remains in the hold of the “evil spirit.” Instead, Veronica explains, “The least we can do, is enjoy it!” And she does enjoy it, until she gets her phone back.

The contrary to the first rule takes place in those who earnestly strive to purify themselves from their sins, and who advance from good to better in the service of God our Lord. Then it is common for the evil spirit to cause anxiety and sadness, and to create obstacles based on false reasoning, through preventing the soul from making further progress.

St. Ignatius Loyola

Here Ignatius suggests that when one begins to try to seek the good, one will experience inner confusion and turmoil in part because of the work of the “evil spirit” creating obstacles. As Piper seeks spiritual awakening and Gaitok seeks to be a pacifist, both of them find anxiety, sadness, and obstacles. They find themselves in situations of desolation. But they are not alone. Most of the characters of The White Lotus experience desolation as a constant in their lives. Rick has an identity crisis and is unhappy even though his girlfriend Chelsea loves him unconditionally; Kate, Laurie, and Jaclyn are supposed to be friends but can’t be honest with each other; Timothy repeatedly imagines suicide as a way out of his financial problems and keeps stealing his wife’s medicine to dull his senses. These are not happy people.

I call desolation all that is contrary to the third rule, as darkness of the soul, turmoil of the mind, inclination to low and earthy things, restlessness resulting from many disturbances and temptations which lead to loss of faith, loss of hope, and loss of love. It is also desolation when a soul finds itself completely apathetic, tepid, sad, and separated as it were…. One who is in desolation must strive to persevere in patience, which is contrary to the vexations that have come upon him.

St. Ignatius Loyola

If they had heeded the advice of Ignatius in these moments of desolation, they wouldn’t make any major changes but would rather proceed in further prayer, meditation, frequent examinations, and by increasing their penance in some suitable manner. If only Rick had just had patience, Ignatius says, he wouldn’t have set in motion his own downfall. But in The White Lotus, desolation is not a time to slow down and meditate. There are exceptions – Rick’s awareness when partying with Frank; Chelsea’s fidelity to Rick; Laurie’s tears; Amrita’s accompaniment of her clients; Belinda’s future planning with Mook. In these cases we see breakthrough moments of vulnerability and opportunities for authentic connection. But they are, within this fictional universe, very short-lived. The “good angels” are in a fierce spiritual battle.

Perhaps the wisest critique Ignatius offers pertains to the dangers of secrecy. Secrecy and shame function together in this third season—whether in regard to Jaclyn and Valentin’s hookup, Belinda’s negotiating with Greg via Zion, Saxon and Lochlan’s secret, Laurie and Gaitok’s discovery of Valentin’s friends’ exploits, or Timothy’s shame spiral. Ignatius describes the enemy as like a “false lover who wishes to remain hidden and does not want to be revealed.” The evil spirit is empowered by silence and secrecy but threatened by transparency because “he cannot succeed in his evil design once his obvious deceits have been discovered.”

As we sit on our couches watching the drama unfold, we may feel grateful if our own lives don’t seem so screwed up. But many viewers may nevertheless recognize aspects of the characters’ hopes, dreams, virtues, and vices in their own lived realities. I know I certainly saw the escape into such a luxurious resort as appealing. I found myself charmed by Chelsea and repulsed by Saxon. But then even Saxon begins a slow awakening. His former self would have been shocked to see him reading a book on vacation. The writing is clever and the pressure builds slowly as the season moves forward. While there is plenty of “sin” or “evil” to note, there is also growth and discernment.

Is there hope? As Belinda and Zion zoom away from the resort, is anyone better off than they were at the beginning? I won’t speak for Mike White or others – but I do see glimpses of our better angels in this season’s drama, although it is certainly not a happy ending. Kate, Laurie, and Jaclyn are finally able to be real with one another. Gary/Greg didn’t entirely escape responsibility for his wrongdoing in season two. Timothy doesn’t kill himself, and finally begins to come clean. We are left with the reality of consequences for past actions – and yet also glimpse that the past does not always define the future. We see that people are complicated and that decisions are rarely a decision between one purely evil option and one purely good option. The moral life is messy and complex, and our theological and pastoral vocabulary shoud make room for those realities.

When the enemy of our human nature has been detected and recognized by his deceptions and by the bad end to which he leads, it is well for the person who has been tempted to examine afterward the course of the good thoughts that were suggested to him. Let him consider their beginning and how they enemy contrived little by little to make him fall from the state of sweetness and spiritual light that he was enjoying, until he finally brought him to his perverse designs. With the experience and knowledge thus acquired and noted, one may better guard himself in the future against the customary deceits of the enemy.

St. Ignatius Loyola

Like Ignatius, I affirm a growth ethic. I want to believe that the characters, broken as they are, and in the midst of the messiness they have created, will be able to reflect in some way on what they can learn if they seek to grow in authenticity and true freedom in the future. Some won’t bother to try. But after watching the good angel in battle with the evil spirit throughout the course of the third season, maybe viewers can begin to think about how in our own lives we need to pay more careful attention to ways that we can guard ourselves in the future against those inner voices that confuse and undermine our ability to see the good. As Ignatius says, our inner spirits must “be very carefully examined before they are given full approval, and are put into action.”