Happy and Blessed Feast of St. Francis! The Little Flowers of Saint Francis of Assisi (Mount Vernon, NY: Peter Pauper Press, 1964).
This is the review (as I submitted it) published in St. Austin Review, May/June 2024, Volume 23, No. 3, pp. 42-43.
McNabb Review
By Greg Cook
Featured prominently in the movie “The Sound of Music” is the tune “How Do You Solve a Problem Like Maria?” It refers to the novice who finds monastic life impossible in its strictures, much to the chagrin of the abbey’s professed sisters. While no one has yet made a musical out of the life of Fr. Vincent McNabb, a similar tune might appropriately be put in the mouths of his Dominican superiors and his debating opponents in London. (To be fair, of course, Fr. Vincent was merely unconventional, not a failure as a religious.) But until that musical comes to be, we have Andrew McNabb’s delightful meditation on his great-grand-uncle’s life and legacy, Walking With Father Vincent (Leominster, UK: Gracewing, 2023).
To call this book a biography would be misleading, though it offers vivid snapshots of Fr. Vincent’s life. To call it a memoir would be similarly misleading, though it reveals a great deal about the author. The book is also a reflection on walking and the spiritual life, a dive into the history of an Irish family, a fond description of the Dominican charism (McNabb is a Lay Dominican), a bemused consideration of some mystery-shrouded boots, and more. In short, it is a deftly-connected group of essays forming one larger meandering but ultimately focused portrait. Andrew McNabb’s writing in this book reminds me of that master of the essay, E.B. White who, like McNabb, adopted Maine as his home.
Who was Fr. Vincent? Fr. Vincent McNabb, O.P. (1868-1943) was one of the great Catholic preachers of the 20th century. Pastor, proponent of the Catholic Land Movement, prolific author, and indefatigable walker, his friends included Fr. Ronald Knox, Hilaire Belloc, and G.K. Chesterton. “But above all,” writes McNabb, he was a tremendous lover—of the Lord and his fellow man, and his life is testimony to that” (3).
There is one more fact about Fr. Vincent, and in this book it proves to be paramount: he was one of eleven children of “Ann (Shields) McNabb, of Rathmullan, Donegal” (5). She, according to her great-great-grandson, was responsible for grounding her son Joseph—the future Fr. Vincent in religious life—in the Faith and in life. As she keeps appearing throughout the book, it becomes obvious that she was one of those Catholic women and mothers who have coped with enormous challenges and shaped in often unheralded ways the course of civilization. When one hears a critic opine about the lowly status of women in Catholicism and paints a picture of demure, timid, or even fearful Catholic wives, one can only smile and reply, “You don’t say? Let me introduce you to someone.”
So what exactly did Fr. Vincent do? One thing we know for sure is that he walked. A lot. The same goes for speaking, preaching and debating. We know this because he was noticed and mentioned by others. Walking is examined and depicted throughout the book (hence the title). Fr. Vincent was an inveterate walker and normally refused offers of rides. “Walking, for Father Vincent, was self-transport, and it was natural exercise. But as he was transfixed not on this life, but on the next, to walk with him would be to focus not on the physical act but on the spiritual” (8). Andrew McNabb repeatedly returns to tales of Fr. Vincent’s prodigious walking but also shares how walking is important in his own life.
The Dominican friar was often on a mission when walking, on his way to minister to someone in need, or to one of his many acts of public preaching, debate, and defense of the Faith. His public witness drew both allies and enemies. Among the latter was his long-time opponent, Edward A. Siderman, who came to revere Fr. Vincent even as he sought to best him in debate. So Fr. Vincent, while unconventional, was living out the Dominican charism—the order known—in English—as the Order of Preachers. Their most famous member is the great St. Thomas Aquinas, and Fr. Vincent for years taught a class on the Angelic Doctor’s Summa.
There is so much more that McNabb brings to our attention about his noteworthy kinsman, such as his outspoken and frank denunciation of birth control or “lust uncontrol” (19). Or his frequent recourse to Pope Leo XIII’s landmark encyclical of modern Catholic social teaching, Rerum Novarum (45). “In economic terms, he understood that the great sadness, pain and dysfunction of the world often resulted from a lack of understanding of ‘first things,’ things that are necessary” (49). That is a fundamental Dominican position to take. Father Vincent also didn’t close himself off from unbelievers or those of other faiths. “Yes, he desired that everyone reside fully in the Catholic faith; but he sought to work with people where they were. In this, though, he was uncompromising in the primacy of the Catholic faith” (107). He debated celebrities like George Bernard Shaw, but even in the rough and tumble of Hyde Park debating, he remained civil, “and there are many (often amusing) accounts of Father Vincent skillfully dealing with hecklers and difficult persons” (112). Later in the book Andrew McNabb contrasts the printed page debates (another frequent forum for Fr. Vincent) of yesteryear with now: “One of the great problems of our times is how social media companies allow the anonymity of the contributors on social media, allowing people to hide under pseudonyms while offering all manner of vitriolic, often uneducated opinions” (148). Finally, McNabb sums up the message at the heart of Fr. Vincent’s beliefs and actions: “So, remember children. God first, and love, love, love” (155). It is a message much like that of the aged St. John the Evangelist, which is the Gospel of Christ condensed to its most concentrated form.
But as mentioned earlier, McNabb is interested in more than memorializing his half-remembered great-grand-uncle. He shows us how he has pondered Fr. Vincent’s teaching and used them to try to understand our current chaotic, unmoored world. He touches on topics like the emphasis on “accompaniment” without any standards (28); about an increase in wealth as a major cause for Ireland’s precipitous loss of faith (35); and about his own struggles with materialism (52). He bewails the current polarization within the Church (69). But he also shows us much about the unique aspects of the Dominican way such as the nine forms of prayer (73-74). He touches several times upon the joys and challenges of raising kids (90), and also the heartbreaking fact of numerous miscarriages (98).
It is common for reviewers to mention some error or poorly-presented point of a book in order to not seem like a cheerleader. At first I was stumped in thinking of something negative in this book with its seemingly effortless writing style and fascinating insights and captivating story-telling. Then I looked at the cover again, and found something to gripe about. We never get to see Fr. Vincent’s actual boots because his photograph ends somewhere around his shins. Those famous boots, often mentioned and also portrayed in the recurring lovely illustration, are nowhere shown! Alas, we have to employ our imagination in this case.
The boot-shod peripatetic friar knew Truth was under attack and he employed all the weapons at his disposal to fight back. The Dominicans have three mottos: “laudare, benedicere, praedicare” (to praise, to bless, to preach); “contemplare et contemplata aliis trader” (to contemplate and hand on to others the fruits of contemplation); and, simply, Veritas—Truth. Reading Andrew McNabb’s deeply-satisfying book leads the reader to understand how all three mottos were at the core of Fr. Vincent’s very being. As McNabb, following in his relative’s footsteps, notes, “Man is well on his way to supplanting Truth with a mock truth, a humanistic conception of truth molded after his own desires” (56).
Now, more than ever, we need the truth-tellers to pull on their boots and head out the door. The McNabbs have shown us the way.
In other news, the book sale at Wead Library in Malone was a bust. Lots of trashy paperbacks and odd library reference discards but not a lot of good stuff. And, fittingly since it is his feast, today I received my copy of Helen White's "Bird of Fire" about St. Francis of Assisi (from Cluny).