I wanted to love this considerably more than I did.
Freedom Under Grace: Reflections on a Spiritual Tradition That Formed Me is a wonderful title. Unfortunately, I also think it rather seriously mis-sells the book. I went into 480 pages expecting something resembling a sustained personal reflection from Pope Leo XIV on the Augustinian spirituality that formed him. I wanted Augustine, grace, freedom, prayer, community, the restless heart, and some real reflection on how this extraordinary intellectual and spiritual tradition shaped Robert Prevost before he became pope.
That isn't really what this book is.
Instead, it is overwhelmingly a collection of material from Prevost's years in leadership of the Augustinian Order. Circular letters, homilies, addresses, more letters, more homilies, and then yet another letter. Many were written for very particular circumstances and addressed specifically to Augustinian friars, nuns, monasteries or individual communities. That makes perfect sense in their original context. What I am considerably less convinced by is the decision to place hundreds of pages of them together, largely without the kind of commentary or editorial framework that might have transformed them into something genuinely illuminating for a general Catholic reader.
Because my goodness, it becomes repetitive. The same themes and the same angles return over and over again: community, unity, diversity, service, mission, vocation, the identity of the Order, its difficulties and its future. Obviously, these documents were written years apart for different audiences, so Prevost himself cannot really be blamed for repeating himself. He wasn't writing a 480-page book. But somebody has now made them into one, and reading them consecutively rather proves why they weren't one in the first place.
A substantial amount of the material also concerns the internal crisis of the Augustinian Order: declining numbers, changing communities, questions of identity and vocation, formation, governance and what Augustinian religious life should look like in the modern world. If you're an Augustinian friar, nun, scholar or someone particularly interested in the recent history of the Order, I can imagine this being fascinating. For the average Catholic reader, however, I think much of it will feel extremely specific and increasingly repetitive. I certainly struggled.
What kept me going was that beneath all this repetition, we do gradually get to know the man who would become Pope Leo XIV. The overwhelming impression I came away with is of a pastor. Prevost is deeply concerned with people, community, unity and how Christians actually live alongside one another. He repeatedly returns to service, solidarity and responsibility towards others. There is a gentleness to him and an obvious concern with keeping people together rather than winning intellectual arguments.
Personally, I had hoped that after his election we might be getting another strongly theological pope in the mould of Benedict XVI. Benedict had that extraordinary ability to take an aspect of Christianity, turn it over intellectually and suddenly illuminate something I had never quite understood in the same way before. Based on these writings, that doesn't seem to be where Leo's particular gift lies. There is theology here, of course, and Augustine is everywhere, but the dominant voice is pastoral rather than deeply theological. I rarely found myself stopping because an idea had completely rearranged my understanding of something. More often I found encouragement, exhortation and practical reflection on religious community.
Different popes bring different gifts, and pastoral leadership is hardly an insignificant one. But it does matter when the subtitle promises Reflections on a Spiritual Tradition That Formed Me, because I wanted considerably more of the reflection. I wanted Leo looking backwards and telling me what Augustine had taught him. I wanted to understand how Augustinian theology shaped his understanding of God, grace, freedom, authority, suffering and the Church. I wanted Robert Prevost interpreting the tradition that formed Robert Prevost. Instead, much of the time I was reading what Robert Prevost happened to say to a particular group of Augustinians on a particular occasion many years ago.
There were also places where I simply disagreed with him. His treatment of the post-Vatican II Church was probably the most significant for me. Again and again we encounter religious communities wrestling with decline and enormous institutional and cultural change, yet I found remarkably little willingness to ask whether aspects of the post-conciliar transformation itself might have contributed to that crisis.
As a Catholic deeply attached to tradition and the traditional liturgy, I found that frustrating. I was particularly jarred by his analogy suggesting that returning to older forms is rather like returning to the typewriter in the age of the computer. I understand the point he is trying to make: history moves, circumstances change, and the Church cannot simply pretend that the twentieth century never happened. But I profoundly dislike the analogy when applied to liturgical tradition.
The traditional liturgy is not obsolete technology.
A typewriter becomes obsolete because somebody invents a more efficient machine. Liturgy isn't a piece of technology whose value is measured by whether a newer model exists. It carries theology, memory, beauty, continuity and centuries of accumulated Christian worship. Whatever one's position on liturgical reform, I think it deserves a considerably richer analysis than an analogy with replacing office equipment.
More broadly, I would have appreciated a much more searching examination of what has happened to Catholic life in the decades since the Council: declining Mass attendance across much of the West, falling vocations, religious orders struggling for survival and the weakening of Catholic identity across institutions and families. There are obviously many competing explanations for these developments, and Vatican II itself took place amid enormous social and cultural upheaval. But precisely because Prevost spends so much of this collection discussing decline, changing communities and institutional crisis, I found the relative absence of serious reflection on the consequences of the Church's own reforms quite striking.
Interestingly, there were moments when I found myself agreeing with him very strongly. I particularly appreciated his warning that too much emphasis on diversity can eventually cause a community to lose sight of its own identity. That struck me as both sensible and surprisingly applicable far beyond the Augustinian Order. A community cannot welcome others into something if it no longer knows what that something is.
I also enjoyed some of his broader cultural commentary. There are several letters where Prevost is perceptive about contemporary culture and the pressures it places on Christian identity, community and religious life. Those sections were among the most interesting in the collection for me because they occasionally gave me glimpses of the book I thought I was going to read. I wanted more of that engagement with the world beyond the internal concerns of the Order.
Ultimately, three stars, and even that rating contains a certain amount of Catholic charity because, if I am completely truthful, there were stretches where I had absolutely no idea how I was going to get through another hundred pages.
I don't think this is necessarily a bad collection. I think it is a badly positioned one. As an archive of writings from Robert Prevost's years as Prior General of the Augustinians, it has genuine historical value. As a way of understanding the pastoral instincts and recurring concerns of the man who eventually became Pope Leo XIV, it is genuinely revealing. I finished Freedom Under Grace knowing Pope Leo better. I understand more clearly what concerns him, what he returns to and what kind of pastor he is.
But unless you have a particular interest in Pope Leo himself, the Augustinian Order, or genuinely enjoy reading hundreds of pages of ecclesial letters, addresses and homilies, I struggle to recommend reading this from cover to cover. There simply isn't enough variation or editorial reflection to sustain nearly five hundred pages.
I finished it knowing Pope Leo XIV better, and liking him as a person.
I just wish the beautiful title had given me the book I thought I was opening.
Perhaps one day Pope Leo will actually write that personal reflection on the Augustinian tradition that formed him.
That I would very much like to read.