This time of year, I sometimes feel as though our convent living room has been overtaken by officers of an occupying army. Parishioners may be surprised to discover that sisters can be avid football fans. I know I was taken aback when I first saw my gentle, devout novice director — with training in Ignatian spirituality and discernment — turn into a whooping couch-thumper whenever Notre Dame was playing and the iconic “Touchdown Jesus” appeared on the TV screen. Of course, she was a Hoosier, which might explain some of it.

My true confession is that I have yet to figure out what a down is. The only reason I went to some of my high school football games was because our senior class took turns selling soda and french fries (with vinegar!) at the concession stand. These days, I concede once a year to watch the Super Bowl, and I actually know who Mahomes and Kelce are for the sake of maintaining “community.” Generally, though, I slink upstairs and away from all the bash and smash. It’s a great opportunity to indulge in some spiritual reading.

One of the things I’ve learned is that, aside from the Gospels and Epistles, centuries of monks and nuns favored Psalms, the Song of Songs and the Book of Sirach for spiritual reading. They also turned to lives of saints and works we now call spiritual classics. For much of the 20th century, an organization called Spiritual Book Associates (SBA) supplied convents and individual subscribers with monthly selections. When I moved to Bluffton, I was dazzled to learn that one of SBA’s regular authors, Jesuit Father Thomas Green, whose works included Weeds Among the Wheat, was the brother of one of our parishioners.

SBA is no longer in operation, but Ignatius Press and authors like Matthew Kelly have filled the void. Spiritual reading, however, need not always be ponderous tomes or officially inspirational. As a retreat director once told me, icons, art books, music, podcasts, YouTube selections and even fiction can feed the soul.

Over the years, I’ve benefited from that expansive view. At St. Gregory the Great Church, we are at the 20-year mark with our Catholic Book Club. From September through May, whoever wishes gathers monthly to discuss a book. We’ve delved into Augustine, Catherine of Siena, Teresa of Ávila, Francis de Sales, Thérèse of Lisieux, Celtic spirituality, Marian devotions and papal writings. We’ve also read historical fiction and novels by African-American, Hispanic and Asian-American writers that became springboards for spiritual and moral reflection. 

That’s where purgatory comes in.

Saints and Church Fathers as early as Clement of Alexandria, Cyril of Jerusalem and Basil the Great (second through fourth centuries) spoke of purification after death and purgatorial fire. St. Frances of Rome and St. Gertrude the Great had visions of purgatory, as did St. Faustina Kowalska. These visions are often fearsome, reminding us that venial sin is still sin and imprisons us. Dante’s “Purgatorio” in The Divine Comedy imagined purgatory as terraces and a pathway to Eden. There was suffering, but also prayer, insight, progress and the sustaining certainty of heaven.

It is in this vein that Michael Norton wrote A Hiker’s Guide to Purgatory, published in 2022 by Ignatius Press. I plan to recommend it to our parish book club after reading it this past summer. Norton is a self-described revert — one who returned to Catholicism after a long struggle.

In Norton’s book, the hero, Dan Geary, had lived with self-indulgent, erroneous habits before a startling conversion to fidelity, family and faith. Yet Dan, no matter how well he turned out, still has work to do before he is ready for the Beatific Vision. His purgatory involves both smooth and treacherous hiking.

The angel Raphael assists at key moments, and a daughter he never met (because of a miscarriage) appears as he journeys. Dan must face the consequences of his sins, suffer the pain of those he hurt and make a deeper peace with his father. Along the way, he knows he is being prayed for — and that souls in purgatory pray for those on earth and for others on their way to heaven.

Toward the end of the book, Dan and his father spend time catching fish and releasing them back to the water. It’s largely wordless but healing. Strangely, the ending made me wonder whether my disdainful attitude toward the sisters’ favorite sport might require reconsideration. Some of heaven is entering into the worlds of others. Maybe, just maybe, spending time with them on something they enjoy is not merely a sacrifice but an invitation to watch and wait and read, in a way, their souls.