Dorothy Day has fascinated me for a long time. She’s one of my heroes, which is why I put her in The Thin Veil banner, sandwiched right between Chesterton and Lewis (an enviable position, to be sure).
Most people know Dorothy because of her social activism, and that makes sense: her involvement in labor struggles, nonviolent protests, the Civil Rights movement, and the Catholic Worker community established her as one of the greatest social reformers in American history.
In fact many people consider her a saint for her social work alone and that may be true–though Dorothy famously retorted, “Don’t call me a saint! I don’t want to be dismissed that easily.”. But what makes her sanctity so interesting is that it’s entirely unconventional. Dorothy was a gritty New-Yorker with a hard-nosed character. She protested, she scowled, she failed, she struggled with her relationships, and she was often irritated by needy people.
Yet behind this edgy, active facade, Dorothy developed an intense spiritual life. And that inner life sat at the core of everything she did. All of her activism was grounded on her Catholic faith and for her, the two were inseparable. Her active life and contemplative life were locked together like praying hands, each one gripping and intertwining one another.
In Dorothy’s mind, contemplating Scripture, worshiping God, receiving the Eucharist, and praying the Divine Office were more than nice acts of piety to tack onto her social work. They were the very fuel that powered all of her service and organizing.
Robert Ellsberg, who was part of Dorothy’s New York community and was a close friend during her final years, has compiled a new book peering into this oft-ignored side of Dorothy. The Duty of Delight: The Diaries of Dorothy Day (Image, paperback, 752 pages) goes beyond most other biographies. It’s not an objective, outsider view of this social saint but a collection of deeply personal diary entries that take us into the heart of Dorothy’s everyday life and unveil it from within.
We see her ruminate on Augustine’s City of God and Dostoyevsky’s Crime and Punishment, which she records in between serving meals and sweeping the floors. She recounts late night debates with Peter Maurin, her itinerant philosopher friend, while reflecting on mundane topics like the weather, finances, her family, and the news.
Dorothy also takes us deep into her personal dramas of love, war, parenting, protesting, and service. We read of her brush-in’s with spiritual giants like Thomas Merton, Henri Nouwen, Pope Paul VI, and Mother Teresa. Regarding the latter, Dorothy’s striking modesty is seen in an entry from June 17, 1979, which simply says:
“June 17 – Mother Teresa and Eileen visited.”
Throughout its pages, The Duty of Delight reveals a certain depth and poetry and authenticity that, according to Fr. James Martin, makes it “one of the most powerful works of Christian spirituality I have ever read.” Here’s an offhanded reflection on the demands of service which she recorded after a difficult day:
“Food, warmth, shelter, clothing, beauty, yet—ourselves most of all—to be available to men. But in the Catholic Worker house there are so many, and each wants it all, your time, your love, your attention. ‘You are never here.’ This is my suffering, my failure, and my cross. Rejoice.”
If Dorothy is ever canonized, The Duty of Delight will stand as the most comprehensive, intimate collection of writings we have from any saint. It’s what Story of a Soul would have been had St. Therese lived to be 83 instead of 24, a fascinating gaze into an unconventional, yet holy woman.
“Today I thought of a title for my book, The Duty of Delight, as a sequel to The Long Loneliness. I was thinking, how as one gets older, we are tempted to sadness, knowing life as it is here on earth, the suffering, the Cross. And how we must overcome it daily, growing in love, and the joy which goes with loving.”