Now is Republicans' time to cast away Donald Trump 

I just returned from Spain, where we spent four amazing nights in Barcelona. That city is renowned for its architecture, its Catalonian heritage, its cuisine, and its fantastic Mediterranean beach—but it was the Ciutat Vella (Old Town) that intrigued me most. We walked through its narrow, winding streets—largely unchanged since the Middle Ages—and it was easy to imagine the scene some seven centuries ago as these same cobblestone streets greeted the feet of our city's namesake, San Luis Obispo de Tolosa, aka Saint Louis d'Anjou.

Louis had spent his entire adolescence in Barcelona, from 1289 to 1296—nearly a third of his short life. Not by choice: He was a captive of the King of Aragon, held there with his two brothers as ransom for the life of his father, Charles II, King of Naples, after his defeat and capture in Sicily by the Aragonese.

I often lead tours of Old Mission SLO, where I relate some of the stories embodied in our most famous local landmark. I always pause at the altar where an 18th century statue of Saint Louis holds an exalted position on the left, wearing his bishop's mitre and extending his black-gloved hands as if he himself were conducting Mass.

Within the gaze of that life-like statue, at the opposite end of the Old Mission Annex, a portrait of the same Saint Louis hangs on the wall, staring back almost as a mirror image.

The painting includes one important detail that is easily overlooked: At the feet of the bishop is a barely visible crown, cast aside by Louis. By the time Louis was released from Barcelona in 1296, his elder brother had died of the plague. Upon his return to Naples, Louis could have been the Crown Prince of Naples and heir to all his father's realms.

Instead, Louis took the choice offered by Ecclesiastes and "cast away" his crown, preferring to take the Franciscan vows of "poverty, obedience, and chastity" on Christmas Day 1296 in Rome. Only a few days later, Boniface VII consecrated him as Bishop of Toulouse.

Sadly, Louis died of a fever only a few months later. In that short time, he had devoted himself to feeding the hungry, serving the poor, and treating the sick. His Franciscan colleagues venerated their impoverished, suffering bishop for his dedicated service, and only two short decades later, Pope John XXII canonized Louis, and Junipero Serra conferred his name on the nascent Mission here in 1772.

How is any of this story from 700 years ago relevant to us today? Most of us are ambitious to some degree. We pursue a goal, whether it's aspiring to greater wealth, power, or position—or, in the case of our former President Donald Trump, another four years in the White House.

The Republican Party now seems to be fully committed to putting him there, too. Recent polls have Trump with twice the support of his nearest GOP competitor, Florida Gov. Ron DeSantis. Incredible as it may seem, a second Trump inauguration in January 2025 is well within the realm of possibility.

I fully hope and expect that the majority of American voters (and, even more importantly, the Electoral College) will deny him a second inauguration. I'm alarmed, however, at the prospect of another Jan. 6 insurrection, or worse, a wave of domestic terrorism on a scale never imagined before. Well-armed forces of white supremacists, "Christian" nationalists, and violent right-wing extremists could wreak havoc with another coordinated assault on our democratic institutions.

Surely it's too much to ask that a narcissist like Donald Trump would cast away his delusional image as the nation's savior, deserving of his ill-gotten wealth and celebrity—let alone lead a life of poverty. Nor would I expect any of us to disengage from this world, giving up all ambition, all aspiration, all determination to improve our own position in life merely to serve the poor, the hungry, and the sick.

As the ancient biblical writer advises, however, there is a time to keep and a time to cast away. On several occasions in my life, I've walked away from a position where I could have chosen instead to stay, to fight for my continued "right" to pursue some exalted objective that eluded me—but the better choice was to cast off and find a better way to resonate with the universe.

Let's hope that our Republican friends and fellow Americans of all political persuasions find a way to cast away the spell and spectacle that surrounds our former president. But should the worst happen in November 2024, I may find a way back to Barcelona and take up permanent residence there, where I can once again listen for the echoes of that long-ago Franciscan saint whose remarkable reputation deserves to be better known in the city and county that bear his name. Δ

John Ashbaugh has already squandered any chance at an early canonization—but who knows? If only he were actually Catholic. Respond with a commentary for publication emailed to [email protected].