Economics and Charisms/3 - In communities of consecrated persons, one danger to avoid is that there are people who “stay” simply because they lack the means to start a new life. Here are some ideas to ensure that fidelity to one’s choice is always authentic
by Luigino Bruni
published in Avvenire on June 28, 2026
A few weeks ago, during a conference, the discussion turned to the importance of people’s economic autonomy within communities. At the end, a young nun asked to speak and said to me: “I have taken the vow of poverty: how do your remarks on economic autonomy fit in with that vow?”
To try to answer this, let’s start with a paradoxical situation. Let’s imagine the hypothetical thoughts of a nun who has just taken her vows: “Now I’ve finally solved all my problems. I won’t have to deal with complicated relationships with men or the ambivalence of sexuality anymore; no more problems stemming from married life or children. Furthermore, with the vow of obedience, I won’t have to worry about my life plan—a superior will guide my choices. Finally, no worries about work, managing bank accounts or bills—no financial responsibilities at all. I’ll put three crosses on all that and think only of my vocation.”
We all understand that this line of thinking, similar to that of the “rich fool” (Lk 12), is a parody of the good religious life—even if, every now and then, it would be wise to start from this fiction for the sake of discernment: money (poverty), freedom (obedience), and sexuality (chastity) are the radical and vital moral realms of human beings, and the temptation to control them is never fully overcome, because keeping free and autonomous people together is extremely complicated (but beautiful). Communities should not be built with the cement of individual people’s lack of freedom.
Let’s limit ourselves to the economic sphere. The economy, as we know, is not just about economics. When a person lacks control over the material conditions of their existence, all other aspects—even the most spiritual ones—depend on this lack of autonomy. In my work accompanying individuals and groups in religious communities, I have met people who, despite no longer having any interest in consecrated life (life is a process of self-discovery, and we do not always manage to grow while preserving the forms of the promises of youth), remained in the community simply because they had no Plan B: they were over fifty, without paid work, “out of the job market,” and without wealthy relatives. Staying, in and of itself, does not say enough about a person’s life: staying when I could leave but choose not to is very different from staying when leaving is not a viable option. As the great economist and philosopher Amartya Sen has taught us, the quality of a person’s life is not measured solely on the basis of what they do, but also—and above all—on what they could do but do not. There are many unhappy ways of “staying” and “remaining,” some of them deeply sorrowful. Over time, those “forced to stay” come to resemble, psychologically speaking, prisoners, and their transgressions become their “recreation time.” And woe betide us if, today, people were kept in a state of non-autonomy as a tool of governance to keep them in the community (these are serious abuses).
It becomes clear, then, that if we hope to live in a healthy community made up of thriving individuals, we must do everything possible to reduce the number of those who, during the necessary crisis that marks the transition to adulthood, remain only because they lack the financial independence to build a new life for themselves. For only if the number of these disillusioned and uninspired individuals remains below an acceptable threshold (around 10–15%) can the community’s overall dynamics absorb them without incurring excessively high relational and economic costs. Incidentally, people who remain in the community without believing in it anymore tend to tell many “financial lies”—they inflate medical expenses, exaggerate the costs of visiting relatives, with the intention of securing a secret nest egg “just in case”—and their childishness grows stronger.
And here we return to the vow of poverty.
The Gospel meaning of Francis’s “sine proprio” is entirely prophetic. The renunciation of economic and material goods has two major, interrelated rationales in the Gospel: (a) choosing to make oneself small in order to try to pass through the eye of the needle, and beyond that to find the Kingdom (Mt 19); (b) sharing one’s possessions in a poor and open community (Acts 4). The renunciation of possessions makes prophetic and Gospel sense—it is meaningful—if and when it becomes a gateway to a greater good, for us and for many, for everyone. If, on the other hand, as we have said, the renunciation of autonomy (which does not mean independence) becomes a means of controlling people, all the beauty and prophecy of evangelical poverty vanishes immediately and turns into its opposite. It is not enough simply to have no possessions to enter the Kingdom of Heaven.
How, then, should we respond to that nun’s difficult question? First, by reminding ourselves that the vow of poverty does not mean irresponsibility regarding the material aspects of one’s own life (and that of the community), because this form of responsibility is part of the repertoire of every adult life. Reaching the age of 30 or 40 in the 21st century without knowing how a bank account works and without being able to manage at least one’s own expenses is not, in itself, an expression of any kind of prophecy, but perhaps of civic immaturity. In the past, religious communities managed their collective finances by requiring individual sisters and brothers (note: those who were not clerics) to renounce all economic autonomy—a renunciation sanctified and reinforced by their vow. Management was centralized in the superiors, and individual members had to ask permission even to buy a sandwich, because no one had even a minimal budget to manage. This situation was not very different from that experienced by our mothers and grandmothers who were homemakers.
In my “humble opinion,” to bring young people back into charismatic communities (and ensure the well-being of those already there), a profound and courageous rethinking is needed regarding how to reconcile evangelical poverty with the reality of adulthood. There are some ongoing initiatives, but to my knowledge, they are unsatisfactory. Some ecclesial movements, for example, have tried to resolve this tension by giving each “consecrated” member a small monthly sum (25 or 50 euros) to manage independently—a solution that is, in effect, identical to the “allowance” we give our children, a practice that does nothing but fuel infantilism, the great ailment of communities and movements.
Few bold experiments are undertaken, either out of laziness or because there is a sense that granting people economic autonomy means, on the one hand, risking a loss of control over them, and on the other, that the community will be reduced to a student apartment where people share expenses and a few meals. But continuing with the old way of managing people means failing to attract vocations and, instead, selecting people who want to settle down to resolve their own problems of lack of autonomy.
We should also address the civil recognition of the work of nuns and consecrated persons who labor within community structures. And not only in lay movements, where the process has begun, but also in religious communities of both the active and contemplative life. Why, let us ask ourselves, not recognize the legitimacy of a salary (at least part-time) for nuns and sisters who work in infirmaries, vegetable gardens, kitchens, schools…? In monastic life, work is not an accidens: it is a charism, and today the medieval “ora et labora” must evolve thanks to the rights and freedoms of our time. Individuals would contribute their salaries to the community, in a different and new kind of freedom, in a reciprocity of dignity. Work done seriously and competently—the first true women’s professions emerged in monasteries and convents, from embroidery to teaching. And anyone who one day wishes to leave will be able to do so with greater freedom, only to discover, perhaps at times, that this freedom to be able to leave has given them the new freedom to stay—and a resurrection begins, within the very same life they have always lived.
There is no community more beautiful than one made up of people who do not stay because of vows made yesterday, but because of the dreams of today and tomorrow.