We know examples of a deep and persevering zeal for the kingdom of God which is still essentially on the natural level. There have been ardent fighters for the cause of God, enduring heavy sacrifices for the kingdom of God and continuing the struggle in the midst of all adversities, yet doing so in a mood of natural pugnacity, in a hard and rigid attitude—men who have failed to grasp the parable of the wheat and the chaff.

Think, for example, of the tragic figure of Pope Paul IV (Caraffa), who was burning with zeal for the house of God, who led a life of austere poverty amidst an environment reeking with worldliness, who would not have hesitated a moment to give his life for the reform of the Church, and yet, whose pontificate was to be so unsuccessful owing to his fanaticism, his asperity, and his lack of trust, that on his death bed he declared it to have been the most unfortunate since St. Peter's. A world's distance separates his ethos from that of his gentle, patient fellow friar, St. Cajetan.

Paul IV's zeal was of the kind that is not anointed with the holy oil of patience; that is not transfigured by discretio; that is apt to degenerate into an angry zealotry devoid of all kindness and trustfulness, and to dash forward with an impetuous fury stemming entirely from the natural man.

A person inspired by this kind of zeal, though his fervor is not deprived of charity towards God and his fellow men, will hardly escape the danger of becoming a fanatic and sinning against charity. For it is rather his great passionate nature as such than a full and unreserved surrender to God that feeds the flame of his struggle for the kingdom of God. True, his entire robust power is put into the service of God; but the aspect of dying unto one's self is absent. A life thus devoted to God falls short of being a life really and truly based on God.

Very different in character is the gentle, radiant, peaceful flame, the wholly spiritualized ardor that burns in him rich in patience and gentle kindness, who may say of himself, "I live, now not I: but Christ liveth in me." Of such men alone can we predicate, in the fully adequate sense of those words, that "they hunger and thirst after justice," and "seek first the kingdom of God."

As regards the above-described cruder type of ardent souls, they too are in a certain sense warriors of God; but they are bent on changing the face of the earth by violence, on forcing the victory of the cause of God, on determining "the day and the hour" according to their own counsel; hence, the havoc they work often outweighs their constructive achievements. In a sense, they undoubtedly hunger and thirst for the kingdom of God; but that hunger and thirst is warped, to a greater or lesser degree, by its all too natural motivation and style.

Contrast therewith the zeal of a St. Dominic as, on one occasion, he meets an Albigensian innkeeper who is swearing and blaspheming; instead of expostulating with the unhappy fellow, the saint kneels down beside him and starts praying, and keeps on praying throughout the night, until at dawn he finds the heretic on his knees and sunk in prayer, too. What strikes us here is the wonderful way in which patience and a tireless zeal for God and the fellow man's soul interpenetrate each other. We see a blend of discretion and ardor, calm meekness doubled with implacable strength—in a word, that coincidentia oppositorum which is the mark of supernatural life.

The saint is so dead unto himself that his solicitude is altogether borne and guided by God, who "maketh his sun to rise upon the good and bad" (Matt. 5:45), and woos out souls with inconceivable forbearance.

The fervor of the saint reveals a rhythm that can no longer be measured by natural standards. He borrows, so to speak, the rule of his being from God; and may speak with St. Paul: "Gladly therefore will I glory in my infirmities, that the power of Christ may dwell in me" (2 Cor. 12:9).

No longer do we face here the massive impetus of a powerful nature—its place is taken by a soaring tranquillity; we discern an attitude completely embedded in the peace of God; an awareness (uniting the utmost devotion to detached serenity) of being nothing but an instrument of God, who also disposes of ways other than those which this particular servant of His has devised in pursuing, nay, who "is able of these stones to raise up children to Abraham" (Matt. 3:9), and who therefore never depends necessarily on himself. Such a man is as though he had cast all earthly weight from him. He irradiates a mild yet resistless energy which makes all natural impetus appear as impotent weakness.

In all our search and struggle for the kingdom of God, we must again and again examine ourselves as to whether we have reached the stage of such a supernatural hunger and thirst. It is not enough that we should burn; it must be the light, serene flame rising from a heart penetrated and lit up by the love of Christ.

from Transformation in Christ by Dietrich von Hildebrand, "Blessed are They Who Hunger for Justice"