100 Books Like The Wounded Healer

This book shifted the way I view both the literal and metaphorical winters in my life.

Rather than being seasons to dread, rushing through to get to the other side, the author helped me see them as opportunities for quiet and stillness; moments to rest.

There is something comforting to me about the idea that winters are inevitable, and that leaning into them—allowing myself to be nourished by them—is part of how we make it through.

I was taken by surprise by this unassuming man and his measured journey.

The premise didn’t sound like a page turner. I expected the pacing to be slow, and it is. But in my opinion, his pilgrimage is anything but dull. Life is messy, and his regrets are many, and just the fact that he embarks on this journey is pretty miraculous. I didn’t think he had it in him to finish the 627-mile trek, but I stayed with him—for along the way his observations were profound.

Ms. Joyce’s use of plain language captures the ordinariness of Harold, but his insights are a treasure trove.  Like Harold says, “A journey isn’t measured in miles but in moments that change us forever.”

In midlife, as I looked back at what I’d learned, including many mistakes, and wondered how to move forward, Rohr’s “spirituality for the two halves of life” offered me a map for the territory I was navigating. He showed me a pattern of upbuilding, offering, and transformation that helped me move through seeming failure and tragedy without losing faith in a wider source of meaning.

With his characteristic sense of humor, using down-to-earth examples combined with a mystical, mythic awareness, he helped open up a new space for transformation in the midst of everyday challenges. 

Feel bullied by thoughts, emotions, anxieties? Find yourself wallowing in past regrets or resentments, or projecting into a foreboding future? Eknath Easwaran shows how damaging thought patterns result in giving away the present - the only time we’re ever guaranteed, feeding a self-absorption that exacerbates our suffering. Easwaran explains the age-old spiritual tool known as mantra, demonstrating the ways we can use it to transform our pain. Using a sacred word as a pivot from negativity trains the brain to focus instead on the positivity we know as God. I found myself deeply grateful to Easwaran during the endless wait as my daughter-in-law struggled through the excruciatingly long and perilous delivery of my grandson. “Oh Sacred Heart…” kept me afloat and held us all in the palm of God’s hand.

The idea of “cheap diversity” in the subtitle immediately caught my eye. Too often, churches and parachurch organizations think looking like a United Colors of Benetton commercial (way back reference!) is the end we’re seeking, where a Sunday morning appears mixed but isn’t truly integrated in any meaningful way.

Swanson helps me get beyond that superficial acceptance and suggests we need a complete rewiring of our thinking that only comes through changing our habits and liturgies, forcing myself beneath the surface and into broader communal discipleship among God’s people. 

Using the church's discipleship methods, Swanson gave me practical ways to think about challenging segregation, racial habits, and other cultural captivities that have become our norm and replacing them with more biblically aligned perspectives and behaviors.

Look. I could tell you it’s a modern-day gothic. I could tell you it wields its heresy to illuminate the true meaning of God. I could tell you she writes with the clarity of an imprisoned martyr watching the pyre being assembled outside her window. But, really, I just want you to know that I read Sierra Simone with a goofy smile on my face, marveling at how she makes the bonkers believable. She’s a surreal realist. There’s an energy here that’s simply unmatched. The book vibrates. And if you make it through Priest, might I suggest her New Camelot trilogy, which tackles the only thing more sacred than the Catholic church: the American presidency.

What persuaded a priest to join El Salvador’s largest guerilla organization, the FPL (Popular Liberation Forces)?

This biography explains the metamorphosis of “Padre David,” as he was known. The book also places his experience within the larger context of the role progressive priests and nuns played in helping the poor to realize their worth, which inspired many to then demand change in society. Because the state crushed all peaceful opposition, especially through violence, many Salvadorans concluded that the only way to work for change – and to simultaneously protect themselves – was to join an armed movement. Padre David was no different. He felt an added sense of responsibility because he trained catechists to work for change who were later killed because the state saw them as threats to the status quo.

One of my permanent, permanent favorites. Cather’s novel about a pair of French Catholic missionaries in 19th-century New Mexico is a lot of things: a portrait of a complex and life-giving friendship, a “loveship,” if I can borrow from Alice Munro.

It’s also an immersive historical treatment of Catholic proselytizing in the Southwest and a lyric poem about the beauty of that land. It’s smart about the rigors and consolations and the inevitable condescension of missionary work. It’s smart about everything. A perfect book.

The main author of this book, Father Thomas Doyle, served at the Vatican Embassy in the 1980s and became an expert in the canonical and pastoral dimensions of priestly sexual abuse.

He has worked with the victims and their families, the abuser priests, the bishops, and superiors, and has developed policies for dealing with cases of sexual abuse by the clergy.

His advocacy work for the victims has resulted in large settlements for many of them, and his exposure of this ugly problem has caused huge financial and psychological stress for the Catholic Church worldwide.

At this point, most people in the world realize priestly sexual abuse is a critical threat to the integrity of Catholicism, and this book is the best source on this deep-seated problem.

This deep book reveals the Church has grappled with this devastating internal problem from its earliest years.

Set in Mexico in the 1930s when the revolutionary government engaged in an active campaign against the Catholic Church, Greene’s hero, the so-called Whiskey Priest, is a drunk who has also failed to adhere to his vow of chastity, but his kindness and commitment to worshippers make him an intensely sympathetic figure, as he is hunted by the local police chief determined to put him behind bars.

The book was a revelation to me when I first read it in college. I did not realize that the Mexican government had engaged in this war against the Church so recently. Nor did I realize that a novel so gripping could be told with such literary grace.