That said, let’s talk about Spider-Man. Or, even better, let’s talk about vocation. Yes, vocation.
Because I left the theater thinking about Peter Parker, but also about a book about Saint Ezekiel Moreno that I read about ten years ago, when I was in the novitiate.
The book was by Friar Ángel Martínez Cuesta and was titled The Path of Duty. It was a biography of Saint Ezekiel Moreno, the saint from Alfaro, and I remember that back then there was something about its approach that impressed me deeply: Ezekiel seemed to know what he had to do… and he did it.
It was that simple. There was a duty. There was a mission. It had to be fulfilled. And I loved that.
Ten years later, I have to admit that I probably understood the book quite poorly.
When you know what you have to do
Over the years—not that many—of consecrated life and priesthood, I’ve discovered that following “the path of duty” is quite a bit more complicated than I thought as a novice.
Because you can come to know what you have to do. The real problem starts afterward.
You can know what you want to do with your life and still be afraid. You can be convinced of your vocation and get tired. You can deeply love what you’ve given your life to and need to stop. You can want to do good and make mistakes while trying to do it.
And I think that, in part, that’s what the movie is about. Peter Parker has made a decision about his life. He knows his powers aren’t just for him. He knows he has a responsibility and is willing to pay a huge price for it.
Up to this point, we all know the phrase: with great power comes great responsibility.
The problem starts when Peter seems to draw an additional conclusion: if the responsibility is mine, I also have to carry it alone. And that’s where things get complicated.
I’ve never liked comparing religious people to superheroes. It seems excessive to me and, besides, those of us who live in a religious community know that reality is usually much less cinematic.
But there is a point of contact: when you profess as a religious, you’re saying you want to give your life for something you consider greater than yourself.
Not because you’re a hero. Nor because you’re better than anyone else. You’ve simply discovered something worth living for. Peter discovers it too.
And that’s why he’s willing to give up everything for the sake of his friends. He’s even willing for them to forget him. To disappear from their lives. To be left alone if it means he can protect them.
It sounds heroic. Maybe too heroic. Because the problem is precisely that: Peter decides to do it alone.
Spider-Man, vocation, and sacrifice: did we get something wrong?
And this is where Spider-Man made me think again about that book by Friar Ángel. For a long time, I thought “the path of duty” meant something like this: find out what you have to do and do it. No matter how much it costs. Endure. Give yourself. Sacrifice yourself. Keep going.
And be careful, because there’s something deeply true in that. A vocation without sacrifice is probably just a hobby. Loving costs. Loving hurts, because if it doesn’t hurt, it isn’t love.
But now I think a part is missing. Because we can end up confusing self-giving with destruction; sacrifice with burnout; generosity with an inability to say “no”; availability with being permanently busy.
And we can even come to think that the more tired we are, the better we are living our vocation. As if exhaustion were a kind of certificate of authenticity for the Gospel. It isn’t.
I didn’t learn this alone; I learned it from Byung-Chul Han, but I’ll tell you about my favorite philosopher another day. Let’s get back to Spider-Man.
Maybe Peter has to discover it too. Because Spider-Man can save the world, but Peter Parker has to learn to live in it. And that, in reality, is growing up.
Spider-Man also has to learn to be Peter Parker
I think that, deep down, the movie is about exactly that: growing up. About deciding how you want to live your adult life when you discover that your decisions have consequences. About accepting that you can’t keep everything. About taking on responsibilities without letting those responsibilities end up devouring you.
Peter can’t stop being Spider-Man. But Spider-Man can’t finish off Peter Parker either.
And I’m not talking about the character as a mask that Peter puts on and takes off. I’m talking about something deeper: integrating what you are called to be into the person you are. That also happens with a vocation.
I don’t stop being Alfonso to become “Friar Alfonso,” even though I often joke with my friends about the “Friar Alfonso” brand. My vocation shouldn’t erase my humanity, but transform it. It shouldn’t make me less of a person, but help me be more fully who I am called to be.
And maybe a fundamental part of that maturity consists in discovering something that Peter Parker finds very hard to accept: you can’t do it alone.
You need friends. You need community. You need people you don’t have to be a superhero for. You need people who can tell you that you’re wrong, that you need to stop, or simply that today you don’t have to save anyone.
In religious life, this should be especially evident to us. We don’t profess alone. We aren’t Gospel snipers. Nor are we “Christ’s warriors,” like in the TikTok meme. We live in community because we also need others to hold us up when we can’t. And, of course, we need God.
Even superheroes need to rest
Maybe this is the part that has changed the most in my way of understanding that “path of duty.”
Ten years ago, I probably would have thought that fulfilling one’s duty was giving oneself until the end. Burning out for what one believes in. Perhaps influenced by another quote from a book I read in the postulancy:
...You were burning to enlist in what you call “the noblest Knighthood.” Well, keep burning! Don't turn out to be a flash in the pan. You have to burn steadily. As steadily as the sun and the stars! Burn, until you are totally consumed! If you are going to give yourself to God, give yourself entirely or don't give yourself at all. Be a saint!...
And that language still appears a lot when we talk about vocation. “Giving it all.” “Spending oneself for the Kingdom.” “Giving one’s life.” These are beautiful expressions. And true.
But they can become a trap if we forget something fundamental: God doesn’t just call you to do things for Him. He calls you to be with Him. And that changes things quite a bit.
Maybe the true path of duty doesn’t consist only in being available for everyone. It also consists in being available for your own. For your community. For your friends. For yourself. And for God.
It consists in taking care of prayer, but also in sleeping. In working, but also in knowing when to close the computer. In accompanying others and letting others accompany you. In listening to the problems of half the world and keeping people in front of whom you too can say: “Today I can’t.”
Because even superheroes need to rest. And we aren’t superheroes.
The true path of duty: learning to love
I don’t know if I would understand The Path of Duty the same way today as when I read it in the novitiate. Probably not.
And I like that. Because maybe growing up is also rereading the books that marked us and discovering that we are no longer the same readers.
Saint Ezekiel Moreno knew sacrifice, mission, illness, self-giving, and duty. Peter Parker has to discover what it means to carry a responsibility that often seems too big for him.
And we, allowing for all the differences between a saint, a superhero, and any of us, have to discover what it means to respond to our own vocation.
Today I believe the path of duty doesn’t simply consist in knowing what you have to do and doing it.
It’s something harder. It’s learning why you do it, for whom you do it, and with whom you want to walk that path.
It’s understanding that giving your life doesn’t mean despising it. That taking care of others doesn’t require forgetting yourself. That asking for help doesn’t make your vocation less authentic. That resting doesn’t mean abandoning the mission.
And that God doesn’t need superheroes. He needs people capable of loving. Maybe that’s what becoming an adult is. Maybe that’s also discovering a vocation.
And maybe the true path of duty is much less spectacular than I imagined ten years ago: learning to care and let yourself be cared for, to love and let yourself be loved.
Because, in the end, fulfilling your duty doesn’t simply consist in holding on until you can’t take it anymore. It consists in learning to truly love.
And we, allowing for all the differences between a saint, a superhero, and any of us, have to discover what it means to respond to our own vocation.
