Henry David Thoreau, born exactly 200 years ago on July 12, embraced civil rights in the abolitionist movement. He triumphed individual conscience in his writings, loved nature and was part of the New England transcendentalist movement, which influences today’s “I’m spiritual but not religious” types. He was highly irascible, influenced by Hinduism and had systemic bad health (he died at the age of 45 ). He also struggled to get his works published — “A Walk in the Maine Woods” took four attempts — and many were slow to succeed, including “Walden.” He was a Harvard graduate and, briefly, a schoolteacher; he reportedly caned a handful of students at random then quit in a huff.

What does Thoreau have to say to us today? We could use some Thoreaus to rail against the current machines of impersonal and inappropriate artificial intelligence that threatens jobs. Thoreauism could check the abuses in neglected environmental issues. The “Sage of Concord” could challenge modernist stress and isolation from community. His lifestyle could challenge a toxic opioid crisis with more naturalist, conscious living. Thoreau could inspire liberation of those addicted to the grid or those who shelter in goupthink.

While on a recent Italian pilgrimage I read the scholarly yet enjoyable book, “Henry Thoreau: A Life of the Mind,” by Ralph D. Richardson Jr. The sage he describes both rankles and inspires: “We can never have enough of nature,” Thoreau said. Also: “The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation.”

I thought of these quotes as I encountered Thoreau in Italy. I threw out my flip phone, and realized that the mere theory of simplicity does not deliver liberated reality; a menu does not automatically lead to a meal. We Americans can get stuck in our heads by failing to make hard choices.

There, I also embraced the other nature enthusiast and theosophist, St. Francis of Assisi.

As our travel group ventured into Francis’ home it was easy to compare and contrast these two spiritual sages. They shared a love of nature and difficult living; both were hikers and social critics. Yet they differed, too: Thoreau embraced monism (God and all are one), and Francis preached creationism. Thoreau was more head and Francis more heart. Thoreau was largely anti-institutional and Francis in favor of reforming the spiritual system.

It seems we need both of these spiritualists in today’s whirling world.

One of my favorite Italian memories, and an encapsulation of the spirit of St. Francis, is viewing a statue of the saint, near his cave, away from busy Assisi, lying on the ground, arms under his head, sandals cast off, legs crossed and a slight smile on his face as he squints toward the skies, perhaps experiencing a theophany — God manifestation — of birds, trees, clouds, mountain tops.

Francis here is free, empty, present enough to actually become, as Thoreau would say, transcendental, above it all precisely by being in it all. The spirit of this unorthodox artwork inspires me more than all those exquisite Giotto fresco paintings, grand basilicas and dedicated Franciscans leading tours today.

Recently we had a visitor to our church in Western Maryland. James was a homeless guy walking from Delaware to Dayton, Ohio, to visit and honor his family graveyard. He was on a pilgrimage. His bike was stolen and while waiting for us to secure one for him, I noticed him out on our wonderful backyard hill, overlooking the Potomac River and hills of West Virginia, lying on the green ground, face gleaming, legs crossed and basking in the bright skies above.

He was Franciscan enough to be poor and rich at the same time, fashioned into, as Thoreau would describe, “A sort of homemade divineness.”

Would that we all could be so simply satisfied.

Rev. John J. Lombardi (jlombardi7@verizon.net) is a Catholic priest in Hancock, Md.