Franciscan at Home

In his exposition on the Creed, St. Ambrose calls it “our heart’s meditation and an ever-present guardian . . . unquestionably, the treasure of our soul.” I wonder how many of us think of the Creed in this way—and how many children do? A guardian? The treasure of our soul? Something on which our heart loves to meditate? In I Believe, We Believe, however, we have been given a book for children and adults that not only teaches richly and attractively but also feeds the longing of the soul for God’s beauty and eternity.

It is an illustrated catechesis on the Apostles’ Creed from Bethlehem Books with text by Caroline Farey and artwork by Roseanne Sharpe. Five double-spread watercolors delightfully proclaim the whole of the Creed in pictorial form, the images simple, strong, and clear. Each illustration is followed by a catechetical commentary that walks engagingly through it, highlighting and explaining the main images. The book takes the form of a journey through the Creed, using the central figure of a child being led through the doorway of Baptism into the mysteries of the faith, accompanied by the child’s guardian angel who introduces the mysteries and teaches the child. The book is recommended for ages nine to adult, with read-aloud interest for those of ages seven and up.

The second half of the book is made up of a section called “Enrichment Pages”—rich resources for catechists, parents, and teachers to use to introduce their children to essential and foundational principles for understanding any aspect of the faith, principles that will help form the child in an authentic Catholic worldview. These pages draw from the same five illustrations, this time identifying images and features that appear in different ways and guises across the artwork as a whole, in this way revealing the marvelous coherence of the Creed and the faith it proclaims. A glossary of terms and a set of cross-references to parts of the Catechism concludes the book.

Catholic school educators: heed the challenge! Extend your vocation response to include the family.

The vocation of the Catholic school teacher calls us to be catalysts that lead students to come to know, love, and serve God. In bygone times, home and school worked “hand in glove” to form a Christian character within the child. Some contemporary families are enthusiastic about pursuing that call. Many others, however, admit feelings of inferiority when it comes to being the spiritual formators of their children. They count on us to fill in the gaps that they perceive exist. Those parents need us to evangelize them.

What? You might say, I am already on overload! Lesson plans that incorporate various learning styles and mediums, differentiating instruction, student support meetings, mainstreaming, maintaining the student information system, extracurricular activities, faculty committee work, school duties (arrival, lunch, dismissal) . . . and the list goes on. Now you want me to add intentional evangelization of the family? I have no more time! Well, the good news is that you do not need more time if you apply the adage, “work smarter, not harder.”

First, identify projects for liturgical seasons and other faith-formation topics that are part of your normal teaching curriculum. Then, develop interactive lessons that lead from the head (ideas) to the heart (affection, emotion). You may engage the students in the lesson with activities like becoming a character in the Christmas crib scene, defining the gifts and fruits of the Holy Spirit with modern examples, depicting timeline events of the Triduum, building a Jesse Tree, or choosing a favorite proverb or “Jesus one-liner” from the Bible. Within instructional class time, teach the students how to find Scripture citations and where to look for information on Church-related themes like feast days, novenas, litanies, women in the Bible, etc. Finally, Work with the full class or in small groups to produce a single, unified class project. Display it in the classroom for the season.

Accompaniment has been a popular topic in catechesis for the past several years, and rightfully so. The Directory for Catechesis lists “accompanier” as one of the primary roles of the catechist, adding, “the catechist is an expert in the art of accompaniment.”[1] In his apostolic exhortation Evangelii Gaudium (“The Joy of the Gospel”), Pope Francis defines accompaniment as a process of walking with the other, listening, and leading others “ever closer to God.”[2] The image of walking together is a particularly salient one as we think about children’s catechesis, since children (especially young children) often literally walk hand-in-hand with an adult in most places, especially unfamiliar ones. We walk with children for a variety of reasons: we want to make sure they go in the right direction and don’t get lost along the way; we want them to feel safe; we want to make sure they don’t miss things that will form them and excite their imaginations. But most of all, we walk with children because we love them, and we know that people grow best when that growth occurs in the context of relationship.

Getting to Know You

How can catechists of children walk with young people in a spiritual sense as they are formed in the faith? One way is by getting to know our learners. Look for resources on the cognitive, social, moral, and spiritual development of children in the age group you teach. This information, which can sometimes be found in the catechist manual accompanying a religious education curriculum, can offer a starting point for understanding the thinking and developmental needs of your learners.

Even as we understand what’s typical for children at a particular age, it’s important to remember that every child is different and to get to know the individual child. Listening to the individual experiences, hopes, dreams, and interests of our learners can help us present the faith as relevant to their lives. It might be helpful to begin each session with icebreaker questions or games that allow learners to share something about themselves and their interests. Think of questions that begin with phrases like, “Tell about a time when you . . .” or “What is your favorite . . .” In today’s hectic and noisy world, too often we fail to take time with one another, to listen without worrying about what we will say next. Accompanying children means sitting with them, listening to the words they speak, and reflecting on the feelings behind the words. It means recognizing what a gift we are being given when little ones trust us with their stories. It means being present to children as a reminder that God is present with them.

Last year was one of the most difficult years of my life. It was my first year as a theology teacher, and even though I had been well prepared through my secondary education program and ministry experience, I was not prepared for the constant criticism and judgment I would receive from my coworkers. These comments filled my mind with self-doubt, anxiety, and fear. 

One month into teaching, I decided to be honest with my students about how I was feeling. I was not at my best that day, and I told my class, “I’m sorry if I’m not giving you my full attention and energy today. I’ve been experiencing a lot of anxiety recently, and I think it might be getting the best of me today. It has nothing to do with you; it’s just internal.” Immediately after class, one of my students approached me with tears in her eyes. Let’s just call her “Christina.” She said, “Thank you for sharing your feelings with us. I have severe anxiety and depression, so hearing you talk about your struggles makes me feel like I’m not alone.” 

We talked about how she has been attending therapy and about her struggle with having a relationship with God. I learned that Christina grew up in a Christian home, but cried every time she attended a church service. From then on, I began praying for Christina daily. The following week, Christina asked if I could sit with her and her friends during break. This quickly led to me sitting with Christina at break and lunch regularly, where we’d have conversations about mental health, our love of Crumbl cookies, and what it looks like to know Jesus Christ. Those moments didn’t seem like much at the time, but I wholeheartedly believe that God was working in them. 

Those who have children and those who teach children have firsthand experience of the child’s need to do his own work. The very young child expresses this need quite bluntly: “I do it!” As the child matures, the expression becomes more nuanced and polite: “May I try?” In what appears to be a regression, the adolescent expresses the same need, though not with the same charm: “Why don’t you trust me?” I would argue that the child’s desire to “do for self” stems not from unruliness but rather from an intrinsic need impressed upon his nature by God himself.

The Need Is in Our Nature

In the command to Adam to “subdue the earth,” God impressed upon the human soul both the dignity and the need for work. Reflecting on this passage from Genesis, St. John Paul II writes:

From the beginning . . . [man] is called to work. Work is one of the characteristics that distinguish man from the rest of creatures, whose activity for sustaining their lives cannot be called work. . . . work bears a particular mark of man and of humanity, the mark of a person operating within a community of persons. And this mark decides its interior characteristics; in a sense it constitutes its very nature.[1]

In this same section the Holy Father explains that “work” refers to “any activity by man, whether manual or intellectual.” Just as the person has a need to diligently build his environment, he has a similar need to intellectually build his knowledge.

The Holy Father’s insight that work is a constitutive need of our nature should cause us to pause and wrestle a moment with its meaning. Most certainly, the comment should not be taken to its extreme, suggesting that someone lacking the capacity for manual or intellectual work is somehow not fully human. Yet at the same time, the statement lends itself to a consideration of how personal work is in some fashion so integral to the human person that to deny him the opportunity is to violate his God-given nature.

The Child’s Need for Independent Work

During her many years of being with children, observing how they live, learn, and develop, Dr. Maria Montessori came to see that the child possesses the same intrinsic need for work as do adults. In fact, this need may be even more critical for the developing child. She writes:

The reaction of the children may be described as a “burst of independence” of all unnecessary assistance that suppresses their activity and prevents them from demonstrating their own capacities. . . . These children seem to be precocious in their intellectual development and they demonstrate that while working harder than other children they do so without tiring themselves. These children reveal to us the most vital need of their development, saying: “Help me to do it alone!”[2]

Think of the work that a baby chicken must do to peck its way out of its shell. Any attempt to help the tiny creature—to do for it what it must do for itself—results in the chick’s premature death. A similar phenomenon happens to the child when adults routinely overstep and do the work that the child can and must do for himself: he experiences a kind of psychic death. Some children become unnaturally timid, overly dependent, or abnormally compliant. Other children become rebellious against authority. In both extremes, the child’s interior freedom has failed to develop properly. “The child’s desire to work represents a vital instinct since he cannot organize his personality without working.”[3]

Recently, a local parish invited me to speak on a panel on vocations for middle and high schoolers. At most of these events, the questions usually include, “What is your day like?” “How often do you see your family?” and “What do you do for fun?” At this parish, the organizers left out a box for anonymous questions and didn’t screen them beforehand. Almost every question began with, “Why can’t I . . .” or “Why doesn’t the Church let me . . .” One of the monks on the panel leaned over and asked me, “Isn’t this supposed to be a vocations panel? Why are we even here?”

This experience opened my eyes to a reality: children and teenagers must know and love Jesus intimately as a person before anything we do to promote vocations will bear fruit. This intimacy is at the heart of all vocations, because at baptism God gives each person a share in his divine life, calling the Christian to a life of holiness. It’s within the context of a healthy family life that children first experience this love of God as well as the virtues and dispositions that serve as a remote preparation for their particular vocations.[1]

The two great commandments are to love the Lord with all your heart, mind, soul, and strength and to love your neighbor as yourself (see Mt 22:36–40). Catholic leaders are called to create and ensconce Catholic culture by striving to fulfill these two great commandments—and to guide the ministries that they lead to do the same. In my role as a high school vice president of faith and mission, I work alongside our principal and president to ensure that our school is a catalyst in the Eucharistic Revival and that the comprehensive operations of our school community serve these two commandments.

The first commandment calls Catholic leaders to prioritize facilitating first-generation encounters with Christ. To fulfill the second, we must foster a culture of evangelization in which we love our neighbor as ourselves and testify to Jesus’ kingship. Living out these commandments as Catholic leaders is especially exciting in this three-year sequence of Eucharistic Revival being guided by the United States Conference of Catholic Bishops. The USCCB is calling on leaders to create personal encounters with Jesus, reinvigorate devotion, deepen formation, and engage in missionary sending. What follows are reflections on how we are answering this call in our school community. I hope that it can serve as inspiration for other Catholic leaders during this time of Eucharistic Revival.

As the students cleared out of my classroom at the end of the day, I leaned back in my chair, staring at the peeling painter’s tape framing a poster in the front of the class of Christ washing the feet of his apostles. It hadn’t been a bad day, but it hadn’t been a good day, either. My colleague—a good friend who accompanies me, sharing concerns and joys about teaching and life—entered the room. Neither of us said anything until I asked, “What am I doing when I come into the classroom?” This question was born out of frustration, but it was sincere. And it had been on my mind for weeks. He offered some words of encouragement. We talked for quite a while. But nothing satisfied my question.

As children, many of us learned the “Alphabet Song.” It is a universally known jingle that helps small children learn the ABCs of the English language. Other cultures use a different tune but the purpose is the same. At the start, a child merely repeats the sounds sung to him. In due time, he gradually learns that the sounds have corresponding symbols. (During this developmental stage, children in a Montessori environment trace sandpaper letters, providing a heightened sensorial experience that strengthens the sound-symbol relationship in the child’s mind.) Once the child understands the sound-symbol relationship, he is capable of arranging the alphabet letters to form words, then sentences, and eventually entire paragraphs. One need not be a trained linguist to recognize a kind of pedagogy in this method of language acquisition. If we were to draw an analogy to children’s catechesis, we would find that there, too, is a kind of pedagogy for the acquisition of religious language—or there should be.

The 2020 Directory for Catechesis exhorts catechists to ensure that our “linguistic form” be appropriate for the persons receiving catechesis.[1] Where children are concerned, there is more to this task than merely paraphrasing doctrine. Children’s catechesis requires a unique pedagogy of language. First, there is a particular religious alphabet—fundamental doctrines—which serves as building blocks for the child’s faith. Second, there is a particular scope and sequence to doctrine—one that follows the child’s natural spiritual and intellectual development. Finally, the particular expression of doctrine should evoke a sense of wonder that sparks continuous investigation and meditation.

Notes

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