Last spring, most of my family spent a semester at Franciscan University of Steubenville’s beautiful campus in Gaming, Austria. As an introvert, one of my worries going into the semester was getting to know a whole new group of coworkers and joining their community as an outsider. Never have I been more delighted to discover my worries were unwarranted.We were picked up at the airport by a beautiful and generous family. When we arrived to Gaming late at night, a benevolent philosophy professor insisted on bringing in our bags. There was warm pumpkin soup and tea waiting for us at the dinner table. And with a burst of joy and energy, four amazing Franciscan TOR sisters rushed into the house with hugs and words of welcome. Over the course of the next four months, the faculty and staff there became the dearest of friends. Never have I experienced friendship and community in such a concentrated way.

For most of us, our current cultural climate is one of stark isolation. With families spread out geographically more than ever, and with screens drawing us away from real human interaction, it is easy to live significantly withdrawn from good relationships. Without the cultural supports for community that previous generations enjoyed, unless we take intentional steps toward others, it’s very easy to lead a solitary and lonely life.

And yet, we human beings were made for communion with others. We know theologically that we were made for union with God (who is a communion of Trinitarian persons) and with all the baptized who are joined to him. And on a natural human level, we know that good relationships are critical to the flourishing of every human being—even if finding such authentic community can be a bewildering quest today.

Since this journal is focused on our catechetical mission, it’s worth noting that whatever mission God has given each of us usually depends on communion with others for its achievement. John Paul II himself knew this well and emphasized that “Communion and mission are profoundly connected with each other, they interpenetrate and mutually imply each other, to the point that communion represents both the source and the fruit of mission: communion gives rise to mission and mission is accomplished in communion.”[1] Our mission has its origin in and is strengthened through the community of the Church. And, our mission is, ultimately, to help others come into union with God within the communion of Christians.

Author J.R.R. Tolkien’s Catholic instincts are evident in his Lord of the Rings trilogy, illustrated vividly by the fact that Frodo’s mission of destroying the ring of power only is potentially achievable because he sets out in the company of close companions. And even when disaster hits the company, Frodo still does not proceed alone. I recently re-read the books and was struck by Gandalf’s kindled hope when he learns that Frodo had not gone into Mordor alone, but that his trusty companion Sam had insisted on going with him. Upon learning this, Gandalf responds, “‘Did he!’ . . . and there was a gleam in his eye and a smile on his face. ‘Did he indeed? It is news to me, yet it does not surprise me. Good! Very good! You lighten my heart.’”[2]

Last spring when we took our university pilgrimage to Assisi, I noticed something that I hadn’t in previous visits. In the Basilica of St. Francis, the body of the great saint isn’t buried alone. Rather, three of his dear brothers are buried in close proximity. Francis carried out his mission of rebuilding the Church in community with his brothers—and even in death he is buried in their company.

My wife and I have owned two homes across the years of our marriage, and both houses have been located across the street from cemeteries. I often have found myself walking among the tombstones, thinking and praying. I have frequently prayed for those in whose midst I walk, and I find myself asking for their prayers as well. I have felt a kinship with these souls. It strikes me that choosing to be buried in a cemetery is an act of communion, even when we don’t know those whose bodies are buried in close proximity. This is a Catholic and human intuition: being buried in community. Having one’s ashes spread in some familiar or particularly lovely place strikes me as an isolating act, whereas being buried in community anticipates the fact that we will rise again from the grave in communion with others. We will be in a deep solidarity with those around us, and only with one another will we be raised on that last day.

We will note that when we receive the Eucharist we are stepping mystically toward others. We call the Eucharist “Holy Communion” because we enter into the deepest communion with Jesus, yes; but we also enter into union with all those others who are in union with him: his Father and Spirit, his mother Mary, all the saints and angels, and all the members of his Mystical Body. The Eucharist is a divine gift that corresponds perfectly to our human need for friendship and union.

This issue of our journal may be the most important we’ve published because of the dire need for community today. In such a fragmented culture, where so many live isolated lives, building authentic and healthy Catholic communities is perhaps our most immediate way of being a light on a hill amidst the darkness. In these pages, you will read of an extraordinary hub of community in an Indiana backyard. You will read the beautiful story of a suffering woman being welcomed in profound ways into a vibrant Catholic community in Michigan. You will read of the importance of welcoming people with impairments into parish community and what a blessing they can be to everyone in the parish. And you will tap into one couple’s wisdom gained from building strong community within several Minnesota parishes.

Catholicism is all about union and friendship. Community is a tremendous gift we can offer to ourselves and to our fitful, languishing world.