Franciscan at Home

When my wife and I were younger, we would occasionally talk about Family Missions Company. We were fascinated by their model of sending young families to underserved parts of the globe to spread the message of Christ. It is something that we both would have loved to do. However, we also both agreed that it was not where we were being called at that time in our life. Instead, I served as a religion teacher at a Catholic high school near my hometown. Soon, we began to joke that it was pretty much the same thing as Family Missions—we were doing hard work to spread the Gospel to people who seemed to not have heard it before, and we were doing it for pay that really wasn’t sustainable!

Of course, as the years have gone by, I certainly acknowledge that the work done in mission fields around the world is very different than teaching in an American Catholic school. But I have also realized that the analogy holds up well in many ways. The work of Catholic education is hard. Many of the students and parents in Catholic schools really are not open to hearing the Gospel. The pay is less than the “market average” when compared to public schools. Clearly, the idea that Catholic schools are like missionary work is not completely unfounded. Now, as a Catholic school principal for over 15 years, I see more clearly that Catholic education is mission work, and, in some particular ways, I have begun to approach it as such.

In the first paragraph of the first document of the Second Vatican Council we find a summary of the Council Fathers’ goals for their work: “This sacred Council has several aims in view: it desires to impart an ever increasing vigor to the Christian life of the faithful; to adapt more suitably to the needs of our own times those institutions which are subject to change; to foster whatever can promote union among all who believe in Christ; to strengthen whatever can help to call the whole of mankind into the household of the Church. The Council therefore sees particularly cogent reasons for undertaking the reform and promotion of the liturgy.”[1]

As many have noted, these aims have as their clear goal the renewal of the Church and its human structures for the sake of evangelization, both for those already in the family of God and for those not yet part of that family. In keeping with the remarks by which Pope St. John XXIII opened the Council, its goal and purpose was to make the Gospel of Jesus Christ more readily knowable and known by and to the men and women of our age.[2] One might fairly describe the intent of the Council as catechetical and evangelical. That is, it sought to do what it could to enliven the efforts of Catholics to deepen their own faith in the Triune God and to draw others to the same God.

Unfortunately, that intention did not bear its hoped-for fruit, at least initially. As many have also noted, in the initial postconciliar years and decades, the intended fruition of the Council Fathers’ desires not only did not come to pass, but just the opposite occurred, such that, some 20 years after the close of the Council, then-Cardinal Joseph Ratzinger remarked that “the catastrophic failure of modern catechesis is all too obvious.”[3]

Why and how did this failure in catechetical and evangelical renewal occur immediately following the Council? Many have offered answers to this question from numerous perspectives. A recent and compelling answer is found in Brad Bursa’s Because He Has Spoken to Us: Structures of Proclamation from Rahner to Ratzinger. Bursa not only traces the theological origins and development of the postconciliar catechetical collapse to the attempted catechetical implementation of the theology of Karl Rahner, but he also proposes a way forward by pointing to the Trinitarian Christology of Joseph Ratzinger/Pope Benedict XVI.

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The renowned italian painter Caravaggio (1571–1610) was active in Rome for most of his artistic career. He was widely known for his dramatic use of lighting, a technique that had a profound influence on the Baroque period of art history. He was a master of chiaroscuro, the use of strong contrasts between light and dark. He used this technique to create a sense of depth and realism that made his paintings deeply moving.

The dramatic intensity of Caravaggio’s work mirrored the intensity of his personal life. We know about much of Caravaggio’s life through the extensive police records that documented his disorderly conduct. He was notorious for his brawling and arguments with not only his peers but also those in authority. His volatile temper culminated in the murder of Ranuccio Tomassoni over a bet on a game of tennis. Caravaggio knew very well the effects and darkness of sin. He was a man who struggled between darkness and light in his personal life. We see that same tension vividly portrayed in his paintings.

One of Caravaggio’s most striking works, The Incredulity of Saint Thomas (1602), visually captures the Gospel of John’s account of Thomas’s doubt and growth in faith. According to the Gospel of John, Thomas was not present when Jesus first appeared to the other disciples after the Resurrection. Unwilling to believe their testimony, Thomas declared, “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands and put my finger into the nail marks and put my hand into his side, I will not believe” (Jn 20:25). Caravaggio captures the transformative moment of Thomas encountering the risen Christ.

If you talk to an array of Catholics, you’ll likely hear differing experiences when it comes to memorization and their life of faith. Some are haunted by memories of being forced (and failing) to properly recite memorized facts about the faith in front of classmates and then being shamed for it. On the opposite pendulum swing, some were never tasked with memorizing anything about the faith. The truth of Catholicism, then, became like the seed sown on a rocky path, easily plucked away without deep roots.

What, then, is an approach to memorization in catechesis that is more closely aligned with the movement of the Holy Spirit in our times? The Church offers us the third way of meaningful memorization.

Memorization Cannot Be Severed from Catechesis

Pope St. John Paul II reaffirmed that “the blossoms, if we may call them that, of faith and piety do not grow in the desert places of a memory-less catechesis. What is essential is that texts that are memorized must at the same time be taken in and gradually understood in depth, in order to become a source of Christian life on the personal level and on the community level.”[1] As Catholics, we must memorize the truths of the faith. Memorization is essential to the fullness of life in Christ because in committing to memory his words and teachings, our whole person is formed more and more into his likeness. This is a lifelong process, which is why John Paul II reiterated that what we memorize must be understood ever more deeply.

When it comes to the catechesis of children, a worthy place to begin their life of memorization is in Sacred Scripture.

Anyone paying attention to recent trends within catechetical programming is sure to have noticed that video-based resources are becoming more and more prevalent. This is true for both adult and youth catechesis. Video resources are now nearly as ubiquitous as textbooks. In many cases, textbooks even function as a supplement to videos, which constitute the greater part of the lesson. Now, more than ever, it is necessary to make a clear-eyed assessment of video presentations as a catechetical methodology.

Videos certainly have a number of advantages. The use of new media in catechesis runs lockstep with Pope John Paul II’s call for a new evangelization. Through digital media, students are able to learn from some of the greatest catechists and evangelists this new century has produced. Video-based programs are often more affordable than traditional textbook series—a major relief to a cash-strapped parish program. Furthermore, with the advent of streaming, catechesis is no longer confined to the traditional classroom. Students can now access catechetical materials from home and alongside their families. Finally, many of these programs are both thoroughly orthodox and incredibly well-produced. It is now possible to have a program that is on the “cutting edge” methodologically without being enslaved to passing fancies of theological speculation.

On the other hand, videos also have their drawbacks. Linda Stone, a former consultant for tech giants Apple and Microsoft, coined the phrase “continuous partial attention” to describe how many of us go about our day-to-day lives.[1] Our attention is constantly divided between many different, simultaneous objects: we watch the news while checking our email, making breakfast, and talking on the phone. Without a doubt, video media, especially with the rise of short-form content, has exacerbated this condition. Catechists should carefully consider whether it is wise to adopt a form of content that is nearly synonymous with distraction. Additionally, there is a temptation to let the personalities on screen replace the personality of the catechist. A catechist cannot be reduced to someone merely pressing play on a video; they must be an active agent and a witness to their students.

Many catechists yearn for a specific, detailed order, or pre-set curriculum of OCIA teachings, but the universal Church is unlikely to ever mandate one beyond that which exists in a general form in the Creed itself.[1] While it is true that “authentic catechesis is always an orderly and systematic initiation into the revelation that God has given of himself in Christ Jesus,”[2] the General Directory for Catechesis (GDC) states:

Indeed, “it can happen that in the present situation of catechesis reasons of method or pedagogy may suggest that the communication of the riches of the content of catechesis should be organized in one way rather than another.”[3] It is possible to begin with God so as to arrive at Christ, and vice versa. Equally, it is possible to start with man and come to God, and conversely. The selection of a particular order for presenting the message is conditioned by circumstances, and by the faith level of those to be catechized. (GDC 118)

It cannot be emphasized too strongly that the means of determining the order of catechesis for a given set of participants must take into account liturgical, catechetical, and pastoral considerations at a given parish in a given year, as is laid out below. Taking all of the above into account, this article presents three methods that, when considered together, enable a catechist or OCIA director to order teachings in a way that serves the content of the faith.

About three years ago, I purchased two small citrus plants. Their tags said “trees,” but they were barely big enough at the time to be considered blades of grass. They were just two small plants, each in its own black three-gallon bucket. As a Midwesterner born and raised in and around Chicago, I had moved to Southern California only six years prior. One day in the patio of a local retreat center, I came upon a dozen or so orange trees growing in planters. They were full of succulent fruit—ripe, plump oranges ready to be seized and waiting to have someone’s teeth sunken into them. Inspired, I decided I should try my hand at citrus cultivation at home. This would be my first attempt at growing anything of the sort. I placed the two newly purchased infant plants on my balcony in the sun, watered them, and hoped for the best.

Any gardeners reading this can imagine how my little experiment turned out: Not well. Two years later, the trees hadn’t produced a single bud. They were just enthusiastic little plants trying to look like grown-up trees slowly inching taller in their black pots in the balcony sun. Thankfully, though, that’s not the end of the story.

Several trips to the local nursery later, including long conversations with one of our neighborhood’s most green-thumbed arborists, I learned some of the secrets to turning my fledgling plants into real fruit trees. Bigger pots, better dirt, more strategic placement for the right amount of sunlight, and regular fertilizing all combined would turn my barren citrus branches to high-yielding, fruit-filled foliage. It’s taken conventional wisdom, expert advice from someone with proven know-how, time, and a lot of patience, but my inaugural journey into the agricultural world has finally paid off.

Pope St. John Paul II once said, “Evangelization is often referred to in agricultural terms. Saint Paul in fact calls the Christian community ‘God’s field’ (1 Cor. 3, 9).”[1] Those of us who work in the vineyards of Catholic schools have firsthand experience with this reality. Apostolic work, especially with young people, demands many of the same things required of farming. Every time we meet a young person or a colleague, we know not whether we are planting a seed, watering it, or harvesting it. Each requires strategy, skill, and most of all, like the farmer in one of Jesus’ parables, patience. “[He] would sleep and rise night and day and the seed would sprout and grow, he knows not how” (Mk 4:27).

The catechetical aspect of the Order of Christian Initiation of Adults (OCIA) is inseparable from the practical reality it seeks to inform. It is the work of teaching the faith so as to empower people to truly live it in their daily experience.

As catechists, we owe it to those being catechized to be the best communicators of the content of the faith as possible. But to whom are we to look for the best example of how to achieve this end? Memories of our favorite teacher might help; perhaps, one of the myriad books on teaching techniques might aid us; but, given the importance of what we teach—the salvation of each member of mankind—should we not look just a little bit higher? Maybe even to the author of the material we are to impart?

To many who are hearing this for the first time, it could sound very presumptions. But really, what has God done throughout Revelation other than show us all the ways in which he teaches us through the three persons of the Trinity? Does this not become the “source and model of the pedagogy of faith” and of God?[1] While each of the three persons of the Trinity have their own methods to impart, perhaps the most relatable of the three, for pedagogical purposes, is the one who took human form: the Son.

A brief survey of the Gospels shows many varied teaching techniques and methods. With the apostles, Jesus was “their only teacher,” a “patient and faithful friend,” someone who consistently taught them the truth throughout his whole life.[2] “He provoked them with questions”; he told them more than he told the masses; “he introduced them to prayer”; he sent them forth on missions with others; and “he promised them the Holy Spirit” (DC 160). Additionally, Christ “evoked and elicited a personal response” in all who heard him (DC 161). And though this response of obedience and faith was deep-seated, because of sin, it required “ongoing conversion,” which Christ provided (DC 161). Unfortunately, we oftentimes read right past Christ’s pedagogical methods and don’t learn how to teach from the divine teacher himself. There are five examples (out of many) I would like to propose that illustrate Christ’s teaching methods in Scripture that will be helpful for catechists.

Near the end of the 19th century, scientist and co-founder of the New York University School of Medicine John William Draper penned an influential polemic entitled History of the Conflict Between Religion and Science. In the book, Draper argued that “the history of science is not a mere record of isolated discoveries; it is a narrative of the conflict of two contending powers, the expansive force of human intellect on one side, and the compression arising from traditionary faith and human interests on the other.”[1] Among the various “traditionary faiths” mentioned specifically in the book, it was Catholicism that most attracted Draper’s ire, as he viewed Catholicism, with its hierarchical structure and doctrinal pronouncements, as particularly antithetical to scientific progress. Draper’s book was wildly popular in the United States and was translated into at least ten different languages. The problem with the book, as modern historians of science have adequately demonstrated, was that it was inaccurate in almost every respect.

Setting the Record Straight

As the historian of science Ronald Numbers pointed out in a lecture, Draper’s book “was in fact less of a dispassionate history, which it wasn’t, than a screed against Roman Catholics and what they had [apparently] done to inhibit scientific progress.”[2] Despite the book’s factual problems, it gave birth to the myth that the Church has been diametrically opposed to science—a myth that has remained somewhat prevalent in the culture down to the present time. Certainly, one can find examples of conflict when one searches through the two millennia of interactions between the Church and science (the Galileo episode is one obvious example). However, the reality is that conflict does not dominate this history. In fact, while one can point to churchmen throughout history who have had issues with different scientific discoveries and theories, one is hard-pressed to find any other example besides the Galileo case in which the Church condemned a specific scientific theory.

Not only has this history not been dominated by conflict, but any cursory examination of the actual historical record reveals the sheer magnitude of support and encouragement offered by the Church to those engaged in scientific discovery. In fact, the Church was the primary patron of scientific research from the Middle Ages up through the 17th century. According to theologian Richard DeClue, “The Church and her high-ranking officials were primary patrons of budding scientists, promoting and financially supporting their work of advancing scientific knowledge” during this period.[3] As the historian of science John Heilbron put it, “The Roman Catholic Church gave more financial and social support to the study of astronomy for over six centuries . . . than any other, and probably all, other institutions.”[4] And it was not only astronomy that the Church funded; nearly every branch of science benefitted from the Church’s largesse.

Despite this reality, the popular story of the history of science in the West is that science lay dormant during the Middle Ages because the Church dominated the culture with her backward, superstitious thinking. In this telling of the tale, it wasn’t until the Renaissance fueled the intellectual rebirth of classical humanist thinking that the chains of Church dogma were loosened, and science could finally flourish. The truth, though, is quite the opposite. In fact, one can see that in the Middle Ages the foundations were being established for the rise of modern science, in large part through the efforts of the Catholic Church.