Franciscan at Home

It was a Sunday just like any other. At the end of Mass, the priest said, “Next week, bring a non-Catholic to Mass.” I turned to my wife and whispered, “I have someone in mind.”

I had a Chinese coworker whom I will call “John.” He and I often talked about philosophical topics such as the meaning of life. At first, John was an atheist, but through our conversations, he had moved into agnosticism. Accepting Thomas Aquinas’ arguments for the existence of God wasn’t too hard for John because he often praised Aristotle, and Aquinas seemed like a continuation of Aristotle.

Discussing Aquinas was good progress in our conversational catechesis, but getting from Aquinas to Jesus seemed far off. So one day I decided to jump right to it and asked point-blank:

“Who do you say that Jesus is?” John was surprised by my question.

“My understanding is that he founded Christianity,” he responded politely, “but I need to read more about his philosophy.”

Not knowing where to go from there, I told John that I would find some material and get back to him. But I felt lost. Should I talk about the historicity of the Gospels? Should I explain that Jesus is the only person in history to be preannounced? Should I tell John that Jesus is God?

Before I could find the material that I had I promised to give John, I found myself at church, at that liturgy, with Father encouraging us to bring a non-Catholic to Mass. So, back at work, I took the plunge and said to John, “The best way to understand Jesus is by taking you to Mass next Sunday.” He didn’t hesitate to accept my invitation.

When Sunday came, I waited for John in the parking lot, and then my family and I accompanied him into the church. I could tell he was curious about the reverence parishioners showed toward the altar. As the Mass began, I waited for the priest to say something along the lines of, “Welcome all non-Catholics; I will explain the Mass.” However, he began celebrating the Mass as usual. It was a beautiful liturgy, as always, and the priest gave a wonderful homily—but he made no special mention to acknowledge any guests.

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. Catechetical sessions cannot be nebulous or theoretical; they must be real and applicable to participants. To give a suitable and complete presentation of the Gospel and the full deposit of faith to those who are considering becoming Catholic means that participants gain a solid hold on what they are taught, and they need to know they have a hold on it. This is only possible if the truths are taught so as to move participants—to foster change—in their interior life of adoration and acceptance of the divine will. This must be so in their actions, their participation in the life of the Church, their married and family lives, their professional lives, and their economic and social responsibilities. In the truths that the catechist gradually unveils, participants discover their deepest aspirations fulfilled; they find what they are seeking and they find it superabundantly (GDC 55).[1]

Therefore, OCIA catechesis, echoing down that which has been revealed by God, must be wholly directed to the conversion of the hearts and minds of participants, allowing for the flexibility demanded by differing pastoral circumstances in parishes from year to year and using a learning model suited to adults of various faith backgrounds.[2] This article seeks to present how that effort of conversion is fostered through a gradual work of catechesis ordered to the liturgical year and the gateways of initiation.

Catechesis in the Precatechumenate: Laying Out the Framework of the Gospel

Catechesis in the Precatechumenate is quite distinctive. The catechetical components of this period flow from the need to set out a framework upon which can be laid the full structure of the deposit of faith in the next period. For the next period to be truly systematic and organic, all the necessary elements must be put into place during the Precatechumenate:

• The Gospel is expressed carefully and completely, by means of testimonies and explanations of Scripture, building out God’s plan in salvation history (OCIA 38).[3]
• Answers are given to the most pressing and obvious questions of the inquirers (OCIA 38).
• Teachings must adequately prepare them for the first major rites and content of the process, as well as the daily living of Catholic life: believing, hoping, and loving (faith, hope, and love) (OCIA 42, 43).

The third bullet will be elaborated in upcoming articles. The second bullet will be addressed in the paragraphs on apologetics below. As to the first, the giving of the Gospel, this begs the question: What is the Gospel?

In a nutshell, the Gospel is the good news about God: his wonderful works, his love for humanity, and his plan for us. The Gospel is the path made clear—illuminating the two ways, one of life, one of death.[4] God is our Creator, and in him all things have their existence. God gives light to everyone who comes into this world, revealing himself through his works, so that all may learn to give thanks. Breaking down the Gospel into catechetical essentials could be done in the following manner during this period:

• Trinitarian: He who was sent by the Father and anointed by the Spirit is Lord, Messiah, and Savior, Son of God and Son of Mary. The Father has sent his faithful begotten one, Jesus Christ, to announce to us his inner life, the mysteries of heaven. This is eternal life: to know the one true God and Jesus Christ, whom he has sent; the Trinity (Father, Son, and Holy Spirit) is our destiny and model of perfect love (see Jn 6:29; GDC 99–100).
• Christ-Centered: Through the saving action of his Passion, death, Resurrection, and Ascension into heaven (the Paschal Mystery), Jesus has become the way for us to take advantage of the Father’s plan for our salvation (see Jn 14:6; GDC 98).
• Ecclesial: While on earth, Jesus went about doing good and preaching the kingdom of God, which he perpetuated in a visible Church (see Eph 3:10; CCC 760).
• Personal: The Holy Spirit has made it possible for us to turn from the slavery of sin and to access the full power and merits won for us by Jesus Christ, which are dispensed in the Church through the sanctifying action of the sacramental life, enabling us to make the mind of Christ our own and to love God and neighbor in holiness (see 1 Cor 2:16; GDC 43, 117).
• Forward-Looking: Jesus ascended to the Father to prepare a place for his people, who have been freed from sin and taken into the family of God (see Jn 14:1–7). We are a people founded in hope (see GDC 16).
• Heaven-Focused: The Father’s plan for our salvation is for us to “become partakers of the divine nature” (see 2 Pt 1:3–4; GDC 36). Jesus’ family will endure the judgment that is to come and will enjoy his steadfast love that endures forever (see Ps 89:2) in the heavenly banquet.
• Experienced in This Community: This parish family warmly invites you to come and see our life, to enter into full communion with Christ, and to participate in the Father’s plan with us (see 1 Jn 1:1–4; GDC 102, 256).

The catechist in the Precatechumenate is continually linking everything he or she teaches to the great story of the wonderful works of God and his plan revealed for us. Through reason, humanity can know that God exists; however, only from Revelation can humanity know who God is. Necessary to teaching during this period is helping inquirers understand how to navigate the Bible, as well as soaking each session in Scripture in order to guide and apply divine Revelation to daily life.

It is worth noting at this early stage that the use of citations from the Old and New Testaments in teaching OCIA sessions should evidence the radical change wrought by the Incarnation. Prayer, for example, has a different meaning in the Old Testament in that it is a human activity; whereas in the New Testament, it is the activity of redeemed and elevated humanity and a participation in the prayer of Jesus Christ. God is involved with his people in a new way in Christ Jesus, and his people are involved with him, here and now, immediately. The Church, then, is our encounter with Jesus, the Risen One, and the Risen One’s encounter with those being transformed by his Spirit. The Church is not just the means that help us to encounter Jesus—she is the encounter.

Christian writings between the apostolic age and the third century are extremely rare. At the turn of the first century AD, both Pope Clement of Rome and St. Ignatius of Antioch underscore the jurisdiction possessed by bishops over the forgiveness of sins. For most in those early years of Christianity, sin and repentance were simply accepted as a normal part of the average life of every Christian and needed no formulas or procedures to deal with it.

However, in the third and fourth centuries, the rise of certain heresies provoked a greater development and precision on doctrinal matters and practice. This certainly was the case in relation to sin and forgiveness. Approaching Confession became a definitively rigorous and public act. Led by the bishop, the entire Christian community would be involved as all prayed for the penitent.[1]

In the early Middle Ages, Irish missionary monks who came to the mainland brought with them a different form of the sacrament: private confession—that is, confession strictly between the penitent and God’s representative, the priest. Although the monks were certainly not lenient in the handing out of severe penances, they did effectively mollify the more terrifying features connected with public confessions.[2] In short, confessions were beginning to be practiced in generally the same way as they are today. However, though they had undergone significant changes in attitude and procedure, in essence the official canonical features of Confession remained: the honest recounting of one’s sins, the Church sitting in judgment in the person of the priest, the penalty administered, and final reconciliation.

This is not to be marveled at since the Church is as living and dynamic as is Christ himself. She is, after all, the extension of the risen, glorified Christ in space and time. Consequently, the Church has always been able to adapt herself to the special needs of the people of God at a particular time and circumstance. She has therefore periodically changed her approach to Confession—and can possibly change it again in the future.

My first Christmas Eve as a priest, while I was putting the finishing touches on my Midnight Mass sermon, the rectory office doorbell rang continuously with devoted parishioners dropping off many gracious gifts. I opened the door for the umpteenth time, and there appeared before me a college-aged guy . . . without a present or card. “Are you a priest?” he asked. My collar was apparently not tipping him off. “Yes,” I confirmed. “I want to be Catholic!” he eagerly rejoined. It was a far better Christmas present than any other I would receive.

The technical term “care of souls” sadly remains almost unknown outside of clerical training. The concept encompasses serving the spiritual needs of all: reconciling the wayward, evangelizing the unchurched, serving the suffering, challenging the staunch—in short, everything that makes the life of the Church fruitful from the parochial level on up. An older translation renders it “cure of souls,” highlighting the hope of health for the spirit from the disease of sin with which we are plagued. For that reason, it applies specifically to the responsibilities of bishops and parish priests, the holy doctors of human hearts, but all the faithful have a share in its spirit of pursuing the salvation and sanctification of souls. No devout Catholic can be without a long prayer list for special cases in need of conversion or reversion. Imagine including the ones we’ve not even encountered yet!

At the origin of human history lies a pivotal moment—the fateful bite from the forbidden fruit in the Garden of Eden. However, this profound narrative doesn’t conclude with the original sin; it finds its ultimate fulfillment in the taste of the Eucharist. Through the sense of taste, which once led to humanity’s fall, we now receive spiritual nourishment and the grace of eternal life, all made possible through the loving sacrifice of Christ.

In the Garden of Eden, God placed two trees—the Tree of Life and the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. While Adam and Eve were commanded not to eat from the Tree of Knowledge, they were free to partake of the Tree of Life, which held the gift of immortality and eternal communion with God.

Tragically, temptation lured Eve into believing the serpent’s deceitful words—that eating the fruit from the forbidden tree would make her wise like God. She tasted the fruit and shared it with Adam, thus disobeying God’s command.

As a consequence of their disobedience, sin entered human nature, and God, in his mercy, expelled them from the Garden of Eden. This act of divine love spared them from eternal separation from God in their fallen state. Eating from the Tree of Life while in a state of sinfulness would have meant an eternity estranged from him. God had angels guard the Tree of Life in his infinite wisdom, ensuring that Adam and Eve would not eat from it on their way out. “He expelled the man, stationing the cherubim and the fiery revolving sword east of the garden of Eden, to guard the way to the tree of life” (Gn 3:24).

This denial of access to the Tree of Life foreshadowed the need for a Savior to redeem the human race from sin and open up access to eternal life through faith and grace. That Savior is Jesus Christ, whom the New Testament calls the “last Adam” (1 Cor 15:45). Just as Adam’s sin brought death into the world, Christ’s sacrificial death on the Cross brings redemption and the promise of eternal life. Thus, the image of the Tree of Life profoundly connects to the Cross on which Jesus was crucified—a Cross made of a tree, symbolizing the tree of the Fall being redeemed by the tree of the Cross.

I suspect that most Catholics who have some familiarity with the Bible and the Eucharist could tell you that the Eucharistic celebration, rooted in the Last Supper, has connections with the Passover of Exodus and Jewish practice. We know that Jesus celebrated the Last Supper in the context of the Passover Feast and that he and his apostles used some of the same foods used at Passover, such as unleavened bread and wine. I’m not sure that most of us, however, appreciate the depth of the connections. They are not just historical or biblical trivia, either—they reveal the profundity of God’s plans for us in the Eucharist. This is especially true of the korban pesach, the sacrifice of the lamb. Most of the time, we overlook the fact that the lamb was offered as a redemptive sacrifice. It was offered in place of the Israelites, who deserved death just as the Egyptians did. When we understand this, we can begin to truly appreciate the depth of God’s mercy in giving his people the perfect sacrifice after centuries of imperfect ones.

Setup for Passover: The Plagues

To begin, we need to understand the background for the Passover in the ten plagues, which are recounted in chapters 7–11 of the Book of Exodus. After the encounter with the Burning Bush in Exodus 3, Moses and his brother Aaron tell Pharoah to let the Chosen People leave Egypt. Pharoah refuses. In response, God begins to send plagues, wonders intended to display his power. Pharoah’s heart is so hard, however, that God continues to display greater and greater power until we come to the eve of the tenth and final plague: the death of the firstborn. This is a plague that we regularly misunderstand, but it is impossible to grasp the whole meaning of the Passover without an accurate understanding of this plague.

Our main problem is that we look at the death of the firstborn, and the plagues in general, as punishments intended to hurt the evil Egyptians. There certainly is an element of punishment here, but the primary function of the plagues is to display the power and rights that the God of Israel has not only over his own people but over all of nature and, ultimately, over human life. In Exodus 7:4, when God foretells the plagues to Moses, he does call them “great acts of judgment.” However, he goes on to state the purpose of these acts: “The Egyptians shall know that I am the LORD” (7:5). The plagues then build upon each other, successively showing Pharaoh God’s power over the Nile, over crops, over livestock, over the human body, and over the sun, which the Egyptians considered a god. Ultimately, Pharaoh only realizes that the God of Israel has power over life itself when the tenth plague takes the lives of Egypt’s firstborn. Remember this as we discuss the Passover meal.

What does it mean to receive the Eucharist, to enter into communion with Jesus?

Back in 1989, when I first began working as a parish catechetical leader, I remember becoming alert to a pattern that unfolded regularly in our church parking lot. Two nights a week, our empty parking lot would become quite busy for two short periods of time. A line of cars would begin to form at 6:45 p.m. that would slowly inch along as parents dropped their children and teens off for parish catechesis. Then the lot emptied except for the dozen or so cars of the catechists. And then, an hour and a half later, the methodical line would predictably form again and creep along as parents retrieved their kids.

I had never been particularly attentive to this until that night. My alertness came about because of a contrasting pattern I had noticed for the first time in a church down the street. The previous week, I had noticed just how different the experience was in the evangelical Christian church parking lot. On Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays, that church also had many cars entering the lot. But these cars were parked and remained for several hours until their drivers exited together at around 9 p.m. In that community, the adult drivers got out of their cars and entered, and then, surprisingly, remained in the building. As their kids went to Bible studies, so did their parents and other adults; whereas in our Catholic parish, the adult-chauffeurs immediately departed as their kids were catechized. In one church, the idea of studying and growing in an understanding of God’s Word was normative adult Christian life. Yet in the other—in ours—catechesis was an activity meant for the kids.

When it comes to the Catholic parishes with which each of us might be most familiar, what age level receives the most focused catechetical attention?

Most of them didn’t go to Catholic schools. A quarter of them never served at Mass. Only about half were ever in a youth group, and a good chunk are converts. A majority of them are over 40 years old. One in three has no European ancestry. By statistical and anecdotal analyses, the newest priests of the United States come from varied, even surprising, backgrounds.[1]

The lack of sufficient vocations to the priesthood and religious life stands out as the preeminent practical challenge for the Church in our country today. We might opine at length about the theoretical causes of this crisis and the other related pastoral woes, strategic errors, and cultural forces with which we must contend, but the pressing imperative remains: We need more priests now, before the future unfolds far more bleakly. Band-aid solutions like merging parishes—in some places, parishes that are financially sound and demographically stable—or contracting foreign and religious clergy (blessings though they be) only serve to delay the inevitable and potentially disturb the faith of parishioners in the interim. The following suggestions only supplement the ongoing conversation to build a positive culture of healthier vocational discernment in the Church, our parishes, and the families from which the priests and religious of tomorrow are called.

Let’s Get Practical

Practical problems call for practical solutions. I often hear it said about the topic of vocations, “What can we do aside from pray?” Well-intended as that sentiment may be, we must believe firmly that imploring God’s grace through prayer remains the most fruitful tactic. It is his supernatural activity that accomplishes every good, especially the sublime gift of a holy vocation. Communal liturgies and devotions concretely bring people together and witness to the need, which can in turn inspire young hearts. I recall finding myself as a high school student in our parish’s perpetual adoration chapel praying the Rosary for more priestly vocations, and finally it hit me . . . it’s me!

Note

The Catechism of the Catholic Church tells us that receiving the Eucharist “commits us to the poor” (1397). Why is this so?

Receiving the Eucharist means that we enter into union with the Second Person of the Blessed Trinity. And being in Holy Communion with Jesus himself means something profound. Let’s consider one facet of this great mystery.