Franciscan at Home

God has illuminated his work in my life as a catechist in many ways. Perhaps the most enlightening of these experiences happened when I was about 30 years old. A sophomore in my Sacraments class asked, “Mr. Digmann, did anything change for you after your confirmation? Did you feel any different?” I am always very open and honest with my students, and after a moment of pause to consider, I replied, “No. However, God is at work in our lives whether we notice it or not, or whether we feel it or not.” I encouraged them to continue to be open to God and his work in their lives during their own confirmation preparation process, even if they didn’t notice that work right away.

But my answer really bothered me. It was a day or two later when I was mowing my lawn, continuing to wrestle with this question and my response, that it hit me. I stopped the mower, literally lifted my hands to God, and praised and thanked him for revealing to me how he had worked the most significant spiritual experience of my life without me even realizing the sacramental root of it all.

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.

I’ll never forget my first day on the job as a parish youth minister. The parish business manager kindly escorted me to my office, opened the door, and then simply said: “Welcome! Now go and do youth ministry!” When she left, I felt like the kids in Jurassic Park when the adult in their Jeep abandons them to hide from a T-Rex: “He left us!” Sitting in silence, the weight of my new job overwhelmed me as a crushing confusion set in: How does one simply “go and do” youth ministry? What does that even mean? Where do I start?

Even though I studied and prepared in college for youth ministry, I had a lot to learn. I still do, even after 10 years of full-time parish youth ministry. Over the years, I’ve accumulated some valuable insight about how to help teens grow as disciples that I’d love to share with you.

One mistake I made early on as a youth minister was rushing teens into peer leadership roles. I learned this lesson the hard way after taking a group of teens from my parish to a weeklong Catholic summer camp. That week of camp was awesome; people were encountering Jesus left and right and truly connecting with each other. I was witnessing something beautiful. Young people were sharing, asking meaningful questions, praying with one another, worshiping Jesus with their whole heart, and showing real signs of deeper conversion. When we got back home, the first thing I did was assign many of those teens to help lead small groups during our Sunday youth nights. I thought it was time for them to “go, therefore”! (Mt 28:19). I was excited to see them on mission.

The mistake here is that I was prioritizing their influence over their interior formation. It didn’t take long before this group started to drift apart. Not only did I separate them from each other by assigning them to lead separate groups, I neglected to provide them with deeper formation while “their hearts were burning” (cf. Lk 24:32). Furthermore, I did not offer them more opportunities to continue growing together in community.

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.

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!

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

“He’s just too small,” sobbed a woman we had just met. It was a sunny summer day, and the pastor, transitional deacon, and I were out knocking on doors within our parish boundaries. This woman’s door was within eyesight of the rectory, and it happened to be the first one we had visited. The conversation had started off just as awkwardly as one would imagine. She answered the door hesitantly, but smiled as we introduced ourselves. She was a parishioner and relaxed when she saw the pastor standing at the back of our group. We explained that we were out introducing ourselves and the parish to the neighborhood. When we asked if there were any intentions we could pray for, she took a deep breath and said yes. She then began to tell us about her unborn grandson and how her daughter’s pregnancy was not going well. She asked us to pray for the baby boy, who was just too small.

We could have just as easily not been there. That same morning, I had offered a training for any parishioners who wanted to learn about door-to-door evangelization. The idea was to walk them through a basic script at the parish and let them shadow those of us with more experience as we knocked on doors in the surrounding neighborhood. Nobody came.

Door-to-door ministry is a frightening prospect for many Catholics, and it is a frightening ministry to organize. Yet, there are overflowing graces to be had, both for the evangelist and the evangelized. Consider my opening story: What would have been lost if our team had gone home after the failed training seminar? Within eyesight of our parish was someone who needed Jesus’ comfort and the only way we could bring it to her was by following Christ’s own counsel: “Ask, . . . seek, . . . knock” (Mt 7:7).

I have been engaged in door-to-door evangelization since 2017. In that time, I have knocked on countless doors and said countless prayers. I have been invited into living rooms and have been cursed from behind locked doors. I have interrupted drug deals and witnessed spontaneous neighborhood prayer meetings. Through it all, I have become convinced that this style of ministry does have a place in the Catholic Church.

Historically, door-to-door ministry has been the near-exclusive province of Protestants, Latter Day Saints, and Jehovah’s Witnesses. Frankly, there have been times that, after seeing two men in white dress shirts and ties walking through my neighborhood, I suddenly decided there were errands I needed to run. Undoubtedly, the first pitfall to be overcome in this ministry is its perception. The very words “door-to-door” conjure up images of tract-wielding zealots and vacuum cleaner salesmen. The only way to change this perception is to do the ministry a different way. What if door-to-door evangelists were like those servants of the master who went out into the streets and through the city inviting all they met to the great wedding feast (see Lk 14:15–24)?

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?