Franciscan at Home

The year 2025 will mark the occasion of an ordinary Jubilee. Pope Francis announced the Jubilee Year on May 9, 2024 with the Apostolic Letter Spes non Confundit (SC), "Hope Does Not Disappoint", and it officially began on December 24, 2024, with the opening of the Holy Door of St. Peter’s Basilica in the Vatican. But, what is the Jubilee? Where does it come from, and why does the Church continue to celebrate it? How will it be celebrated in 2025?

Encountering Hope

“May the Jubilee be a moment of genuine, personal encounter with the Lord Jesus” (SC, 1). This is the hope that moves the pope in declaring the Holy Year of 2025. This is the center of the Holy Year: a genuine encounter. The encounter is with the Crucified and Risen One, the Son of the Father, Jesus of Nazareth. He is the Living One. It is a personal encounter because it is shaped by the reality in which we live—the specific time that the People of the Lord and the human community are living through, their culture, their characteristics, their gifts, their specific dramas, etc.

This encounter is marked by a very particular tone: we are to meet the Lord in the environment of hope. In fact, this encounter is a source of hope. The encounter with the Crucified and Risen Lord guarantees that hope will “not disappoint” (Rom 5:5). In Spanish, this phrase is la esperanza no defrauda—hope does not deceive you, does not fool you, does not mislead you. The Greek verb used by Paul (καταισχύνει) also carries the connotation of shame: hope will not leave you ashamed. It is not something to be embarrassed about. In summary, you can trust it. It is solid ground. But, what kind of certainty is this?

It is not the certainty of someone who already knows everything in advance, consumed by the anxiety of control. It is the agile confidence of one who knows they are supported by what is necessary and sufficient—the announcement of the Gospel—to cross any kind of terrain, even one made of tribulations and sufferings.

The Cries of the Oppressed

“What is our sin that God punishes us with such a trial? Where is the just God? Does he not see the injustices inflicted upon us? What fault have these children committed to be left without a roof to shelter them as they sleep? What is the fate of our children, who have been deprived of everything, even their schools?”

These were the desperate cries of families who sought refuge at St. Joseph Cathedral on the night of August 7, 2014. They were fleeing the brutal attacks of ISIS, faced with an impossible choice: renounce their faith in Jesus Christ, pay a tax of servitude, or face certain death. Leaving everything behind, they clung only to their faith in Jesus Christ as their Savior.

Our response was clear and unwavering: “Our God has not abandoned you. He has accompanied you, ensuring your safe arrival here with us. Our faith and hope remain steadfast that He will return with you to your homes in victory. Many have wielded the sword against faith in Jesus Christ, but they have been defeated by the steadfastness of believers in him.” We reassured them with the words of Jesus: “I have told you these things, so that in me you may have peace. In this world you will have trouble. But take heart! I have overcome the world” (Jn 16:33).

I believe I shall see the LORD’S goodness
in the land of the living.
Wait for the LORD, take courage;
be stouthearted, wait for the LORD!

—Psalm 27:13–14

Nothing has gone out of vogue like waiting.

“Buy Now.” Instacart. DoorDash. Prime. No wait: press button and skip line. Our hypertechnical society seems to have finally pushed through what has been a problem for human beings from the beginning. After all, Eve’s doubt in God’s providence, a deep suspicion sown by the cunning serpent, led her to reach out and take matters into her own hands as Adam stood by silently affirming the sinful act. Why wait for the Lord when she could make it happen instantly? We are no different today. Human beings have always hated waiting and have tried to do something about it.

If the Church’s doctrine of purgatory was ever fashionable, it is passé now. Our culture has dismissed hell as an antiquarian, fear-mongering tactic used by religious officials to control people. Meanwhile, humanitarian efforts and good -people-ism have neutralized its threat. And why wait for heaven? We can build our own tech-utopia here! With hell removed from the scene and heavenly decadence on earth, purgatory has no place. We don’t have time for it.

But maybe we should.

Revisiting Purgatory

Death initiates one into an eternal either/or: either heaven or hell. Upon dying, everyone will face a particular judgment and will receive, as the Compendium of the Catechism of the Catholic Church explains, “entrance into the happiness of heaven, immediately or after an appropriate purification, or entry into the eternal damnation of hell.”[1] Hell or heaven. And, indeed, nothing unclean or impure will enter heaven (see Rv 21:27). So, those words from the Compendium—“after an appropriate purification”—cannot be overlooked. Purgatory is that appropriate time, place, and state of purification. “Purgatory is the state of those who die in God’s friendship, assured of their eternal salvation, but who still have need of purification to enter into the happiness of heaven.”[2]

Purgatory is an expression of God’s merciful love. If nothing unclean can enter heaven, then someone who dies with a venial sin is “toast.” If nothing unclean can enter heaven, then the slightest attachment to sin spells tragedy. Unless there is a purgatory. Purgatory is God’s mercy, as time is a mercy. The doctrine of purgatory says the ultimate outcome has already been determined (i.e., heaven), yes, but purgatory is a kind of “overtime” to allow God’s love to continue to transform, purify, and prepare one for heaven. The primary direction and fundamental destiny of one’s life has been determined by the grace of faith, but the ultimate attainment of this destiny requires further purification. As Joseph Ratzinger, who would later become Pope Benedict XVI, explains, “Even if one’s fundamental life-decision is finally decided and fixed in death, one’s definitive destiny need not necessarily be reached straight away. It may be that the basic decision of a human being is covered over by layers of secondary decisions and needs to be dug free.”[3]

The word “purgatory” comes from the Latin word purgare, meaning to make clean, to purify. To purify from what? In short, any attachment to sin. Purgatory purifies one of any venial sin and satisfies temporal punishment. Venial sins are those less serious sins that weaken but do not destroy relationship with God as mortal sin does. Temporal punishment has to do with the temporal consequences due to our sins, the damage that is left behind. Take, for example, my son, who cares for our chickens. If he refuses to wear his boots out to the coop and walks into our house with mud and chicken litter on his shoes, I can forgive him and no longer see him as a disobedient son—but he will still need to clean up the mess on the floor. Another example: I may forgive my four-year-old for slapping his sister with lunch meat (she may forgive him, too), but he still needs to sit in timeout to think about his actions, feel remorse, and amend his ways. Purgatory is a bit like a spiritual timeout.

Last week, I changed the lives of 36 engaged couples (most of whom are already sexually active) in seven hours. More accurately, God and I changed their lives through Pope St. John Paul II’s theology of the body (TOB).[1]

What is it about TOB that reaches others, whether young or old, parent or student, married or single? I’d like to unpack that for those of you whose mission is “boots-on-the-ground”: parents, catechists, classroom teachers, diocesan officials, and anyone else who may need it. As a former Confirmation leader, RCIA director, and educator for over 25 years—and as a single woman with no children—I approach the theology of the body very differently from others. With this background and over 27 years of studying TOB, allow me to outline three very concrete, practical phrases that can help us teach the truth of the body in a pastorally loving way.

The Body Matters

Start teaching everybody by using this phrase: “the body matters.” For instance, let’s say you are teaching children in a catechetical setting, and they ask, “Why do we have to go to Mass?” or “Why do I have to eat well?” or “Why did God become human?” The answer: because the body matters!

• Mass is important because the body matters—your body, everybody’s body, and most importantly, Jesus’ Body matters! If we want to be close to God spiritually, we can start by being close to God physically. Jesus’ Eucharistic Body is received into your body; that’s why it is called Holy Communion: you are now intimately connected with God in Christ.
• Eating well is important since the body matters. Without healthy food, it is harder to function in life, and so it is harder to love others.
• The Son of God became human because the body matters. He knew humans are embodied persons, and since he wanted to save us, he too became embodied.

As St. John Paul II says, “Through the fact that the Word of God became flesh, the body entered theology . . . through the main door” (TOB 23:4). In other words, the body matters.

My children love stories.

Our days are dotted with stories from the Bible, lives of the saints, fairy tales, biographies, Shakespeare, literature, and history. They retell them to their dad around the dinner table, act them out in the backyard, and make connections between the story and their own lives, even weeks later. They ask to read beloved picture books over and over again. They want to know the impetus of action and the background of the main characters.

Their pure hearts are enthralled by the idea that they, too, are living a story. Perhaps, when in the fullness of time the Father sent his Son into the world to save it, he saw in his creatures a similar trait: despite their wayward hearts and lost innocence, his children love stories.

God Is the Storyteller

Since the beginning of time, God has been writing a story in the world. It’s why the events of Sacred Scripture are called “the story of salvation history.”

Beyond the pages of the canon, we see God’s story written in the lives of the saints. Whether they were on the world stage or tucked away in a home or cloister, an encounter with the life of a saint is an encounter with an authored story.

As humans, we are enamored with story. Familial quips are passed through generations; we learn about right and wrong through fairy tales; heroic stories call us to bravery and perseverance; we long to know one another’s “life story.” Sharing in a story extends unity, aspiration, and education.

“If there is a story, there must also surely be a storyteller.”[1] We can be confident that the Author of Life has something to say to us through story. In the person of Jesus Christ, he teaches us through stories known as parables.

On May 9, 2024, Pope Francis announced to the world that the following year, 2025, would be a Jubilee Year for the Catholic Church worldwide. The Jubilee Year would begin on Christmas Eve, December 24, 2024, and last until Epiphany, January 6, 2026. This holy year would be marked by special liturgical celebrations, greater availability of the Sacrament of Reconciliation (Confession) and Indulgences, concrete expressions of works of mercy (caring for the sick, the elderly, the homeless, migrants, etc.), and pilgrimages to Rome and her most important churches (basilicas). How has the world reacted?

From Apathy to Antagonism and Everything in Between

I’m sure that, for much of the world, the announcement came and went unnoticed. What the Catholic Church does is so irrelevant in some places and to some people that the news of the Jubilee Year never appeared on their radar screen, so to speak.

Others probably received the news with cynicism. I understand this reaction, as I, too, harbored cynicism about the Catholic Church for the first thirty years of my life. “So the Pope is announcing a Jubilee Year that promises forgiveness of sin for all those who make a pilgrimage to Rome. What a convenient way to drum up tourist revenue for the Vatican city state! The Pope’s pocketbook must have been getting lean, so he had to think creatively!”

Still others likely reacted with hostility. These would be theologically serious Protestants, who remember quite well what issues were at stake in the Reformation and still identify closely with the theological views of the first generation of Protestant Reformers, men like Martin Luther and John Calvin. For such Protestants, the proclamation of a Jubilee Year is a triggering event that calls to mind the Catholic Church’s practice of indulgences. The sale of indulgences provoked the Reformation in the first place. The legend goes that a certain priest by the name of Johann Tetzel was traveling through Germany raising money for the building of St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome by selling indulgences. “When the coin in the coffer clings,” he is supposed to have said, “the soul to heaven springs!” This crass distortion of the Church’s theology and practice of indulgences unsurprisingly aroused vocal resistance from Martin Luther and others, who felt that it obscured the Good News of salvation through faith in Jesus Christ. For some modern Protestants who remember this history well, Pope Francis’ announcement of the Jubilee Year only shows that Rome hasn’t changed, that she continues to disguise the Gospel with her traditions and rituals.

Catholics, or at least those favorably disposed toward the Church, probably haven’t reacted with cynicism or hostility, but at least some have met the announcement with puzzlement. There are young people, converts, and “reverts” who have never experienced a Jubilee Year—or at least don’t remember the last one well. They want to know, “What is a Jubilee Year? Does it make any difference to my spiritual life? How should I participate?” They are open; they just need more information.

Finally, there are more experienced Catholics who do understand what a Jubilee Year is and remember previous ones. But perhaps they heard the news of the Pope’s announcement and greeted it with a yawn: “Here we go again . . . another Jubilee Year. I suppose I should try to do something this time . . . maybe walk to the local shrine and try to get an indulgence for Dad.” I understand that there is such a thing as “Catholic fatigue,” even for well-meaning Catholics. And for many, the Jubilee Year can seem like just another thing to do, like the annual diocesan-parish share campaign, the parish picnic, and the monthly Knights of Columbus council meeting.

I think I understand all of these reactions fairly well. This is now the fifth Jubilee Year of my lifetime, the second I will experience as a Catholic, and over the course of my life I personally have had all the reactions I mentioned above: obliviousness, cynicism, hostility, puzzlement, fatigue. And yet, I’m convinced in my heart that the proper response to the announcement of Jubilee 2025 should be joy, hope, and excitement. Lived well, this Jubilee Year can be a moment of miracle and grace for all of us, a kind of yearlong spiritual Christmas season in which we daily awake to open the gifts of grace that God our Father so lovingly gives us. So, I write these words to wake up the oblivious, calm the cynical and hostile, inform the puzzled, and energize the fatigued to embrace this Jubilee Year and live it to the fullest.

A Personal Connection

In an odd and unexpected way, my life has come to be wrapped up in the Jubilee. My journey into the Catholic Church began in earnest just as the Great Jubilee Year of 2000 was beginning. In the Fall of 1999, when preparations were getting intense, I was accepted into the doctoral program in Scripture at Notre Dame, intending to study with a fellow Calvinist who taught Old Testament there. Then, to my surprise, my doctoral supervisor suggested I write my dissertation on the Jubilee Year of Leviticus 25, even though I’d had no particular interest in this area before.

The year 2000 turned out to be a kind of personal jubilee for me as I discovered the real presence of Christ in the Eucharist and the liberating power of the Sacrament of Reconciliation. And by the end of the year, I made the decision to enter the Catholic Church. This I did, with my wife and family, early in 2001, just as the world’s greatest scholar on Leviticus, Rabbi Jacob Milgrom, was releasing his massive commentary on the final chapters of that book, including the Jubilee Year. I can’t help but feel that God providentially brought me out of my bondage to sin and error and into the Catholic Church—the only place where I had access to the Sacraments necessary to experience spiritual liberation—through the graces Pope John Paul II unleashed by proclaiming the Great Jubilee.

Last year was my first year as a high school campus minister. Part of my job was also teaching an “Approaches to Leadership in the Faith” class. Students had to apply and interview to be in this class, and they were then selected to be the retreat leaders, and leaders in our school community, for the year. I had a lot of freedom when it came to how I instructed the students and what I decided to teach them. I felt as though the most valuable thing I could do is take them to the chapel for the first 20 minutes of class each time I had them. To me, having them develop a personal relationship with Christ was the most important thing in which to invest.

While we were in the chapel, I would introduce the students to different forms of prayer. We would do lectio divina, intercessory prayer, praise and worship, reflections for the liturgical seasons, etc. I always ended our time in the chapel by lifting up our prayers and intentions to Jesus through Mary, and then we would pray a Hail Mary together. After a while of me leading the Hail Mary, I had one of my students, Gabriella, ask if she could do it. I was more than happy to allow her to take the lead on our closing prayer!

“Walking with,” commonly referred to as “accompaniment,” is a critical aspect of discipleship.

In his apostolic exhortation Evangelii Gaudium (“The Joy of the Gospel”), Pope Francis urged the Church to practice the “art of accompaniment.”[1] But what does this mean, and how do we do it? As others have noted, we have a model of accompaniment in our Lord’s appearance on the road to Emmaus (Lk 24:13–35).[2] When the two disciples were walking away from Jerusalem, their hopes dashed at the foot of the Cross, Jesus accompanied them on the way: he listened to them, he asked questions, and, eventually, he challenged them and shared the Gospel with them.

What does this mean for us catechists, priests, and teachers who sometimes meet people who are disillusioned and moving “away from Jerusalem”—away from Christian life? How can we help them? Where do we start? Like Christ on the road to Emmaus, we accompany them: we meet them where they are, we enter their lives, we listen to them, and we ask them questions. But also, like Christ, we accompany them toward a destination, so that, with minds enlightened and hearts set aflame by the Gospel, they may “return to Jerusalem” and live in the power of Christ’s Resurrection. Thus, Christian accompaniment requires a clear sense of our “destination,” and, in particular, a clear understanding of the nature of Christian faith.

In what follows, I briefly outline the nature of Christian faith (as distinguished from “natural faith”), describe its grandeur and demands, and offer some consequences for our ministry.