Franciscan at Home

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.

The water is poured and the words are said: “I baptize you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.” As I approach the newly baptized baby held in the arms of his mother or father, I bow, make the sign of the cross, and venerate (kiss) the child as I would an icon. Doing so, I venerate Jesus Christ present in this child. The child, having been washed of sin, filled with the Holy Spirit, and clothed in Christ, is now a holy image of him who is the perfect image of the Father.

As the child grows, the image may become tarnished, but it will remain. Just as a work of art is restored, so too the Sacrament of Reconciliation restores the image of Christ in us—washing away the grime and mending brokenness so that the light of Jesus Christ, truly present in us, may shine forth in the world.

“The Father and I are one. . . . Remain in me, as I remain in you” (Jn 10:30; 15:4). In the reception of the Holy Eucharist, our Lord, one with the Father in the unity of the Holy Spirit, comes into us in a wholly unique manner and draws us unfathomably within himself. The presence of Jesus Christ in the Holy Eucharist is of a completely different type than his presence elsewhere. It is substantial; it is of his essence. When we say that Jesus Christ is truly present in the Blessed Sacrament, what we mean is that the Blessed Sacrament is Jesus Christ. While the visible form of bread and wine remain, it is him—not a sign pointing to him, not an object that mediates grace (e.g., a miraculous medal, the brown scapular)—it is Jesus himself.

We never know which Holy Communion might be our last. We make a big deal of our First Communion, and rightly so. But why don’t we have a strong catechesis and spirituality of Viaticum, that final time we receive the Body of Christ before our soul leaves our own body to meet him?

As a Church, perhaps we are missing a robust eucharistic spirituality in general. Maybe we lack a proper sober focus on our preparation for death. We could likely all benefit from considering the Last Rites in a more personal and specific way, so that they may be more fruitfully celebrated for us and those we love. 

For the Dying

“Father, you got here just in time,” the nurse says. It is such a blessed and needed relief when someone receives their final sacraments! No matter the circumstances, these gifts of Holy Mother Church provide occasions of intense grace, whether the person was a daily communicant or long fallen away, whether in an emergency situation or with the comfort of hospice care. Often people will seem to cling to life, whether consciously or not, and then decline rapidly after a priest’s visit. In my experience, this is particularly true if Confession was needed. Care should always be taken to arrange a private moment for that purpose to be properly disposed in the state of grace before the reception of the Eucharist.

Too often, the effects of medicine and the progression of illness limit the scope of the recipient’s participation. Especially with privacy law restrictions ever increasing, the faithful should be reminded to notify the parish with members’ serious health updates so they can be taken care of promptly. Our spiritual family has special solidarity with the suffering.

The texts of the ritual are of incomparable theological, poetic, and pastoral value. The Commendation of the Dying stands out among them with its litanies. Only in the most dire situations should these prayers be omitted. There is a unique form for the administration of Viaticum: “May the Lord Jesus Christ protect you and lead you to eternal life.” All this serves to heighten the gravity of this liturgical and human reality.

Receiving the Anointing of the Sick and Apostolic Pardon together with Viaticum is a sign of divine election. That monumental last blessing has sadly become a forgotten treasure of our spiritual patrimony. What certain peace a soul feels to experience the full force of the Church’s forgiving authority with a plenary indulgence to remit all temporal punishment due to sin in Purgatory, just when it is needed the most! The text is worth quoting in full: “Through the holy mysteries of our redemption may almighty God release you from all punishments in this life and in the life to come. May He open to you the gates of paradise and welcome you to everlasting joy. By the authority which the Apostolic See has given me, I grant you a full pardon and the remission of all your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit.”

Each year, the Church celebrates the Solemnity of the Most Holy Body and Blood of Christ. Corpus Christi: “the Body of Christ” in Latin. Of course, every Mass is a special celebration of the Body of Christ because every Mass is centered on the Eucharist. But for the Solemnity of Corpus Christi, the Church, in a particular way, invites us to be especially mindful of this mystery of faith, to embrace more fully the sublime magnificence of that which is the centerpiece of our religion, the very heart of Catholicism.

When we come forward to receive Holy Communion, we bow our heads in reverence to the gift that we are about to receive. Some people genuflect before receiving. Some people even fall to their knees in order to receive in the holy posture of kneeling. And if we receive Holy Communion on the tongue, then we open our mouths like helpless infants seeking to be fed; if we receive on the hand, then we hold our hands up like helpless beggars hoping for some charity, presenting the open hands like holy thrones upon which Jesus Christ, the King of kings and Lord of lords, will be seated when we receive him. “Lord, I am not worthy that you should enter under my roof, but only say the word and my soul shall be healed.” These words we say together, and they are the final words we speak before coming forward to receive the Lord. Because indeed, we are not worthy to receive Him. But he permits himself nonetheless to be received by us because it is only by his grace—and our words and actions done in faith in our response to his grace—that we are made worthy.

And this is pure gift, pure grace. We can do nothing to earn this, nothing to merit this, nothing to make ourselves worthy, only that we receive this precious gift in a state of grace and with proper disposition of heart and soul—humbly, worthily, and well.

Behold, the pierced One. Behold, the Lamb who was slain. Behold, the Suffering Servant, and the risen and glorified, majestic, and triumphant Lord. Behold, the Body of Christ.

One of the most stressful moments for baptized Protestants entering into full communion with the Catholic Church is making their first Confession. Unlike Catholics who typically need only to recall sins from a month or so, these baptized adults in RCIA must make a first Confession covering their entire lives—many decades for most. Occasionally, a zealous Protestant arrives in RCIA months before Easter asking the question, “Can I go to Confession now?”

This sets up the question: How early may a baptized candidate go to Confession? Surprisingly, very little is written on this subject. Of course, it may not be too surprising, since very few candidates are begging to go to Confession early. The question is made more difficult, though, because the Church does not specify when a candidate may go to Confession, only that one should.

Beneath the Basilica of the Annunciation in Nazareth is the place where tradition tells us the Angel appeared to the Blessed Virgin Mary. An altar stands in this grotto, inscribed with these words: “verbum caro hic factum est” (the Word became flesh here).

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We recently had our fifth child baptized, and I was remembering our baptism class shortly before our first child was born. It was doctrinally accurate and fully explained the signs and symbols of the Rite of Baptism. I was a young DRE at the time, and it was the same sort of class that I offered as part of my ministry. But if I’m honest, it was woefully inadequate to prepare us to raise our children to know Jesus and his Church.

A few years ago, I was listening to a webinar given by Dr. Joseph White on early childhood catechesis, and he said something that has haunted me ever since. He said the Church routinely fails families when they need us the most: after the birth of their first child. Think about that for a moment. When a family has their first child, they typically research child development, search for the best practices in raising this little person, and restructure their lives and social circles around their baby. At this critical moment in the life of a young family, what do most parishes do? We require a ninety-minute class focused almost exclusively on a fifteen-minute ceremony before we fade out of their lives for five to ten years. Then we suddenly resurface with hoops to jump through in order for the child to receive first Communion. There is something deeply flawed in this approach.