Franciscan at Home

Every Ash Wednesday around the globe—in lavishly tiled basilicas, in wood planked chapels, in modest oratories with dirt floors, and in carpeted and cushioned suburban parishes—Catholics are called by Christ himself to reflect on the three great activities of Christian discipleship:

“When you pray…”

“When you give alms…”

“When you fast…”

For nearly two thousand years, Catholics have read, re-read, and reflected upon these three passages from the sixth chapter of Matthew. When the Ash Wednesday Mass concludes, the following forty days—all of Lent—is observed within this context.

How many Catholics understand that a normal living of the Christian life is to be composed of a healthy dose of all three? Sure, we’re supposed to pray. Everyone believes that. Giving alms (once we get past the archaic word) is also commonly accepted. In the United States and many other countries, giving to charities and doing service work is considered a normal part of our civic life. Nothing too unusual here.

But fasting? Who fasts? And if we do fast, isn’t it just obedience to some minimal Church norms during Lent? But where does Christ or the Church say that fasting is to be done exclusively during penitential seasons such as Lent? Where does Christ say that it should be so rare and so minimal? And where does he say that it is to be exclusively penitential? Nowhere. Yet for some reason these things are precisely what most of us think. Let’s take another look at what he and his disciples actually said and did when it comes to fasting.

When Jesus was preparing for his public ministry, where did he go and what did he do? He went out into the desert and spent forty days praying and fasting. Was Jesus doing penance? Of course not. He never sinned. He was preparing himself spiritually, seeking closeness to his Father in heaven. So, while doing penance is a very good reason for fasting, Jesus gives us other good reasons to fast.

How important was his fasting in this time of preparation? Consider Matthew 4:1-4: when the devil appeared to Jesus to try to thwart his mission, the very first thing he tried to do was to get Jesus to break his fast! Yes, fasting is that powerful and the devil understood this profoundly.

Later in his ministry, when Jesus’ disciples discovered that certain demons could resist their prayers of deliverance, Jesus informed them that some demons can only be cast out by prayer and fasting (cf. Mt 17:21). Obviously there is a power in fasting that goes beyond prayer alone.

To pray is good. To give alms is good. But fasting is the glue. In striving for holiness, prayer lifts us up. Almsgiving coupled with prayer is a selfless movement of love that powers us higher; but fasting allows us to soar to supernatural heights otherwise unimaginable! This is not because we ourselves are in control, but because fasting is an abandonment of control. It is a radical letting go that, coupled with sacramental confession, allows all barriers to our acceptance of God’s love to be broken.

Do You Believe in Me or Not?

When I was a student teacher of Grade 12 Philosophy Religion and Grade 11 World Religions classes, I felt inspired to have the students in both classes do an assignment that would involve them spending time before the Blessed Sacrament. The emphasis for the Philosophy class was more on whether or not they can know God exists, as we were covering St. Thomas Aquinas’ Five Proofs for the Existence of God at the time. For the World Religions class, the emphasis was more on communicating with God, as we were covering meditation. The students then had to journal everyday, indicating what they thought about the exercise and what their experiences were. I emphasized the fact that I wanted them to be honest with me and not just tell me what I wanted to hear.

I have to admit that I was reluctant at first to have the students do this assignment, because I was afraid that if nothing happened it would just confirm their doubts about God’s existence or that he is a personal God who cares about them. I suddenly felt God nudge me with this very gentle rebuke, “Do you really believe I am present in the Eucharist or not?”

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In my role as a director of religious education, I have listened to catechists make sweeping statements about their students, “These kids today don’t care about anything.” “Most of them don’t even want to be here.” Admittedly, such words are spoken in moments of frustration. I have also heard teachers make sentimental statements about their students, “They’re so sweet and innocent. What could they possibly have to confess?” Both expressions betray a lack of appreciation for the dignity of each child, a dignity which compels us to offer them a complete catechesis about who God is and who they are in relation to him.

It is one thing to assent to the truth that “children have a dignity of their own and that they are important not only for what they will do in the future, but for who they are now,”[1] and another to treat every child with the dignity they deserve. How can catechists honor the dignity of children?

Jesus gives us some clues where he becomes “indignant” when the disciples try to keep the children away and he rebukes them. “He called a child over, placed it in their midst, and said, ‘Amen, I say to you, unless you turn and become like children, you will not enter the kingdom of heaven. Whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven. And whoever receives one child such as this in my name receives me. Amen, I say to you whoever does not accept the kingdom of God like a child will not enter it.’ Then he embraced them and blessed them, placing his hands on them.”[2]

Humble Yourself
Jesus offers us a most practical way to grow in the virtue of humility when he admonishes us to turn and become like children. We cannot appreciate the dignity of another person when we are filled with our own ego, need for control, or pride. Children may not always be aware of their littleness, but when they come up against the reality that they need help, they soon become beggars, unashamed to ask for help. They unabashedly and often gratefully receive all as gift. If we are to turn and become like children, we have to give up the illusion that we can live the Christian life by ourselves. No matter our level of experience or education, each of us is radically dependent on God. “Put no trust in . . . mere mortals powerless to save. When they breathe their last, they return to the earth; that day all their planning comes to nothing.”[3] Our very life is dependent on God. If he were to cease loving us, we would cease to exist. Everything we have, including our education and experience, is gift. We have not earned and cannot deserve all we’ve been given. In addition, we are indebted to one another in ways we often take for granted. When we know how dependent we are on God and each other, we are free from the exhausting constraints of self-protection and self-promotion, free to give from the abundance of the gifts we’ve received, and free to follow the leading of the Holy Spirit in the moment.

Humility encourages a stance of awe and wonder in the presence of God’s children who are temporarily placed in our care. An active pursuit of humility safeguards all those in relationship with us too, because it ensures that we act from a place of love and gratitude toward God and others.

Amid the dark shadows that have at times been cast over the face of the Church, too often obscuring for our contemporaries the clear light of Christ shining from her (see Lumen Gentium n. 1), we need to focus anew on the universal call to holiness.

The fifth chapter of Lumen Gentium on “the universal call to holiness” reads very much like it could have been composed by St. Francis de Sales, as it echoes what he had written around 1609 in the first pages of his Introduction to the Devout Life. What St. Francis refers to repeatedly throughout his text as “devotion” could easily be rendered “holiness” or “sanctity.” This vocation is universal; that is, there is no member of the Church, configured to Christ dead-and-risen in the waters of baptism, who is not called to sanctity. However, what precisely this sanctity will look like will vary significantly depending upon one’s particular vocation within his Body and the details of one’s life.

Formed in Spousal Love
The diocesan priest is a man configured to Christ, Head of the Body, and espoused to Christ’s Bride, the Church. As the Church is formed from the love that pours forth from the side of Christ crucified, a man who is ordained a priest must find his identity in that wounded side of Christ. The beloved disciple in the Gospel is portrayed as resting in sinu Jesu, on the breast of Jesus (Jn 13:23). The Son, who dwells eternally in sinu Patris (Jn 1:18), by his incarnate existence extends his filial life to those who are reborn in baptism. They too, through him and with him and in him, dwell in sinu Patris. But since Jesus is revealed as the way to the Father (Jn 14:6), and as the one who makes the Father known (who has literally “exegeted” the Father, Jn 1:18), they must first dwell in sinu Jesu. The third century theologian, Origen, remarked that no one can understand the Gospel unless, like the beloved disciple, he learns to recline on the Lord’s breast. Intimacy with Christ is at the heart of the life of the baptized. At ordination, the faith and witness of the baptized man takes on (quite literally) a new character. The one who was configured to Christ in baptism and sealed with the Spirit in confirmation, receives a new configuration he is, by his ordination, configured to act in persona Christi capitis, in the person of Christ as head of the Body. He is conformed to Christ in act, so to speak, configured to Christ as he gives himself for his Bride, the Church. This is why the spousal love witnessed on the Cross is the font of the Church, the source of its sacramental life (the near unanimous view of the Fathers), and the very form of the priestly life. For the priest, the side of Christ in which he rests remains forever the pierced side, as Christ’s wounds do not disappear at the resurrection but remain the eternal sacrament of his love.

In much the same way that a married couple most perfectly embodies the self-gift that defines their identity in the act of conjugal love (such that they are considered as consummating what was ratified within the Rite of Marriage), so the priest, at the altar and in offering Christ’s sacrifice in the celebration of the Mass, most perfectly embodies the self-gift that defines his identity, his espousal to Christ’s Bride, now the priest’s as well. Christ’s words, made the priest’s own (or perhaps the priest’s words, in union with Christ’s), express the priest’s spousal love for the Church. Gazing at the chalice, lifted at the consecration, it is not unusual for the priest to see himself reflected in it. In some respects, this captures the essence of his vocation: priesthood is not merely or even primarily something he does, it’s who he is. The conflict between functional and ontological understandings of the priesthood can be resolved easily if the former is always related to the latter: what the priest does (celebration of sacraments primarily, but many other pastoral tasks as well) must be rooted in and flow from who he is. His identity is determined not by these acts themselves, but by these acts as expressive of who he is by virtue of his ordination.

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“Yo he venido para que tengan vida, y para que la tengan en abundancia.” Juan 10,10

Al colaborar con Jesús en el pastoreo del rebaño en Su Nombre, ¿qué aspecto tiene la abundancia para ti? Con el paso de los años, a través del coacheo directo y al impartir talleres y retiros, hemos identificado las ocho mejores prácticas para tener una vida en abundancia como agente de pastoral.

1. Toma tu cruz y síguelo a Él.
Los tres Evangelios sinópticos incluyen este mandamiento aleccionador de parte de Nuestro Señor (ver Mateo 16, 24-26; Marcos 8,34; y Lucas 9,24). Jesús, como el mejor de los psicólogos, ofrece este consejo, no como una realidad oscura y opresora, sino como una forma para comprender cómo ser un agente de pastoral efectivo. Hay que notar que Jesús dice “toma tu cruz”. Tantas veces en nuestro apostolado, cedemos a la tentación por tomar la cruz de otra persona, pero esto no es el mandamiento de nuestro Señor amoroso. Hay una delgada línea entre ayudar a alguien y cargarle la cruz por esta persona. Debemos orar para pedir la sabiduría para distinguir esta delgada línea, para que no estemos cargando las cruces de los demás.

Además, en los libros sinópticos, hay que fijarse en lo que hace Jesús a continuación. ¡Se lleva a Pedro, Santiago y a Juan y se transfigura delante de ellos (ver Mateo 17, Marcos 9, y Lucas 9,28)! El Señor nos ordena a que tomemos nuestra cruz y que lo sigamos – ¡hacia la Transfiguración! Todas las cruces que cargamos, cuando se unen a la única Cruz de Cristo, resultarán en unas resurrecciones específicas; esa es la garantía divina cuando tomamos nuestra cruz y lo sigamos.

Para reflexionar: ¿Cuáles son tus cruces particulares? ¿Sueles responsabilizarte por las cruces de las personas que pastoreas? ¿Cómo puede Jesús ayudarte a encontrar el equilibrio?

2. Sana tus heridas mayores.
Hay dos respuestas a toda herida física, psicológica, o espiritual: resurrección o infección. Escoge sabiamente. Todo agente de pastoral tiene sus heridas – pequeñas y grandes – en su vida. Es necesario que nos dirijamos con toda intencionalidad a las heridas principales y que permitamos al Espíritu Santo a que las sane para no herir a los demás por estas heridas personales. Los agentes de pastoral que han sanado sanan (por la resurrección), y los agentes de pastoral lastimados lastiman (por infección). Jesús quiere que le dediquemos el tiempo y los recursos necesarios para considerar y sanar las heridas mayores que originaron en nuestra familia de nacimiento, nuestro pasado y nuestro presente.

Típicamente, las heridas se suscitan en el marco de relaciones inseguras, entonces la sanación se dará dentro de unas relaciones seguras. En nuestra vida, estas relaciones han sido: la dirección espiritual, el coacheo católico (y los mejores coaches se dejan enseñar), y terapia de salud mental (los mejores terapeutas están abiertos a la terapia).

No le damos entrada a quienquiera a nuestro santuario de sufrimiento. Tenemos que ejercer prudencia. Un buen lugar para comenzar a sanar heridas mayores es con un sacerdote o diácono de nuestra confianza. Si no puede, o no tiene la capacidad para hacer este viaje contigo, pregunta si conoce un buen director espiritual o terapeuta católico. Si no le pueden recomendar a uno, llama a tu oficina diocesana para el matrimonio y la familia; a menudo esta oficina tiene una lista de terapeutas que han ganado su confianza a lo largo de los años. Al pasar por el proceso de sanación, hay motivos de gran esperanza, con base en lo que leemos en Romanos 8,28: “Sabemos que para los que aman a Dios, todas las cosas cooperan para bien, esto es, para los que son llamados conforme a su propósito.”

San Pablo conocía el poder de las heridas en su vida. Conocía la vergüenza consecuencia del fervor con el que perseguía a los cristianos. Experimentó la traición, pruebas y sufrimientos extremos en su ministerio. Mas, sin embargo, tenía la fe, la osadía, y la valentía para escribir que todas las cosas cooperan para bien. En otras palabras, no son solamente las cosas buenas que hago que le sirven a Dios, sino que todas las cosas cooperan para el bien en el caso de los que aman a Dios. Esta es una garantía divina de que todas tus heridas pasadas y presentes pueden cooperar para bien.

Para reflexionar: ¿Existe algunas heridas importantes psicológicas o espirituales en tu vida que te pide el Espíritu Santo que sanes?

As you partner with Jesus to minister in his name, what does abundance look like for you? Over the years, through direct coaching and providing workshops and retreats, we have identified the following eight best practices for living abundantly as a minister.

1. Take up your cross and follow him.
All three synoptic gospels include this sobering commandment from our Lord (see Matthew 16:24-26, Mark 8:34, and Luke 9:24). Jesus, as the best psychologist, offers this advice not as a dark, oppressive reality, but as a way to understand how to be an effective minister. Note that Jesus says “take up your cross.” So many times in ministry, we are tempted to take up another person’s cross, but this is not the commandment of our loving Lord. There is a fine line between helping someone and actually carrying their cross. We must pray for wisdom to see this fine line, so that we are not carrying the crosses of others.

Furthermore, in all three synoptics, notice what Jesus does next. He takes Peter, James, and John and is transfigured before them (see Matthew 17, Mark 9, and Luke 9:28)! The Lord commands us to take up our cross and follow him—to the transfiguration! All the crosses we personally carry, when united to the one cross of Christ, will result in specific resurrections; that is a divine guarantee when we take up our cross and follow him.

For reflection: What personal crosses do you carry? Do you tend to take responsibility for the crosses of the people to whom you minister? How can Jesus help you find balance?

2. Heal your major wounds.
There are two responses to any physical, psychological, or spiritual wound: resurrection or infection. Choose wisely. Every minister has major and minor wounds in life. We need to intentionally address the major wounds and allow the Holy Spirit to heal them so we don’t hurt others with them. Healed ministers heal (through the resurrection), and hurting ministers hurt (through infection). Jesus wants us to devote the time and resources necessary to address and heal the major wounds from our family of origin, our past and present.

Typically, wounds happen in unsafe relationships, so the healing will happen in safe relationships. In our lives, these relationships have been: spiritual direction, Catholic coaching (the best coaches are coachable), and mental health therapy (the best therapists are open to therapy).

We don’t admit anyone into our sanctuary of suffering. We need to be judicious. A good place to begin to heal major wounds is with a trusted priest or deacon. If they are unable or not equipped to journey with you, ask if they know of a good spiritual director or Catholic therapist. If they do not, call your diocesan office of marriage and family; many times this office has a list of therapists who have earned trust over the years. As you go through the healing process, there is cause for great hope based on Romans 8:28 “All things work together for the good for those who love God and are called according to his purpose.”

St. Paul knew the power of wounds in his life. He knew shame as a result of his previous zeal for persecuting Christians. He experienced betrayal and extreme trial and suffering in ministry. And yet, he had the faith, the audacity, and the courage to write that all things work for the good. In other words, not just the good things I do can be used by God, but all things work for the good for those who love God. This is a divine guarantee that all your past and present wounds can work for the good.

For reflection: Are there any major psychological or spiritual wounds in your life that the Holy Spirit is asking you to heal?