Franciscan at Home

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.

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!

Conversation abounds among Catholic leaders today around the concept of pastoral ac

To learn more or to register for a Steubenville Adult Conference visit https://steubenvilleconferences.com/ or call 740-283-6315.

The Church exists for the purpose of sharing the Gospel and inviting the whole world to salvation and relationship in Christ. Consequently, “a Christian vocation by its very nature is also a vocation to the apostolate,” that is, a call to mission.[1] Many are enthused to receive such a dignified call, but these sentiments are not self-sustaining. The enormity of evangelizing the whole world, which initially can provoke excitement, often degrades to discouragement amidst incessant demands for action. There is always something more to do in this fallen world, and apostles can begin to question, “What time do I have to pray with so much to do? Wouldn’t it be more generous if I dedicated myself more to doing these good things? Isn’t the Lord also present in these good things? Could it be that I’m even being lazy or selfish by prioritizing a life of prayer? Aren’t there so many souls that need to be saved? How can I allow myself to stop?” This line of questioning, however, overemphasizes the person’s action above God’s, and if unaddressed, it leaves a person destitute of faith and energy.

St. John Paul II proposes to the Church’s apostles a safeguard against this kind of breakdown: “a solid spirituality of action.”[2] As the name suggests, it is a way of living and acting built upon the spiritual life. John Paul II describes it as a unity of contemplation and action, of communion with God that inspires ardent action.[3] This call to contemplation places Christians in contact with the source and fulfillment of their action. The saintly pope explains that the Church’s universal mission is to orient humanity’s gaze, awareness, and experience “towards the mystery of God,” particularly the redemption accomplished by Jesus Christ.[i4] In other words, the nature of apostolate is to draw all people to encounter God, to contemplate him and his saving work. If missionaries neglect their call to contemplation, they betray their own mission. However, when action is united to contemplation, apostles are able to see “God in all things and all things in God,” allowing “the most difficult missions to be undertaken” because they literally never lose sight of God.[5]

While the term “spirituality of action” was coined by St. John Paul II, the concept is anything but novel. Whether it is the Benedictine motto of ora et labora, prayer and work,[6] or the designation of “contemplatives of action” commonly applied to the Jesuits,[7] the unity of contemplation and action has been safeguarded by monks and missionaries alike throughout history. This spirituality, however, is not reserved solely for consecrated members of the Church. The Second Vatican Council calls the laity to inform their actions with their life in God because “their works, prayers and apostolic endeavors, their ordinary married and family life, their daily occupations, their physical and mental relaxation, if carried out in the Spirit, and even the hardships of life, if patiently borne—all these become ‘spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ.’”[8] Put simply, there is no calling that favors contemplation or action at the expense of the other. Every Christian is called to a relationship with God that overflows into action, and the spirituality of action is the apostle’s response to this call.

“Then every scribe who has been instructed for the kingdom of heaven is like the head of a household who brings from his storeroom both the new and the old” (Mt 13:52).

The scribes were the lay ecclesial ministers and catechists of their day. They safeguarded the Scriptures and written traditions of Israel so that they could be passed down and taught in every generation. Jesus reinterprets their role and elevates their purpose when he talks about scribes who have been “instructed for the kingdom of heaven.” The Church calls her catechists, today’s scribes for the kingdom, to utilize modern methods that embrace “new media” (a term that seems rather passé for a generation of people who only know these forms of media) without jettisoning older methods and media that still have value. We have to bring forth “both the new and the old.”

Innovation and Tradition

The faith itself is ever ancient and ever new, and our presentation of the Gospel must draw from the best of the past while exploring new ways forward. The new Directory for Catechesis calls for “widely differing methods.”[1] The National Directory for Catechesis gives similar guidance: “Catechesis has to investigate new possibilities offered by the existence of the new technologies and imagine whole new models and systems if the Gospel message is to penetrate the culture, make sense to the next generation of Catholics, and bring about a response of faith.”[2] The Church is calling us to an innovative spirit that, frankly, makes many of us uncomfortable. To be clear, we are not being asked to get creative with doctrine. But we are being tasked with being creative in the ways that we present it.

Innovation in how we present the Gospel also calls for innovation in where we present it, the media through which we propose the faith. Since catechesis is primarily intended for adults, and since study after study points to the importance of parents in handing on the faith to the next generation, we would do well to consider what media are most suitable for adult formation. The “Catholic Media Use, 2023” report from the Center for Applied Research in the Apostolate shows a significant increase (27%) in the consumption of spiritual content, whether videos or podcasts, by adults since 2005.[3] If videos and podcasts are the media through which the adults in our communities and the parents in our programs are seeking spiritual content, then that is where we need to try to meet them. Considering the trends toward hyperlocal news sources, we need to be sure it is we who are meeting them there and not just a popular Catholic blogger or YouTube channel.