Franciscan at Home

For Communion

Growing up Protestant, sacraments seemed fairly irrelevant to me. It was not until I turned fifteen that I decided to get baptized because I knew that if I accepted the terms of what baptism meant, by Protestant standards, then I needed to truly accept Christ and all that it meant to follow him. As a Methodist, I always wanted to be in the right mindset for communion and not take for granted what I was partaking in. When I met my husband, I recognized that his Catholic beliefs were particularly important to him. As he explained to me the sacredness of the sacraments, especially the Eucharist, I admired his passion and love for seeing Communion in such a beautiful way—even if I did not see it that way myself. When we got married, I attended my first Easter Vigil in 2019. I had already gone to adoration with him a few times and found praying in front of the Eucharist to be such an impactful experience with Christ. At the vigil, I saw the catechumens and candidates partaking in their first Eucharist, and I was in such awe. All these people were willingly accepting the initiation rites of what the Church was asking of them. Now, they were receiving what they genuinely believed was the Body and Blood of Christ and joining with him in such a special way. The view in front of me was of such beauty, I considered what it would be like to be so close to Christ in receiving him in the eucharistic feast. I wondered: could I be closer to Jesus than ever before?

Several years ago, I was working as a parish Coordinator of Youth Ministry, and one of my responsibilities was teaching a high school religious education class. The class was arranged by the parish DRE and met as part of her programming each Wednesday night. There was no set textbook or program. We had a wide range of topics and materials available, and we were able to move as the class needed. The class was comprised of a diverse range of students with varying backgrounds and levels of catechetical formation. Mid-year, a new family moved to the parish. The parents only spoke Spanish, and they had two sons in high school who had very little formal religious education.

The older of the sons was in eleventh grade. He didn’t speak much. I’ll refer to him as “Frank.” You could tell by what few personal stories he shared that Frank’s life was a hard one. He lived in a bad neighborhood. He adored his parents, who were hard-working, but recognized that they were consumed by the preoccupation of the family business and were also not as devout as they expected their children to be. The boys completed that school year and came back the following fall.

I was born and raised Catholic, with a family who went to Church every week. I also went to Catholic schools, so the faith was constantly around me. Yet, growing up, I just wanted to fit in. I wanted to be popular, I wanted people to talk about me like they talked about the other girls. And all my life, I always felt like I was going to have to try harder to get people to like me because I wasn’t pretty like the other girls. I got teased a lot for what I looked like—it was always something in the back of my head in everything I did. Not good enough, not thin enough, not pretty enough. So, I told myself since people weren’t going to like me for what I looked like, I had to make them like me for something else. I let my friends make all the decisions, decide who we liked and didn’t like, who I’d invite to my birthday party, what I’d post on Instagram, and everything else. And I had this idea in my head that once I got them to like me for what I’m not, I could go back to being the real me and then they’d like me for that too. What I didn’t know back then is when you stand on the edge of a cliff, the longer you stand there, the more comfortable you become. And once you’re comfortable with being on that edge, it’s that much easier to fall.

A cascade of trees flowed down the hillside towards the water, a body of water that was bigger than a pond but not quite a lake, on the lands belonging to the Holy Ghost Fathers in southern Connecticut.

The work of catechesis, like any aspect of the Christian life, calls for great trust. In fact, Bishop Robert Barron’s book And Now I See speaks of the process of metanoia (conversion), signifying an internal shift to a mind governed by trust in God rather than fear.

Whenever I’m about to make a big decision, I always jokingly remind my friends “It’s my job to knock on all the doors; it’s God’s job to open one.” All my life, I have found this to be true. God allows me to run around pursuing opportunities, and then he simply opens the right door. The beauty of the workings of God in our lives is that he knows us so well.

I walked along the forbidden streets of one of Philadelphia’s most crime-ridden neighborhoods while being greeted respectfully by neighbors. They knew I lived at the church and, despite countless warnings about the safety of this community, I encountered only joyful faces. One of the first conversations I had as I walked from the El station to the church rectory, where I lived with other young adults, was with a seven-year-old girl, who asked me: “Is God a father and Mary a mother?”

Yes, Mary is a mother, and she is the mother of all of us; she is Comforter of the Afflicted and Refuge for Sinners. She is Mother of Divine Grace and Mother Most Pure. Her mission as Mother continues in the world today, through the Church.[1] This is why we turn to the Church in time of need—we bring our spiritual, material, social, and emotional needs to the Church.

“The church has always been here,” another man explained to me, “but the doors were always locked. No one was there.” It was as if our neighbors intrinsically knew that this grandiose, beautiful building that stretched up to the heavens was meant to be their saving grace; that they should be able to look to the church in time of need and find comfort (Is 66:13); that they should be able to knock and have the door open unto them (Mt 7:7).

Grace-Filled Broken Hearts

This past fall, my middle school students and I (along with the whole school and parish) experienced a heart-wrenching situation. Our pastor was removed from our parish and stripped of his priestly duties due to the revelation of sexual improprieties he had engaged in early in his priestly ministry. I will speak with as much charity as I can muster. 

Read how a heart-wrenching experience "became a profound moment of grace, marked by a supernatural dose of mercy and love!"

I’ve had the pleasure of being a certified teacher for twenty years now. I started my teaching career in a public school, and have spent the last five years teaching middle school students at a Catholic school outside of Phoenix, Arizona. Most teachers will agree that the greatest reward of teaching comes from watching students grow academically and socially. In a Catholic school we have an added bonus and responsibility, which is to help guide students as they form their spiritual life.

Our youth face the difficult task of navigating a social and public landscape that is often in opposition to the teachings of the Church. Being a catechist has become increasingly difficult with each passing year. Our children are bombarded with messages online, on television, and with their peers. Too often, these messages run counter to the Gospel. This is why it is more important than ever to teach the truth and to give young people the tools they will need to defend the faith. The best way to do this is to live the truth and teachings of the Church in our own lives.

The love we have for Our Lord should pour out of our hearts and be visible for all to see through not only our actions but our words. The old adage, “Don’t just talk the talk, walk the walk” comes to mind when I think about being an example for young people. Children need to see us at Mass and receiving the sacraments. Just recently, my students attended a retreat at which the Sacrament of Reconciliation was offered by several priests. There was a lull in the participation where children were looking to see who would go up next. I decided it would be a good idea to hop up and head into the confessional to demonstrate that I am a sinner in need of the Sacrament of Reconciliation just as much as they are. The kids looked a bit surprised, but I noticed when I got back to my pew to pray some of my reluctant students went up to receive Confession.

Here are the three things I love most about being a Catholic School Teacher:

Movement of the Holy Spirit

Have you ever had the experience of walking into your classroom and, after careful observance, prayerfully deciding to pivot away from your planned lesson? This happened to me a few years ago. I had prepared diligently for a lesson on the Sacrament of the Eucharist. I was ready to use my short time with the students to teach them about the Real Presence and the wonderful effects of receiving the Blessed Sacrament. Yet, when I entered the room, I saw looks in their eyes and in their body language a reality that would test even the mightiest of teachers: the crippling look of pervasive boredom. I thought to myself, “This is going to be impossible to arouse interest and captivate them enough to get my points across.” Then, God spoke a simple word to me. It was not a thunderous theophany, nor was it coupled with signs and wonders. Instead, God simply said: “Adoration.” I tried to reason, “But Lord, I have not even spoken a single word to these young people on the topic of the Eucharist. Adoration will just confuse them.” I continued with my excuses, “It will take valuable class time to transition to the perpetual Adoration chapel and back.” Yet, I could not escape this word that God had placed in my heart: Adoration.

I looked around after opening my class with prayer and announcements. The body language of the students had not improved. In fact, it seemed to have worsened by spreading to others (poor body language seems to be contagious and festers once introduced to the class). I smiled and told the class: “We are going to see Jesus today.” After a very brief explanation on the Adoration chapel and the reality contained therein, we departed. I was apprehensive in what I had just begun. Would we cause a noisy scene? Would they show the respect and maturity that I demanded? Did I just waste 30 minutes after accounting for the time to get to the chapel and back? Am I going to confuse them? Despite my misgivings, the Lord was at work in our class. After entering the chapel, the students all fell to their knees in silence—some praying, some observing—as we all took in the experience of being in the presence of Our Lord in the Blessed Sacrament. After seeing this transformation in the students, I gave them more time before returning to class. I think some would have stayed the whole class if I had let them!