Franciscan at Home

Br Louis explains why catechesis on the vocation to be a Brother in the Church is so important for our work.

The task of catechesis today faces many challenges as it attempts to address a generation of young people who have suffered from either poor catechesis or a complete lack of it. Those principles and teachings which generations before had taken for granted are unknown or distorted. One of these is an understanding of the rich history of our Church and the essence of the various vocations that have existed in the Church.

While most street Catholics have a clear enough understanding of the Priesthood and the Sisterhood, these in part being popularized over the years by the cinema, few have heard much about the vocation and role of the Religious Brother.

Catholic Schools Week gives us all an opportunity to express our gratitude to the parents and families, pastors and parishes who entrust to us the privilege of teaching, and sharing in the Church’s teaching mission. They are good supporters of our work, and with them we share the weighty responsibility of bringing children to Jesus Christ; and bringing Jesus Christ to our children.

During these special days, I hope that you as administrators, teachers and staff, also hear the appreciation of God’s people for your vital work. You are the teaching Christ. You are participants in the work of the bishops, shepherding our young people. You are close co-workers with the parents. You love these children and spend so many hours with them, not only instructing them but also forming them in mind, heart, body and soul. You listen to them and correct them and encourage them. Sometimes you toss and turn at night because of them.

Thank you, dear teachers. Thank you for answering God’s call – fulfilling not just the contractual obligations of a job, but carefully and prayerfully responding to a vocation. When I was at one of the schools recently and asked the students what they were doing during Catholic Schools Week, one young boy answered that they were going to have a teacher appreciation day. He whispered to me that exactly what they were going to do was a secret. I hope you have received many signs of thanks and affection from your students.

Dad could hardly believe it. “You’re worried about which door to use? Use any door!”

The boldness of this idea did not comfort me. After all, wasn’t it important to follow the school rules? When the bell rang on the first day, we were to line up at the correct door with our class. Then we were to enter upon the journey of knowledge with our new teachers. This was supposed to happen out of a situation of chaos – hundreds of youngsters (rough-housing and yelling on our big playground) were expected to respond quickly. What if I did not hear my new teacher call me by name? I could end up in class 4-A rather than 4-B! What if I were left alone on the playground?

And yet, somehow, it happened! With the help of my older sisters, the strong voices of my teachers, and the belief that this was the way it was supposed to be, I entered upon the new school year!

I never seemed to have a doubt about what door to exit. We would pour back out onto the playground and make our way homeward to tell Mom how we had fared, by that time forgetting all about the entry door to the new year.

As God’s good children, we have already entered our Porta Fidei and started a New Church Year. Without forgetting what we have embarked upon, how can we use the “exit door” of Lent and Holy Week in the service of catechesis?

In this article, Léonie and Stratford Caldecott share their convictions about evangelization, drawn from many years of experience in Catholic cultural and faith renewal.

In Italy and other places there is a Slow Food movement, and there are designated “Slow Cities”. You can read on Wikipedia about Slow Fashion, Slow Money, Slow Parenting, and even a World Institute of Slowness. The Slow Movement believes that quality of life and thus real wealth comes from slowness, care, and contemplation, rather than non-stop activity and frenetic speed. We believe in Slow Evangelization.

Newman’s Spring

2012 was the 160th anniversary of John Henry Newman’s prophetic sermon, “The Second Spring”, marking a turning point in the history of Christianity in these islands – the re-establishment of the Roman Catholic hierarchy and the beginnings of a Catholic revival that went on to produce Christopher Dawson, G.K. Chesterton, and a whole host of poets, novelists, and apologists, many of them published by Frank Sheed and Maisie Ward.

It is worth recalling that when Newman gave the Second Spring sermon at St Mary’s College in Birmingham, he was still only 51 years old, and a relatively recent Catholic. It was only two weeks after the ending of the humiliating Achilli trial, which had brought to the surface much anti-Catholic feeling around the country. The newly reconstituted Synod of Bishops was meeting for the first time, in a neo-Gothic seminary designed by Augustus Welby Pugin. Newman used his platform at the geographical centre of England and at the dawn of a new historical epoch to prophesy a resurgence of Catholic culture – one that would affect not just intellectuals but the whole population, through the building of churches and schools and the re-entry of Roman Catholics into the political, economic, and social life of the nation. “O Mary, my hope, O Mother undefiled, fulfill to us the promise of this Spring.”

Martha Drennan discusses how the parish can support the life-long process of growing in the knowledge of the faith, a process which starts in the family.
I was born into a Catholic family that would never miss Mass, made many sacrifices in their middle class life to send three girls to Catholic school, and could not imagine not being Catholic. With Dad serving as an Army officer, we moved to widely different areas of the country and experienced three different diocesan school systems.

As a product of all this cradle Catholic upbringing, I found myself to be 31 years old, a nominal Catholic who would not miss Mass, who wanted to go to heaven, but who did not know how to avoid hell. I had been left behind in my understanding of my Faith and how to live it as a disciple of Jesus Christ.

This was the beginning of my adult conversion experience. I was now going to begin the journey of catching up on my faith as an adult and how to live it as an adult. I was afraid and knew I needed God more in my life. That was all the Holy Spirit needed to take me on a whirlwind adventure.

The First Communion parents were gathered to listen to a talk on the Sacrament of Penance. It became apparent that some were uncomfortable with the idea that their children – or indeed they themselves – might be in need of God’s mercy and love in this sacrament.

‘Children don’t really sin, do they – they’re too young to understand.’

‘I don’t want my children frightened by telling them about hell and damnation at their age.’

‘We don’t really need to confess to a priest, do we? It’s okay` just to say sorry to God on our own, isn’t it?’

I would like to give some suggestions for the catechist who must respond to these kind of comments, explaining the Church’s teaching to those who either misunderstand it or are alienated from it.

The catechist must be a person of faith, hope and love with a strong grounding in the Church’s faith. He must be confident in the vision and hope for the future which the Church teaches and inspires, have a mature and courageous attitude to what love requires in order to deliver the truth. These three theological virtues must be foundational to catechesis, particularly where there may only be one chance to convey the truth of a doctrine or practice. They also provide the catechist with a sound framework for an answer or a discussion which utilises the true teaching of the Church rather than half understood concepts which have often been gained outside the Church, or in childhood.

Telling the life and story of Jesus is central for the learning of our students.

One of the privileges of a religion teacher or catechist is that of being a teller of the story of Jesus. So conscious was Sunday school teacher, Joseph Bayly, of this honour that he simply called the book he wrote about his teaching experiences, I Love to Tell the Story. The inspiration for this title came from an evangelical hymn of the same name that contained the uplifting lines: ‘I love to tell the story of unseen things above, of Jesus and his glory, of Jesus and his love. I love to tell the story because I know its true; it satisfies my longings as nothing else can do.’ This title captures well the mission of religion teachers as they endeavour to form the faith of young believers. Consciousness of oneself as a teller of the story of Jesus can be energizing. However, telling the story is but part of a sequence in the journey of the religious educator. The first step is that of hearing the story. But even this, on its own, is not enough. It needs to be authenticated by a genuine attempt to live the story. These three elements of hearing, living and knowing need closer exploration.

Durante muchos años, me preguntaba por qué hablábamos de ser salvados por la Pasión de Nuestro Señor. Me parecía tan raro decir eso. Se me hacía más fácil comprender cómo los milagros y sanaciones, y la enseñanza divina de Jesús podrían ser importantes para nuestra salvación. Sus milagros nos revelan su Divinidad y nos ayudan a hacer un acto de fe en El, mientras sus enseñanzas nos guían en el camino hacia el Cielo. Y sabemos, por supuesto, que es efectivamente toda la vida de Cristo – su Encarnación, Nacimiento, Ministerio, Muerte y Resurrección – que nos salva. Sin embargo, ¿por qué será que hablamos de su Pasión como enfoque y núcleo de esta obra redentora?

Inicialmente lo que me ayudó a comprender algo de esto fue a través de un libro descomunal, The Stature of Waiting (La estatura de la espera) de W.H. Hanstone. El autor se había interesado en un detalle insólito de los Evangelios: el hecho que la palabra griega para describir la actuación de Judas no era la palabra ordinaria para expresar una traición, sino una palabra distintiva, ‘paradidomi’, que significa ‘entregar’. De las treinta y tres ocasiones en que se menciona su acción, solo una vez se refiere a Judas como traidor de parte de uno de los Evangelistas. La consistencia con la que se utiliza el verbo ‘entregar’ nos señala lo central e importante que es este concepto. ‘El fue entregado’ marca claramente el inicio de la Pasión.

For many years, I used to wonder why we speak of being saved by the Passion of Our Lord. It seemed an odd thing to say. I could more easily see how the miracles and healings, and the divine teaching of Jesus, might be important for our salvation. His miracles reveal his divinity to us and help us to make an act of faith in him, while his teachings guide us on the path to heaven. And we know, of course, that it is indeed the whole of Christ’s life – his Incarnation, birth, ministry, death and resurrection – that saves us. Still, why is it that we speak of his Passion as the focus and centre of this saving work?

I was initially helped to understand something of this through reading a remarkable book, The Stature of Waiting by W.H.Vanstone. The author had become interested in a strange detail in the Gospels: the fact that the Greek word used to describe Judas’ act was not the usual word for betrayal, but a distinctive word, ‘paradidomi’, meaning ‘to hand over’. Of thirty-three occasions when Judas’ deed is mentioned, only once does a Gospel writer refer to Judas as a ‘traitor’. The consistency with which the verb ‘handed over’ is used points us to the centrality and to the importance of this concept. ‘He was handed over’ clearly marks the beginning of the Passion.

‘Did you get to meet the Pope’, is the question I am most often asked after people discover that I spent eight months as a long term volunteer for World Youth Day 2005 in Cologne, Germany. Most people expect my most memorable moment during this time to be standing at the altar during the final Mass with Pope Benedict. Or, perhaps spending the night with close friends on the field after the Saturday night Vigil; maybe even the hours of work spent at a computer screen answering emails and phone calls in a madcap attempt for organization before the great days arrived.

Instead, I find myself going back to a tiny chapel in the basement of St. Andreas Church, which just happened to be the crypt of St. Albert the Great. Every weekday morning in this quiet, peaceful place, one could find a small group of worshipers from all around the world, taking the time to prepare themselves for their often strenuous day in the World Youth Day office, and uniting themselves in prayer with the hundreds of thousands of young people and their catechists who would be joining them together with the Vicar of Christ, for a few short days in August.

World Youth Day is without a doubt a powerful and grace-filled experience. Even those who attend simply because they are curious and live nearby will be blessed by the outpouring of grace and the pure joy surrounding the occasion. But for those who are pilgrims instead of spectators, privileged believers, who have carefully prepared themselves for this great experience, World Youth Day offers a life altering call to enter into the mission of our beloved Catholic Church.