Franciscan at Home

Most catechetical texts and digital materials used in parishes and schools throughout the United States today are the product of thoughtful collaboration between the publishers who create them and the bishops who certify their theological and pastoral integrity.

Most catechetical texts and digital materials used in parishes and schools throughout the United States today are the product of thoughtful collaboration between the publishers who create them and the bishops who certify their theological and pastoral integrity. This collaboration yields catechetical materials that are not only doctrinally sound but also are effective tools for what is known as an evangelizing catechesis. The history and significance of this collaboration is the subject of this article.

An Immigrant Church

Desiring a common language of faith for the children of the many immigrants to their country in the 19th century, the bishops of the United States published the first edition of the Baltimore Catechism in 1885. That catechism was based upon Doctrina Christiana (1598), the catechism of St. Robert Bellarmine  published in the wake of the Council of Trent. The Baltimore Catechism would later be divided into three volumes, each volume corresponding to a particular age group. Although over one hundred other catechetical texts for children and youth would be published and used in Catholic schools and parishes, the Baltimore Catechism remained the most widely used catechetical text in the United States until the late 1960s. A four-volume set of the Baltimore Catechism remains in print (the fourth volume is a manual for teachers and catechists).

The Age of the Second Vatican Council

Unlike many previous ecumenical councils, the Second Vatican Council was not convened to address particular matters of faith or morals. Nevertheless, the council that was proclaimed to be pastoral rather than doctrinal in nature gave rise to sweeping changes in the life of the Church, especially in her sacred liturgy and practices of piety and devotion.

For most Catholics, the Second Vatican Council is seen as the council that replaced Latin with the vernacular at Mass, reoriented sanctuaries, introduced modern architectural forms into the building of new churches, and curtailed the requirements for fasting and abstinence. Pope Benedict XVI would note that these and other changes in the life of the Church led many to view the Second Vatican Council only through a particular lens, where one saw the council as a call to discontinuity and rupture from “former” doctrines and practices. As a remedy, Pope Benedict emphasized a hermeneutic of continuity, a lens through which the Second Vatican Council would properly be understood only within the context of the wider and longer Tradition, rather than the converse.

Catechetical texts of this era were not immune to the hermeneutic of rupture and discontinuity, nor from a contemporary culture that heralded the benefits of “new and improved” over “tried and true.”[1] Pedagogy of that era generally eschewed the rote memorization that was a staple in earlier times; religious educators attuned to these trends desired catechetical materials of a pedagogy far different from that used by the Baltimore Catechism. Some religious educators expressed a praiseworthy desire for catechetical materials that would place greater emphasis upon Sacred Scripture and offer the rationale for the tenets of Catholic faith and morals. Other religious educators, caught up in the spirit of that age, preferred catechetical materials that ultimately reflected a tendency to relativize Catholic teaching and minimize the gravity of Catholic moral teaching. An influential parish priest once grumbled to me, “The Baltimore Catechism provides great answers to questions that nobody asks.” That same priest would repeatedly express his admiration for the 87 theologians (mostly priests) who publicly expressed their strong dissent from the teachings on the grave evil of contraception in the 1968 papal encyclical Humanae Vitae within hours of its promulgation.

One of the hallmarks of a Jubilee Year is a pilgrimage to the tombs of Saints Peter and Paul in Rome. But what is a pilgrimage? It is harder to define than one might think. Throughout history, men, women, and children have traveled for a variety of reasons, often for motivations other than simple relocation or practical needs. We can see a type of intentional, spiritual travel in the history of the Greeks, the Egyptians, and the Romans.

The term “pilgrim” comes from the Latin peregrinus, meaning “traveler” or “one from abroad.” Americans might initially think of the Mayflower before they think of Santiago de Compostela in Spain or Chartres in France. A pilgrim, however, is not just any traveler. A pilgrim is one seeking God. Pilgrimages are spiritual journeys: tangible, outward signs of an inward desire to move towards conversion and growth in holiness. All major religions have an understanding of this interior need to physically move toward a sacred location.

History of Pilgrimage

Our Christian pilgrimages have deep Jewish roots. Three times a year, Jewish males were commanded to go to the temple in Jerusalem to celebrate the great pilgrimage feasts of Passover, Pentecost, and Sukkot (see Dt 16:16). They would travel from wherever they had settled to be near the holy place where God dwelt with his people. Soon after the time of Christ, Christians began traveling to Jerusalem to walk in the footsteps of Christ and to pray where he died and rose again. Some, like St. Jerome and St. Paula, went on pilgrimage and never returned home, settling in the Holy Land to be close to these places.

When the Holy Land later became too dangerous for travel, Christians began making pilgrimages closer to home, walking to the tomb of St. James in Spain or even constructing small shrines to the events of the Passion in their gardens and churches. The practice of the Stations of the Cross came from a desire to make pilgrimage even when it was impossible to travel to the Holy Land.

In a sense, pilgrimages to Rome began right after the death of Peter. Local Christians cared for his grave, building a small shrine over it, touching belongings to it, and asking his intercession. Even if these people only came from across town, they were pilgrims—a pilgrimage depends not on distance but on disposition. After Constantine constructed his magnificent basilicas over the tomb of Peter on Vatican Hill and the tomb of Paul on the Via Ostiensis, Christians throughout the empire could flock to these sacred places in safety.

It was a predictably hot August day. We stood, tightly packed and shoulder-to-shoulder, in the blazing afternoon sun in the square outside the Basilica of St. Peter in Vatican City. It was the Great Jubilee year 2000, and I had helped lead a group of young people to World Youth Day. It was the largest gathering ever in St. Peter’s Square, which meant that we had to arrive many hours before Pope St. John Paul II was to arrive. The sun beat down mercilessly.

Several hours before the pope was to arrive, from our position far to the back, we could detect something happening up front. Vatican planners had anticipated the heat and its effects, and, to wild cheers, they were setting up what appeared to be a firehose. They began shooting the water high up into the air so that it would rain down cool relief on the crowd. They moved the hose closer and closer to the front, and the contrived rainstorm got closer and closer to our group. When we were finally in range, we reached forward with arms outstretched to the sky as deliciously refreshing water rained down upon us. I surprised myself when I noticed tears had come to my eyes. I wasn’t only grateful for the reprieve from the heat—I was moved by the compelling imagery of several hundred thousand young people, deeply conscious of their need for God, receiving the gift of water (seemingly from the heavens) right there in the heart of Christendom. It was a moment of the Jubilee that I have never forgotten. Water from the heavens. Relief and consolation. The presence of Jesus. The joy and exuberance of the young crowd.

“Walking with,” commonly referred to as “accompaniment,” is a critical aspect of discipleship. And while it’s one of the new buzzwords these days, I’m not sure those who use it always understand what the word exactly means. Pope Francis has used it many times, particularly in his statements and writings to young people. For example, we hear him say in Evangelii Gaudium (“The Joy of the Gospel”), “The Church will have to initiate everyone—priests, religious and laity—into this ‘art of accompaniment’ which teaches us to remove our sandals before the sacred ground of the other. The pace of this accompaniment must be steady and reassuring, reflecting our closeness and our compassionate gaze which also heals, liberates and encourages growth in the Christian life.”[1]

What exactly does accompaniment mean? I had an experience a long time ago during my single young adult years. At the time, I was living with a family with small children. One night, the parents were trying to get their five-year-old down for bed. Instead of going to sleep, the young girl kept coming up with all kinds of “needs”—one more drink, one more story, one more hug and kiss, etc. I had trouble not laughing as her poor father kept getting more and more frustrated with her pleas. Finally, in a hopeful and exasperated attempt, her dad grabbed the crucifix off the wall in the family room and brought it into her room. He laid the cross on her bed, prayed with her, and asked Jesus to be with her in a special way and help her go to sleep. My eyebrows raised as I watched the scene; that was a good idea, I thought. I was taking notes for my eventual parenting days. But I’m not sure any of us could have guessed what would happen next. After almost 15 minutes of silence, we heard from her room:

“Daddy?”

“What?!” her father replied.

“I need someone with some skin on.”

As frustrating as the whole experience was for her parents, that five-year-old might have come up with one of the best definitions for accompaniment I have ever heard. The spiritual life needs human accompaniment precisely because we are not divine. Despite all the great riches of truth, Scripture, doctrine, and belief, without other human beings most of us would struggle to know exactly how to put all those riches into practice in our day-to-day lives. Some of that accompaniment can be “virtual” or indirect, as when we are accompanied by the saints—holy men and women whose lives we hear about or words we read. But a large part of it needs to be personal and direct, meaning from a real person who is walking beside us and modeling for us how they are living out the faith.

Accompaniment has been a popular topic in catechesis for the past several years, and rightfully so. The Directory for Catechesis lists “accompanier” as one of the primary roles of the catechist, adding, “the catechist is an expert in the art of accompaniment.”[1] In his apostolic exhortation Evangelii Gaudium (“The Joy of the Gospel”), Pope Francis defines accompaniment as a process of walking with the other, listening, and leading others “ever closer to God.”[2] The image of walking together is a particularly salient one as we think about children’s catechesis, since children (especially young children) often literally walk hand-in-hand with an adult in most places, especially unfamiliar ones. We walk with children for a variety of reasons: we want to make sure they go in the right direction and don’t get lost along the way; we want them to feel safe; we want to make sure they don’t miss things that will form them and excite their imaginations. But most of all, we walk with children because we love them, and we know that people grow best when that growth occurs in the context of relationship.

Getting to Know You

How can catechists of children walk with young people in a spiritual sense as they are formed in the faith? One way is by getting to know our learners. Look for resources on the cognitive, social, moral, and spiritual development of children in the age group you teach. This information, which can sometimes be found in the catechist manual accompanying a religious education curriculum, can offer a starting point for understanding the thinking and developmental needs of your learners.

Even as we understand what’s typical for children at a particular age, it’s important to remember that every child is different and to get to know the individual child. Listening to the individual experiences, hopes, dreams, and interests of our learners can help us present the faith as relevant to their lives. It might be helpful to begin each session with icebreaker questions or games that allow learners to share something about themselves and their interests. Think of questions that begin with phrases like, “Tell about a time when you . . .” or “What is your favorite . . .” In today’s hectic and noisy world, too often we fail to take time with one another, to listen without worrying about what we will say next. Accompanying children means sitting with them, listening to the words they speak, and reflecting on the feelings behind the words. It means recognizing what a gift we are being given when little ones trust us with their stories. It means being present to children as a reminder that God is present with them.

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.

Who am I, really? What makes me who I am? And how much do other people affect who I become? These perennial questions reflect the fact that we are deeply affected by things around us, especially by other people. In some ways, our surroundings helped make us better people, and in other ways, worse. Whether for better or worse, we can wonder who we would be without these influences in our life. It seems hard to argue against how impactful our relationships are, and it raises the question of just how much our relationships define us.

Our Image and Likeness

The search for our own identity goes hand-in-hand with who God is. The Trinity is “the source of all other mysteries, the light that enlightens them,” which includes our own mystery (CCC 234). However, the Trinity is anything but easy to understand, and attempts to resolve the mystery neatly have resulted in numerous heresies in the Church’s history. How can a God whose identity is beyond human understanding or expression help us understand ourselves? How can the unfathomable essence of God help us fathom who we are?

As mysterious as the Trinity is, the Church’s dogma makes one thing clear: our triune God is a relational God. When two things are in relationship with each other, it means that their existence and identities are intertwined. In this sense, none of the persons of the Trinity can be separated from the others (see CCC 255). The Father cannot be apart from the Son, nor the Son apart from the Father, nor the Holy Spirit apart from either.[1] At the same time, a relationship implies distinguishability; it is not possible to say something is unique if there are no differences to tell it apart from something else. The persons of the Trinity are essentially united, but each is distinguished by their relation to each other (see CCC 254–55). The Father is who he is because of the Son, and vice versa. The Holy Spirit is who he is because he is the Spirit of the Father and the Son.[2] To put this more simply, the relationship each person of the Trinity has to the others is both unitive and distinctive: their relationships simultaneously describe their union and their distinction.

Created in God’s image and likeness, human persons bear a certain similarity to the relationality of the divine persons.[3] Being distinct persons, we are nonetheless made for unity. Pope St. John Paul II observes that all human reality can be understood through the lens of relationship. In fact, everything in our lives is composed of four fundamental relationships: with God, with oneself, with others, and with the rest of creation.[4] Sin is ruptured relationship, and reconciliation is its repair. The first sin in Eden is a loss of friendship, and it is echoed in all human strife and injustice.[5] Salvation history, on the other hand, “is the wonderful history of a reconciliation,” a restoration of friendship.[6] Notwithstanding the immense difference between the divine persons and us, we are also constituted by relationships.

“The harvest is abundant but the laborers are few” (Mt 9:37). As youth ministers, there is so much to do. Youth group is on Wednesday, parent meeting on Thursday, parish festival this weekend, the website needs an update, the copier is jammed, the admin needs help with Canva, volunteer formation night next week, and the liability forms for the retreat need to go out. Collections are low, someone burned out and quit, and we don’t have the finances to hire this year, so the staff will need to work together to cover their responsibilities. Might this sound familiar?

We need Saints!

But what is our primary call? To know and love the Lord. What is the best thing we can do for our youth and our parish? Know and love the Lord. And yes, serve the Lord, but note: that does come third.

We need saints in our parishes and on our parish staff. We need authentic witnesses much more than we need great speakers, organizers, or teachers. Yes, these skills are important, but a holy disciple will usually be more effective than a skilled disciple—and far more effective than a burned-out disciple or a purely bureaucratic disciple. But effective at what?

What is our purpose at the parish? To balance the budget? To get a teacher for every class? To get the schedule completed? Those tasks are necessary. They need to be done. However, they are a means to an end. Our real purpose is to be authentic witnesses as holy, healthy, joyful disciples of Christ and to invite others to “come and see” as Jesus did.

But do we feel like disciples of Christ, or do we feel more like ecclesiastical bureaucrats? Do we really believe that by working more hours or more industriously or more efficiently that we’ll really get “everything done”? How much did Jesus cram into his work week? Did he meet all his deadlines?

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

This is a paid advertisement. To review these resources, visit https://openlightmedia.com/ or call (734) 996-4245.