Franciscan at Home

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.

To view a full resolution of this artwork on a smartboard, click here.

Any first impression of The Procession to Calvary by Pieter Bruegel the Elder is telling. I can still remember my initial encounter with it. The scene came across as a chaotic, dizzying whirlwind of activity. Beyond the larger mourning figures in the foreground, I felt a deeper disturbance in the picture, the source of which remained unknown. It seemed to reverberate through the crowd that thronged the landscape, like ripples pushing through the water after a stone has been thrown in.

The sheer number of figures was overwhelming. I wasn’t sure where to look. What were they all doing? There were people milling around in a field, men on horseback, farmers hauling their goods toward the town. I saw a traveler resting with his giant pack, while nearby a man was being arrested. A woman tried to intervene as others scattered with their belongings. I observed the crowd staring at the commotion, the figures turning a blind eye, and still others completely oblivious, going about their daily business. In the background, children play. None of these vignettes, however, seemed to be what this painting was about.

Then it struck me: at the epicenter of the painting was the diminutive personage of Christ, hidden in plain sight, fallen under the weight of the collective sin of mankind. I could hear the crack as he hit the ground. Just behind him, the gaping jaws of the earth opened to swallow all things. This is The Procession to Calvary, the Via Crucis!

A sort of dispersing flow led my gaze to the distant hilltop where the men would be crucified. Encircling the site was a crowd. Among the bystanders, the first Christians gathered as a community around the sacrifice of our Lord. By an ingenious trick of pictorial composition (the similarity in shape), my eye was compelled to jump to the wagon wheel. Following the shaft downward, I arrived at a mound littered with bones: Golgotha.

Here Pieter Bruegel the Elder transports us in a vision to the remote foot of the Cross. We see women weep and pray as St. John consoles our Lady. A thistle, a symbol of original sin, grows in this darkened corner of the world. As viewers, we are both at the periphery and the center of this event—both/and. The name given to this place comes from the Hebrew noun גלגלת (gulgoleth, “skull” or “head”). A skull is prominently displayed; Christ is the head. It is also related to the verb גלל (galal, “to roll”). This rolling action is a key to unlocking the structures and patterns at work in this composition and, by extension, in this event.

“He’s just too small,” sobbed a woman we had just met. It was a sunny summer day, and the pastor, transitional deacon, and I were out knocking on doors within our parish boundaries. This woman’s door was within eyesight of the rectory, and it happened to be the first one we had visited. The conversation had started off just as awkwardly as one would imagine. She answered the door hesitantly, but smiled as we introduced ourselves. She was a parishioner and relaxed when she saw the pastor standing at the back of our group. We explained that we were out introducing ourselves and the parish to the neighborhood. When we asked if there were any intentions we could pray for, she took a deep breath and said yes. She then began to tell us about her unborn grandson and how her daughter’s pregnancy was not going well. She asked us to pray for the baby boy, who was just too small.

We could have just as easily not been there. That same morning, I had offered a training for any parishioners who wanted to learn about door-to-door evangelization. The idea was to walk them through a basic script at the parish and let them shadow those of us with more experience as we knocked on doors in the surrounding neighborhood. Nobody came.

Door-to-door ministry is a frightening prospect for many Catholics, and it is a frightening ministry to organize. Yet, there are overflowing graces to be had, both for the evangelist and the evangelized. Consider my opening story: What would have been lost if our team had gone home after the failed training seminar? Within eyesight of our parish was someone who needed Jesus’ comfort and the only way we could bring it to her was by following Christ’s own counsel: “Ask, . . . seek, . . . knock” (Mt 7:7).

I have been engaged in door-to-door evangelization since 2017. In that time, I have knocked on countless doors and said countless prayers. I have been invited into living rooms and have been cursed from behind locked doors. I have interrupted drug deals and witnessed spontaneous neighborhood prayer meetings. Through it all, I have become convinced that this style of ministry does have a place in the Catholic Church.

Historically, door-to-door ministry has been the near-exclusive province of Protestants, Latter Day Saints, and Jehovah’s Witnesses. Frankly, there have been times that, after seeing two men in white dress shirts and ties walking through my neighborhood, I suddenly decided there were errands I needed to run. Undoubtedly, the first pitfall to be overcome in this ministry is its perception. The very words “door-to-door” conjure up images of tract-wielding zealots and vacuum cleaner salesmen. The only way to change this perception is to do the ministry a different way. What if door-to-door evangelists were like those servants of the master who went out into the streets and through the city inviting all they met to the great wedding feast (see Lk 14:15–24)?

There is an interesting phenomenon that occurs in nearly every culture across history: man ritualizes worship. All over the world the similarities are astounding—animal sacrifices, burnt offerings, gifts of grain, the joy of ecstatic praise. It points to a universal sense within man that not only recognizes that there is a God but also knows that man is called to represent the created order before the Creator. This universal orientation toward the divine can help us recognize what it means to become Eucharistic missionaries.

A Little World

Man is similar to the dust of the earth, the plants that grow, and the animals that move and feel. Yet, he isn’t confined to a “fixed pattern” like the plants and animals; rather, he has been given “the privilege of freedom” like the angels.[1] He is a “little world” arranged in harmonious order in which matter is given voice, elevated, and ennobled by its participation in man’s freely offered “spiritual worship” (Rom 12:1).[2] He has a deep capacity to entrust himself. Standing at the summit and center of creation, he is capable of free obedience to God, which allows for the transformation of his life into a living liturgy of praise.

As matter and spirit, man is also capable of seeing beyond. In the novella A River Runs Through It, an expert fisherman shares his thought process for recognizing a good fishing hole: “All there is to thinking is seeing something noticeable which makes you see something you weren’t noticing which makes you see something that isn’t even visible.”[3] Looking again and again until one sees the “something that isn’t even visible” is a recognition that the world is sacramental, a world of signs, permeated and ordered by Wisdom. Man comes to see that this world is a gift “destined for and addressed to man” (CCC 299). As anyone knows, the reception of a gift elicits first wonder and delight and then gratitude and praise as we lift our eyes from the gift to the giver. A sacramental view of the world moves man to lift his eyes to the Giver and, on behalf of the entire cosmos, to “offer all creation back to him” in a sacrifice of thanksgiving (CCC 358).[4]

Watered Garden

In the biblical account it is this worship that brings order; or rather, worship is the locus of right order. As a little world, man sums up all things, so when he entrusts himself into the hands of God, he gives everything. This gives his worship an inherently outward dimension—it includes more than himself. When man worships, everything worships, and so everything is consecrated. In the garden, rivers ran through it and out to the whole earth (Gn 2:10–14), making it a paradise in which the first Adam “played with childlike freedom.”[5] One can see here a created echo, a sort of natural catechesis, of Eternal Wisdom playing before the Father like a little child, “rejoicing before him always, rejoicing in his inhabited world” (Prv 8:30–31).

Catholics in the United States have a long history of hosting both national and international Eucharistic congresses. The first of these was in Washington, DC, in 1895, and the last was in Philadelphia in 1976. If your ancestors were Catholic and lived in North America, they may have participated in one of these congresses—in St. Louis (1901), or New York (1904), or New Orleans (1938), or another of the 11 congresses to date. I’ve been thinking lately about the congress that took place in Cleveland in 1935. My grandparents were in the area at that time, and as believing Catholics it’s a good bet that they went to this congress and that it was a profound experience for them. These congresses—spanning across generations, and for many of us across our family histories—have been catalysts of faith and have played an important role in the Catholic history of the United States. 

In 1987, I was able to see both St. John Paul II and St. Teresa of Calcutta in person in Phoenix. I’ve also gone to two World Youth Days (in 1993 and 2000). I will never forget these large events and how they have shaped me. Of course, this is to be expected, since the visible gathering of many Catholics around Jesus in the Eucharist expresses in a unique way the Mystical Body of Christ and is truly a foretaste of heaven. On my two pilgrimages to World Youth Day, we had long bus rides after the closing Mass. Using the bus microphones, teenager after teenager gave powerful testimony to how they experienced the goodness and the love of God and how they wanted to live in a new way. 

While the United States has hosted Eucharistic congresses before, this is the first year that a walking Eucharistic procession across the country has been planned. And there are four of these—taking place right now! These walking pilgrimages are roughly forming a cross shape of blessing over our country. This is one way that we Catholics are asking the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit to bless and transform our country. There is much national discussion these days about the diminishment of Catholic faith in our current cultural circumstances. The walking pilgrimages and the Eucharistic Congress are tangible ways we can step forward and publicly express our love for Jesus in the Eucharist and our love for the Catholic faith. And such a public profession will strengthen our faith—and the faith of others, too. If there is any possible way you can participate in the pilgrimages or the congress in Indianapolis from July 17–21, it is (perhaps) a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to bear witness to Jesus in a way that will have tremendous evangelistic power in our broader society. 

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

Back in 1989, when I first began working as a parish catechetical leader, I remember becoming alert to a pattern that unfolded regularly in our church parking lot. Two nights a week, our empty parking lot would become quite busy for two short periods of time. A line of cars would begin to form at 6:45 p.m. that would slowly inch along as parents dropped their children and teens off for parish catechesis. Then the lot emptied except for the dozen or so cars of the catechists. And then, an hour and a half later, the methodical line would predictably form again and creep along as parents retrieved their kids.

I had never been particularly attentive to this until that night. My alertness came about because of a contrasting pattern I had noticed for the first time in a church down the street. The previous week, I had noticed just how different the experience was in the evangelical Christian church parking lot. On Tuesdays, Wednesdays, and Thursdays, that church also had many cars entering the lot. But these cars were parked and remained for several hours until their drivers exited together at around 9 p.m. In that community, the adult drivers got out of their cars and entered, and then, surprisingly, remained in the building. As their kids went to Bible studies, so did their parents and other adults; whereas in our Catholic parish, the adult-chauffeurs immediately departed as their kids were catechized. In one church, the idea of studying and growing in an understanding of God’s Word was normative adult Christian life. Yet in the other—in ours—catechesis was an activity meant for the kids.

When it comes to the Catholic parishes with which each of us might be most familiar, what age level receives the most focused catechetical attention?

Many moons ago, when I was a young social work student in North Dakota, I was required to take a course called “Indian Studies.” One of the books for the course was titled Black Elk Speaks.