Franciscan at Home

As tears filled his eyes and his voice broke, the 16-year-old sophomore told me, “I just can’t see her the way she deserves to be seen.” He meant his girlfriend, about whom he cared deeply. His compulsion to consume pornography was sabotaging his ability to love her.

Once hidden and socially condemned, porn is now ubiquitous and normalized. The mainstream tolerance of porn began gradually increasing in the 1960s, though you usually had to go looking for it. With the explosion of smart devices and artificial intelligence, porn now comes looking for you.

But rather than ushering in liberation, normalized porn has wrought enslaving devastation across our humanity. Porn dehumanizes those who produce it, those who consume it, those who are victimized and trafficked into it, and those whose relationships are fractured in the collateral damage. Porn inverts the meaning of human sexuality—designed to be a joyous, life-giving gift of self—into a reductive experience of pleasure and dominance. In all its terrible forms, porn reduces relationships to transactions. For so many like the young sophomore who recognized his own distorted vision, porn is a ruthless enemy of the love we yearn to give and receive.

Young people are experiencing porn’s harm in their lives regularly and distinctly. The average age of first exposure to porn fluctuates between 11 and 12. By age 13, more than half of teens have seen porn. They often report they feel ashamed and guilty after consuming porn. They often acknowledge its compulsive dynamic and destructiveness in their relationships. They wrestle to escape it.[1]

When I asked a group of about 150 teenage girls what normalized distortions they thought were causing harm to their own lives, almost all of them named pornography. They wrote: “You can’t get away from porn.” “Everyone cheats because people have extremely high and unrealistic expectations caused by porn.” “People lose interest so easily in you because they’re used to porn, which shows girls in a fictional way.” “Porn creates selfish fantasies for people, causing them to forget the meaning of love.”

Shame and secrecy only magnify and compound the problem. How can we help, and why does it matter so much that we do? With ideas about sexuality so commonly distorted, young people need clear vision.

Christian writings between the apostolic age and the third century are extremely rare. At the turn of the first century AD, both Pope Clement of Rome and St. Ignatius of Antioch underscore the jurisdiction possessed by bishops over the forgiveness of sins. For most in those early years of Christianity, sin and repentance were simply accepted as a normal part of the average life of every Christian and needed no formulas or procedures to deal with it.

However, in the third and fourth centuries, the rise of certain heresies provoked a greater development and precision on doctrinal matters and practice. This certainly was the case in relation to sin and forgiveness. Approaching Confession became a definitively rigorous and public act. Led by the bishop, the entire Christian community would be involved as all prayed for the penitent.[1]

In the early Middle Ages, Irish missionary monks who came to the mainland brought with them a different form of the sacrament: private confession—that is, confession strictly between the penitent and God’s representative, the priest. Although the monks were certainly not lenient in the handing out of severe penances, they did effectively mollify the more terrifying features connected with public confessions.[2] In short, confessions were beginning to be practiced in generally the same way as they are today. However, though they had undergone significant changes in attitude and procedure, in essence the official canonical features of Confession remained: the honest recounting of one’s sins, the Church sitting in judgment in the person of the priest, the penalty administered, and final reconciliation.

This is not to be marveled at since the Church is as living and dynamic as is Christ himself. She is, after all, the extension of the risen, glorified Christ in space and time. Consequently, the Church has always been able to adapt herself to the special needs of the people of God at a particular time and circumstance. She has therefore periodically changed her approach to Confession—and can possibly change it again in the future.

In the contemporary age, when utilitarian aims of education rule alongside individual choice, electives, and test prep, it may come as a surprise that a Catholic school might require each student to participate in a choral music program. A choral program, moreover, that is more than a so-called specials class, more than a diversion in the middle of the school day, more than an easy A. Situated on the campus of the Cathedral of Our Lady of Walsingham in Houston, Texas, Cathedral High School was founded in 2022. Here, music occupies such a central place in the curriculum that it forms one of the four foundational pillars of the school. And it is not the only school of its kind. Across the United States, a movement is taking place to return to the riches of an authentic liberal education.

Catholic schools are once again placing value on the study of the visual and performing arts. The training up of the young person in the art of singing and the study of music is an ancient and highly valued discipline of education. Music, in the great tradition of liberal education, is one of the four mathematical disciplines known together as the quadrivium—on equal footing with arithmetic, geometry, and astronomy. These, alongside the trivium of grammar, logic, and rhetoric, form what is known as the seven liberal arts. “Liberal” here comes from the word “free.” Young minds are freed to truly think, question, and learn in the search for truth.

As Catholics, we know that truth is not a disembodied idea; Truth has a name, and his name is Jesus Christ. The immense task of the Catholic school music teacher is to help form young people to listen, which, when done properly, leads them to hear the Word of God, to know Christ, and to attune their lives to him. Sacred music, as the language of the liturgy, rightly deserves a central place in the life of the Catholic school.

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.

In his exposition on the Creed, St. Ambrose calls it “our heart’s meditation and an ever-present guardian . . . unquestionably, the treasure of our soul.” I wonder how many of us think of the Creed in this way—and how many children do? A guardian? The treasure of our soul? Something on which our heart loves to meditate? In I Believe, We Believe, however, we have been given a book for children and adults that not only teaches richly and attractively but also feeds the longing of the soul for God’s beauty and eternity.

It is an illustrated catechesis on the Apostles’ Creed from Bethlehem Books with text by Caroline Farey and artwork by Roseanne Sharpe. Five double-spread watercolors delightfully proclaim the whole of the Creed in pictorial form, the images simple, strong, and clear. Each illustration is followed by a catechetical commentary that walks engagingly through it, highlighting and explaining the main images. The book takes the form of a journey through the Creed, using the central figure of a child being led through the doorway of Baptism into the mysteries of the faith, accompanied by the child’s guardian angel who introduces the mysteries and teaches the child. The book is recommended for ages nine to adult, with read-aloud interest for those of ages seven and up.

The second half of the book is made up of a section called “Enrichment Pages”—rich resources for catechists, parents, and teachers to use to introduce their children to essential and foundational principles for understanding any aspect of the faith, principles that will help form the child in an authentic Catholic worldview. These pages draw from the same five illustrations, this time identifying images and features that appear in different ways and guises across the artwork as a whole, in this way revealing the marvelous coherence of the Creed and the faith it proclaims. A glossary of terms and a set of cross-references to parts of the Catechism concludes the book.

The joy and youthfulness of the Catholic priesthood never fade. The passing years only increase a sense of wonder at the grace and power of the priesthood, not least in the daily offering of the Mass and in a life dedicated to the service of countless souls in the light of the Eucharist. A priest needs look no further for the source of his life and joy. On the 40th anniversary of my ordination, I traveled as a pilgrim to Lourdes on February 11th which  celebrates a moment when “the Mother of Christ made her presence felt and her voice heard.”[1]

I came to Lourdes to give thanks to God for Our Lady’s accompaniment throughout my priestly life. The pilgrimage led me to recognize anew the place of her Rosary in this life and mission. I saw how the Rosary formed an unbroken chain through every scene of my life, linking every moment with Gospel contemplation, intercession, reparation, praise, and thanksgiving to the Holy Trinity. As Pope St. John Paul II once reflected, “The Rosary has accompanied me in moments of joy and moments of difficulty. To it I have entrusted any number of concerns; in it I have always found comfort” (RVM, no. 2).

“Yes, ‘tis sweet to trust in Jesus, / just from sin and self to cease, / just from Jesus simply taking / life and rest, and joy and peace.”[1] These lyrics, sung repeatedly in my youth, planted in my heart seeds of longing to trust Jesus, to hear his voice, to take him at his word, to be confident that he speaks to me. So far, the journey has consisted of trudging through miles of the mud of my doubts and renewed resolves, punctuated by joyful epiphanies and triumphs. I also look back on humiliating defeats from which, paradoxically, my trust in God’s love and mercy grew more confident than I once imagined possible.

I was still a child when I began to conceive of growth in holiness as something like a self-improvement project, with the goal of eliminating vice and growing in virtue. If something went wrong, I’d ask myself where I messed up and make a resolve to do better next time. If I had a nightmare, I’d chastise myself for not praying before I went to sleep. This “be good, and God will bless you” approach to my relationship with God kept me on the straight and narrow in my youth and followed me into adulthood.

Although I could quote Scripture, “For by grace you have been saved through faith, and this is not from you; it is the gift of God; it is not from works, so no one may boast” (Eph 2:8–9), shadows obscured my view of the heart of the Father. So, I tried repeatedly to prove my love for him. I worried whether I was pleasing God rather than simply receiving his love for me. Thankfully, Jesus, our Good Shepherd, comes to our aid even when we’ve lost our way (see Lk 15:3–7).

Conversation abounds among Catholic leaders today around the concept of pastoral accompaniment. During this month of October, the participants in the Synod on Synodality continue to discuss what it means to be a listening, synodal Church. Inside and outside the synodal context, many have argued that the Church needs to take a much more “pastoral” stance toward people. Often, however, what they mean is that the clear and unambiguous proclamation of truth must not be as central to the Church’s mission as it once was. Rather, it’s argued, the Church must become more adept at listening, at dialoguing, at seeking to better understand.

It is true that personal accompaniment is necessary for Catholic evangelization and catechesis today. Effective evangelists know this. Indeed, magisterial teaching has proposed accompaniment for decades. The 1997 General Directory for Catechesis described “slow stages” of evangelization and insightfully points out that “dialog and presence in charity” must precede “the proclamation of the Gospel and the call to conversion.”[1] That is, before we proclaim Christ and call someone to change, if we wish to do so fruitfully, we will respectfully listen and come to know the person before us, remaining present in charity—no matter what. Such empathy and respect is due to every person. It is, in fact, an essential ingredient for anyone to freely become open to the Gospel and the challenging call to conversion—to change how one sees and lives. The 2020 directory goes a bit deeper:

The present understanding of the formative dynamics of the person requires that intimate communion with Christ, already indicated in the existing Magisterium as the ultimate end of the catechetical initiative, should not only be identified as a goal but also brought about through a process of accompaniment. In fact, the overall process of internalizing the Gospel involves the whole person in his unique experience of life. Only a catechesis that strives to help each individual to develop his own unique response of faith can reach the specified goal.[2]

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