Franciscan at Home

Last week, I changed the lives of 36 engaged couples (most of whom are already sexually active) in seven hours. More accurately, God and I changed their lives through Pope St.

Last week, I changed the lives of 36 engaged couples (most of whom are already sexually active) in seven hours. More accurately, God and I changed their lives through Pope St. John Paul II’s theology of the body (TOB).[1]

What is it about TOB that reaches others, whether young or old, parent or student, married or single? I’d like to unpack that for those of you whose mission is “boots-on-the-ground”: parents, catechists, classroom teachers, diocesan officials, and anyone else who may need it. As a former Confirmation leader, RCIA director, and educator for over 25 years—and as a single woman with no children—I approach the theology of the body very differently from others. With this background and over 27 years of studying TOB, allow me to outline three very concrete, practical phrases that can help us teach the truth of the body in a pastorally loving way.

The Body Matters

Start teaching everybody by using this phrase: “the body matters.” For instance, let’s say you are teaching children in a catechetical setting, and they ask, “Why do we have to go to Mass?” or “Why do I have to eat well?” or “Why did God become human?” The answer: because the body matters!

• Mass is important because the body matters—your body, everybody’s body, and most importantly, Jesus’ Body matters! If we want to be close to God spiritually, we can start by being close to God physically. Jesus’ Eucharistic Body is received into your body; that’s why it is called Holy Communion: you are now intimately connected with God in Christ.
• Eating well is important since the body matters. Without healthy food, it is harder to function in life, and so it is harder to love others.
• The Son of God became human because the body matters. He knew humans are embodied persons, and since he wanted to save us, he too became embodied.

As St. John Paul II says, “Through the fact that the Word of God became flesh, the body entered theology . . . through the main door” (TOB 23:4). In other words, the body matters.

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.

Near the end of the 19th century, scientist and co-founder of the New York University School of Medicine John William Draper penned an influential polemic entitled History of the Conflict Between Religion and Science. In the book, Draper argued that “the history of science is not a mere record of isolated discoveries; it is a narrative of the conflict of two contending powers, the expansive force of human intellect on one side, and the compression arising from traditionary faith and human interests on the other.”[1] Among the various “traditionary faiths” mentioned specifically in the book, it was Catholicism that most attracted Draper’s ire, as he viewed Catholicism, with its hierarchical structure and doctrinal pronouncements, as particularly antithetical to scientific progress. Draper’s book was wildly popular in the United States and was translated into at least ten different languages. The problem with the book, as modern historians of science have adequately demonstrated, was that it was inaccurate in almost every respect.

Setting the Record Straight

As the historian of science Ronald Numbers pointed out in a lecture, Draper’s book “was in fact less of a dispassionate history, which it wasn’t, than a screed against Roman Catholics and what they had [apparently] done to inhibit scientific progress.”[2] Despite the book’s factual problems, it gave birth to the myth that the Church has been diametrically opposed to science—a myth that has remained somewhat prevalent in the culture down to the present time. Certainly, one can find examples of conflict when one searches through the two millennia of interactions between the Church and science (the Galileo episode is one obvious example). However, the reality is that conflict does not dominate this history. In fact, while one can point to churchmen throughout history who have had issues with different scientific discoveries and theories, one is hard-pressed to find any other example besides the Galileo case in which the Church condemned a specific scientific theory.

Not only has this history not been dominated by conflict, but any cursory examination of the actual historical record reveals the sheer magnitude of support and encouragement offered by the Church to those engaged in scientific discovery. In fact, the Church was the primary patron of scientific research from the Middle Ages up through the 17th century. According to theologian Richard DeClue, “The Church and her high-ranking officials were primary patrons of budding scientists, promoting and financially supporting their work of advancing scientific knowledge” during this period.[3] As the historian of science John Heilbron put it, “The Roman Catholic Church gave more financial and social support to the study of astronomy for over six centuries . . . than any other, and probably all, other institutions.”[4] And it was not only astronomy that the Church funded; nearly every branch of science benefitted from the Church’s largesse.

Despite this reality, the popular story of the history of science in the West is that science lay dormant during the Middle Ages because the Church dominated the culture with her backward, superstitious thinking. In this telling of the tale, it wasn’t until the Renaissance fueled the intellectual rebirth of classical humanist thinking that the chains of Church dogma were loosened, and science could finally flourish. The truth, though, is quite the opposite. In fact, one can see that in the Middle Ages the foundations were being established for the rise of modern science, in large part through the efforts of the Catholic Church.

On May 9, 2024, Pope Francis announced to the world that the following year, 2025, would be a Jubilee Year for the Catholic Church worldwide. The Jubilee Year would begin on Christmas Eve, December 24, 2024, and last until Epiphany, January 6, 2026. This holy year would be marked by special liturgical celebrations, greater availability of the Sacrament of Reconciliation (Confession) and Indulgences, concrete expressions of works of mercy (caring for the sick, the elderly, the homeless, migrants, etc.), and pilgrimages to Rome and her most important churches (basilicas). How has the world reacted?

From Apathy to Antagonism and Everything in Between

I’m sure that, for much of the world, the announcement came and went unnoticed. What the Catholic Church does is so irrelevant in some places and to some people that the news of the Jubilee Year never appeared on their radar screen, so to speak.

Others probably received the news with cynicism. I understand this reaction, as I, too, harbored cynicism about the Catholic Church for the first thirty years of my life. “So the Pope is announcing a Jubilee Year that promises forgiveness of sin for all those who make a pilgrimage to Rome. What a convenient way to drum up tourist revenue for the Vatican city state! The Pope’s pocketbook must have been getting lean, so he had to think creatively!”

Still others likely reacted with hostility. These would be theologically serious Protestants, who remember quite well what issues were at stake in the Reformation and still identify closely with the theological views of the first generation of Protestant Reformers, men like Martin Luther and John Calvin. For such Protestants, the proclamation of a Jubilee Year is a triggering event that calls to mind the Catholic Church’s practice of indulgences. The sale of indulgences provoked the Reformation in the first place. The legend goes that a certain priest by the name of Johann Tetzel was traveling through Germany raising money for the building of St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome by selling indulgences. “When the coin in the coffer clings,” he is supposed to have said, “the soul to heaven springs!” This crass distortion of the Church’s theology and practice of indulgences unsurprisingly aroused vocal resistance from Martin Luther and others, who felt that it obscured the Good News of salvation through faith in Jesus Christ. For some modern Protestants who remember this history well, Pope Francis’ announcement of the Jubilee Year only shows that Rome hasn’t changed, that she continues to disguise the Gospel with her traditions and rituals.

Catholics, or at least those favorably disposed toward the Church, probably haven’t reacted with cynicism or hostility, but at least some have met the announcement with puzzlement. There are young people, converts, and “reverts” who have never experienced a Jubilee Year—or at least don’t remember the last one well. They want to know, “What is a Jubilee Year? Does it make any difference to my spiritual life? How should I participate?” They are open; they just need more information.

Finally, there are more experienced Catholics who do understand what a Jubilee Year is and remember previous ones. But perhaps they heard the news of the Pope’s announcement and greeted it with a yawn: “Here we go again . . . another Jubilee Year. I suppose I should try to do something this time . . . maybe walk to the local shrine and try to get an indulgence for Dad.” I understand that there is such a thing as “Catholic fatigue,” even for well-meaning Catholics. And for many, the Jubilee Year can seem like just another thing to do, like the annual diocesan-parish share campaign, the parish picnic, and the monthly Knights of Columbus council meeting.

I think I understand all of these reactions fairly well. This is now the fifth Jubilee Year of my lifetime, the second I will experience as a Catholic, and over the course of my life I personally have had all the reactions I mentioned above: obliviousness, cynicism, hostility, puzzlement, fatigue. And yet, I’m convinced in my heart that the proper response to the announcement of Jubilee 2025 should be joy, hope, and excitement. Lived well, this Jubilee Year can be a moment of miracle and grace for all of us, a kind of yearlong spiritual Christmas season in which we daily awake to open the gifts of grace that God our Father so lovingly gives us. So, I write these words to wake up the oblivious, calm the cynical and hostile, inform the puzzled, and energize the fatigued to embrace this Jubilee Year and live it to the fullest.

A Personal Connection

In an odd and unexpected way, my life has come to be wrapped up in the Jubilee. My journey into the Catholic Church began in earnest just as the Great Jubilee Year of 2000 was beginning. In the Fall of 1999, when preparations were getting intense, I was accepted into the doctoral program in Scripture at Notre Dame, intending to study with a fellow Calvinist who taught Old Testament there. Then, to my surprise, my doctoral supervisor suggested I write my dissertation on the Jubilee Year of Leviticus 25, even though I’d had no particular interest in this area before.

The year 2000 turned out to be a kind of personal jubilee for me as I discovered the real presence of Christ in the Eucharist and the liberating power of the Sacrament of Reconciliation. And by the end of the year, I made the decision to enter the Catholic Church. This I did, with my wife and family, early in 2001, just as the world’s greatest scholar on Leviticus, Rabbi Jacob Milgrom, was releasing his massive commentary on the final chapters of that book, including the Jubilee Year. I can’t help but feel that God providentially brought me out of my bondage to sin and error and into the Catholic Church—the only place where I had access to the Sacraments necessary to experience spiritual liberation—through the graces Pope John Paul II unleashed by proclaiming the Great Jubilee.

Last year was my first year as a high school campus minister. Part of my job was also teaching an “Approaches to Leadership in the Faith” class. Students had to apply and interview to be in this class, and they were then selected to be the retreat leaders, and leaders in our school community, for the year. I had a lot of freedom when it came to how I instructed the students and what I decided to teach them. I felt as though the most valuable thing I could do is take them to the chapel for the first 20 minutes of class each time I had them. To me, having them develop a personal relationship with Christ was the most important thing in which to invest.

While we were in the chapel, I would introduce the students to different forms of prayer. We would do lectio divina, intercessory prayer, praise and worship, reflections for the liturgical seasons, etc. I always ended our time in the chapel by lifting up our prayers and intentions to Jesus through Mary, and then we would pray a Hail Mary together. After a while of me leading the Hail Mary, I had one of my students, Gabriella, ask if she could do it. I was more than happy to allow her to take the lead on our closing prayer!

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.

For a long time now, there has a been a growing

This is a paid advertisement. To order these books, visit https://ignatius.com/ or call 800-651-1531.

Last year was one of the most difficult years of my life. It was my first year as a theology teacher, and even though I had been well prepared through my secondary education program and ministry experience, I was not prepared for the constant criticism and judgment I would receive from my coworkers. These comments filled my mind with self-doubt, anxiety, and fear. 

One month into teaching, I decided to be honest with my students about how I was feeling. I was not at my best that day, and I told my class, “I’m sorry if I’m not giving you my full attention and energy today. I’ve been experiencing a lot of anxiety recently, and I think it might be getting the best of me today. It has nothing to do with you; it’s just internal.” Immediately after class, one of my students approached me with tears in her eyes. Let’s just call her “Christina.” She said, “Thank you for sharing your feelings with us. I have severe anxiety and depression, so hearing you talk about your struggles makes me feel like I’m not alone.” 

We talked about how she has been attending therapy and about her struggle with having a relationship with God. I learned that Christina grew up in a Christian home, but cried every time she attended a church service. From then on, I began praying for Christina daily. The following week, Christina asked if I could sit with her and her friends during break. This quickly led to me sitting with Christina at break and lunch regularly, where we’d have conversations about mental health, our love of Crumbl cookies, and what it looks like to know Jesus Christ. Those moments didn’t seem like much at the time, but I wholeheartedly believe that God was working in them.