Franciscan at Home

The central theme of Pope Saint John’s Paul II’s post-synodal apostolic exhortation, Ecclesia in America, is the encounter with the living Jesus Christ.

At the end of his announcement of the Year of Mercy, Pope Francis invoked the Blessed Virgin Mary, Mother of Mercy: “Let us henceforth entrust this Year to the Mother of Mercy, that she turn her gaze upon us and watch over our journey: our penitential journey, our year-long journey with an open heart …”[1] This invocation of Mary, Mother of Mercy was underscored by the announcement that the Holy Year will begin on the Solemnity of the Immaculate Conception. Let’s think about these two titles of the Blessed Virgin Mary together and ask ourselves how they are related. Mary is the Immaculate Conception. This is how she identified herself to St. Bernadette. That she was immaculately conceived does not mean that she existed outside the economy of redemption, on her own independent track, but rather that she, by the merits of her Son, was redeemed in a unique way, preserved immune from all stain of original sin from the first moment of her conception.[2] The “stain” of original sin is, of course, not a physical stain, but rather it refers to the impairment of freedom and therefore of the ability to love. This is the legacy of original sin. For this reason, either we are afraid of the consequences of choosing the good, or some other alternative seems more attractive. We can even choose the right alternative but for the wrong reasons or for mixed motives. Consider the power disparity that exists between Mary, a creature, and her Creator! Although it would not have been a sin to say “no,” Mary could have said “yes” to her vocation out of fear of God’s power or out of attraction to the status God could provide her! In a case like this, “in order for Mary to be able to give the free assent of her faith … it was necessary that she be wholly borne by God’s grace.”[3] God’s grace is God’s mercy, and therefore Mary had to be wholly borne by God’s mercy. God’s mercy elected her for this vocation, and in and by God’s mercy she was able to assent with perfect freedom to God’s request. Because she is the Immaculate Conception, her whole being is defined by God’s mercy, and her “yes” is a completely unhindered act of assent to all of God’s merciful plans towards humankind that come to their fruition in the Incarnation. She is the “Mother of Mercy” in the sense that her motherhood is a gift of God’s mercy, and also in the sense that she is literally the Mother of the Incarnate Word, who is God’s mercy extended to us. Devotion to Mary, Mother of Mercy, helps us realize that the Incarnation, as God’s greatest work of mercy, is not an abstract concept but is a Person. “Though he was in the form of God, he did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, taking the form of a servant” (Phil 2.6-7). Devotion to Mary deepens our awareness of how far that “self-emptying” mercy went, namely, to the point where the “Almighty became weak for us,”[4] in other words, to the point where he became the direct opposite of almighty, a helpless baby who “uttered crying noises like all other children”[5] and was completely dependent upon his mother. The divine compassion is concrete, not abstract, and the more devoted to Mary we are, the more a vista of the depth of this compassion, or mercy, dawns on our spiritual vision and we cry out: “How awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of God, and this is the gate of Heaven!” (Gen 28:17) The mercy of God is the gate of heaven, and in contemplating its awesomeness we stand on heaven’s threshold! There is nothing more powerful than the contemplation of God’s self-emptying mercy to prompt conversion.

If you walked into your local grocery store and asked the average person in America, “What does the Catholic Church stand for?” what would be the response? Many would focus on the moral issues: “The Catholic Church is against abortion, against contraception, and against ‘gay marriage.’” Almost no one would say: “The Catholic Church stands for God who is love and who created us out of love; who invites us to share in his love; who sent his Son to die for us out of love; and who wants to forgive us no matter what we’ve done and heal us so that we can be happy in this life and with him forever in heaven.” God’s love and mercy are at the very heart of the Gospel; yet, most people, even many Catholics, don’t know this central point of our faith. This is one reason that Pope Francis has called for the extraordinary Jubilee called “The Year of Mercy.” The Priority of Mercy Pope Francis is driven by a pressing desire to bring God’s mercy to “the outermost fringes of society.”[1] Like Christ, whose public ministry was marked by his constant search for the weak, suffering, and lost souls in his day, Pope Francis says that the Church should be continually going out to touch as many people as possible with God’s mercy. “How much I desire that the year to come will be steeped in mercy, so that we can go out to every man and woman, bringing the goodness and tenderness of God! May the balm of mercy reach everyone, both believers and those far away, as a sign that the Kingdom of God is already present in our midst!”[2] How effective are we as witnesses to God’s mercy? We might hold to the right doctrines, right liturgical practices, and right moral principles, but how much do people encounter God’s loving mercy in us and in our parishes, apostolates, or individual lives?

Many readers will fondly remember the last Jubilee year—indeed, the Great Jubilee Year—commemorating the two-thousandth anniversary of the incarnation of God’s Son in history. St. John Paul II understood this event to be the apex of his pontificate and, for many of us, the image of the frail, beloved pontiff opening the Jubilee door of St. Peter’s Basilica remains etched in memory. Pope Francis has now led us into the second Jubilee year of the third millennium, this Jubilee of Mercy.

When it comes to the media, most of us sense a problem, but what is it? Is media itself the problem? Or is the problem limited to the sometimes objectionable content it can convey, such as gratuitous violence and unchastity? Or is media use in moderation fine and only a lack of moderation that causes a problem? Also, how do we, as Christians, discern the best ways to engage media technology? How are we forming ourselves, our loved ones, and those we influence in the everyday application and consumption of new media? In this article we will examine some core principles to apply in our stewardship of these “gifts of God.”

When news of the 5-4 decision of the Supreme Court to legalize same-sex marriage was announced, some said that the question had been settled. But it isn’t. Five people, no matter how prominent, cannot settle such a momentous question for a democratic nation.

In this article we will examine the guidance provided by the Catechism of the Catholic Church regarding the pedagogy needed for liturgical catechesis. Pedagogy The Catechism’s main concern is the presentation of the content of the Deposit of Faith;[i] however, the Catechism also offers us the “pedagogy of the faith.”[ii] The Instrumentum Laboris for the 2012 Synod of Bishops on the New Evangelization noted that the Church published the Catechism for a dual purpose: to provide a definitive account of the Church’s faith and morals and also to articulate this account according to the unchanging pedagogy of the faith.[iii] We can therefore expect the Catechism to identify, in its presentation on liturgy and the sacraments, key pedagogical elements that need to guide and inform particular methodologies, as they are developed for specific groups that have their own particular needs related to context, culture, or age.[iv] In the Catechism, “pedagogy” always refers to God’s way of forming and teaching his people. The term is used only ten times, but the main contours of its meaning are clear: the majority of the references intend us to focus on the gradual and progressive movement of God’s formative activity, while others highlight either the culmination of such a movement in the Person of Christ, or else the loving nature of this design on God’s part.[v] We should notice this double action in the pedagogy: a gradual revelation with a corresponding fostering of the capacity of the person. God “communicates himself to man gradually,” preparing his people “by stages” to become capable of welcoming, knowing, and loving him “far beyond their own natural capacity.”[vi]

Here the author presents us with a beautiful reflection for the Jubilee Year of Mercy.

Repentance at the font of God’s mercy is at the heart of Christian discipleship. Yet how is an artist to depict the interior movement of a repentant heart that returns to God, who is rich in mercy? The parable of the prodigal son, recounted in Luke 15:11-32, offers a radical image of reconciliation between a repentant son and his merciful father. It evokes the interior journey of repentance in each one of us as we stand in need of God’s mercy and forgiveness.
Countless artists have attempted to bring this biblical passage to life. Rembrandt van Rijn’s The Return of the Prodigal Son is, by far, one of the most evocative of these “visual homilies.” One cannot be left unmoved before this unforgettable image, permanently housed at the Hermitage Museum in St. Petersburg, Russia.
Completed around 1668, towards the end of his life, the painting is the crowning achievement of Rembrandt’s remarkable artistic career. The Dutch master painter skillfully leads the viewer from the details of the story into the heart of its theological and spiritual meaning. He also conveys, with his masterful brush in subtle color and fine chiaroscuro, several profound themes that catechists and teachers will find particularly relevant and inspiring.

Word and image
To reflect on a masterpiece of biblical art requires a prayerful reading of the Sacred Scriptures that inspired it. In the fifteenth chapter of Saint Luke’s Gospel, Jesus recounts three parables to an assorted group of Pharisees, tax collectors, and sinners. The simple joy of finding what once was lost—a stray sheep, a valuable coin, or a wayward son—is the thread that ties these parables together.

As St. Paul says, our attitude must be that of Christ. The Second Person of the Blessed Trinity became man in order to save us from our sins. He “emptied himself, taking the form of a slave,” and died on a cross (Phil 2:7-8). During his short time on earth, Jesus cured lepers, as well as people who were blind, deaf, and lame. In the Gospels, we can find specific miracle stories, and it would be safe to say that Jesus cured many others whose stories were not told. And yet, he did not cure all of them. He taught us that neither the sins of the disabled nor the sins of their parents were the cause of their disabilities (cf. Jn 9:1-41). Most importantly, he taught us to love one another. Catechesis should always be a loving act: we are not merely teaching about Jesus but leading those we teach into a relationship with Jesus Christ, who loves us all.

Despite Christ’s example and teaching, in our 2000 years of Church history, we, as members of the Church, have not always loved persons who had disabilities. Up until the nineteenth century, in Christian countries, the disabled were left to die or to beg or to be imprisoned in institutions where they were treated no better than animals. For the most part, people with physical or cognitive disabilities were not permitted to participate in the sacramental life of the Church. There were individuals and religious congregations who tried to accept and care for the disabled, but this behavior was not widespread. Despite the almost total lack of compassion for persons with disabilities, there exist a few examples of the attitude of Christ in this regard.

Personally, I must admit that my mind often wanders during Mass, especially at daily Mass. Usually, I plop down in a pew thirty seconds before or after the priest has entered. My mind is racing and I’m distracted by a thousand little preoccupations.