Franciscan at Home

The Catechism of the Catholic Church tells us that receiving the Eucharist “commits us to the poor” (1397). Why is this so?

Receiving the Eucharist means that we enter into union with the Second Person of the Blessed Trinity. And being in Holy Communion with Jesus himself means something profound. Let’s consider one facet of this great mystery.

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Americans love to buy things. Many even consider “going shopping” an actual recreational activity. But for most people, before they surrender their hard-earned cash on a new pair of shoes, a phone, or a car nothing sways consideration between choices more than a personal recommendation of someone they know who has used the product. The personal experience of friends goes a long way toward giving them confidence that they are making the correct decision. In the world of marketing, this kind of product endorsement is called a “testimonial.”

The first celebrity endorsement came in 1882 when Pears’ Soap used a picture of Lillie Langtry, a famous actress, on its advertising poster.[i] Manufacturers soon learned that if they have a familiar face admit to using their product, their product will have more credibility. If this was not the case, advertising today would simply consist of listing out the benefits of a product and expecting people to make a rational choice.

All catechesis, especially in RCIA, requires that we do more than simply list true facts about the faith. If we want to lead people to a deeper conversion and a genuine “yes” to Jesus, we must employ the power of personal testimony from those leading them to Christ.

Pope St. John Paul II capped the second cycle of his Theology of the Body (TOB) catechesis[1] with a  set of reflections on how a healthy sense of shame should govern our experience of the sexuality of the body through various forms of media (TOB 60–63). In particular, he highlighted the importance of shame in maintaining a proper respect for the naked body and in helping us recognize the grave disorders embedded in pornography. In 2015, the USCCB promulgated Create in Me a Clean Heart, which explicitly builds upon St. John Paul II’s catechesis and provides an excellent analysis of how these TOB teachings apply to the many problems of pornography.[2]

This installment of the series summarizes how the TOB vision of purity of heart and sexual modesty emphasizes the importance of shame for the inner life of the human heart. It then applies the TOB understanding of purity, modesty, and shame to the issue of pornography and its connection to the problem of shamelessness.

The Importance of Shame

For St. John Paul II, the experience of shame relates directly to the experience of one’s own personhood or subjectivity and “the need for the affirmation and acceptance of this ‘I’ according to its proper value” (TOB 12:1). Instead of being some kind of guilt or embarrassment, in TOB, shame indicates an awareness of human dignity and a defensive reflex against attitudes and actions that degrade the body and the person. In the sexual domain, it includes a clear perception of how lust, impurity, and immodesty threaten our dignity. More precisely, sexual shame means an acute experience of the spousal meaning of the body (the truth inscribed in human sexuality that each person is someone with inherent value) and the rejection of all actions and attitudes that objectify the sexuality of the body as something with instrumental value to be used for egotistical satisfaction. Beyond simply cultivating purity or exercising modesty, shame denotes a strong inner conviction with which we instinctually and fiercely uphold the dignity of human sexuality.

When understood correctly, shame should characterize every human heart. We should all display this acute sensitivity to the enormous dignity of the sexuality of the body coupled with a consistent opposition to the threats posed by concupiscence and lust. On the other hand, shamelessness signals a disturbing blindness to our sexual dignity or a dangerous numbness to the degradation embedded in lust, impurity, and immodesty.

Along these lines, St. John Paul II is careful to clarify that prior to original sin Adam and Eve were “without shame” in a precise biblical sense: their experiences were completely devoid of any tendency to lust the naked body and thus devoid of any threats to their dignity. Before original sin, Adam and Eve had an “immunity to shame” precisely because the grace of their original innocence “made it impossible somehow for one to be reduced by the other to the level of a mere object” (TOB 19:1). Unable to lust, they could not manifest the defensive response of shame that impure attitudes should evoke. However, Adam and Eve did already have an intense experience of the core element of shame through their acute awareness of the dignity of the body expressed in its spousal meaning. They were “without shame” only in the sense that their hearts were so full of this experience of the spousal meaning of the body that no threatening attitudes toward each other could enter their hearts (TOB 12:2–13:1).

Monsignor Thomas McGread, the pastor of St. Francis of Assisi Catholic Church in Wichita, Kansas from 1968 to 1999, had great confidence in his plan for parish revival when he asked parishioners to trust in the Lord and tithe their fair amount. He promised that when they looked back at the end of the year, if they hadn’t received more out of the parish than they put in, he would return the full amount of their tithe. Perhaps unsurprisingly, not a single family who participated in this model demanded their money back. More than simply a new program or financial campaign, Monsignor McGread sought to invite souls into a radical way of life. Jesus, too, invited his followers to the complete surrender of time, talent, and treasure.[1] It turns out that the best strategy for parish life is the one for which Jesus planted the seeds: the stewardship way of life.

Over fifty years later, the fruits of the stewardship way of life speak for themselves. After the success at St. Francis, the entire Wichita diocese would adopt the model. Mass attendance in the diocese is double the national average. One third of the 90 parishes have perpetual adoration. Seminarians are plentiful, with 39 men being ordained in the last seven years. Committed giving per household is almost four times the national average. Catholic schools are funded by the parishes, allowing families access to Catholic education regardless of financial circumstances. Finally, other diocesan ministries can be supported, including a clinic that offers free healthcare for the uninsured and impoverished.[2] As a result, the diocese sees high rates of adult and youth participation and volunteerism.

From an early age, every student at St. Francis of Assisi parish learns the definition of stewardship: The grateful response of a Christian disciple who recognizes and receives God’s gifts and shares these gifts in love of God and neighbor. Stewardship flows out of a personal encounter with the living Christ who invites us into a life that does not seek to grasp but opens itself to trustful surrender. It is the recognition that everything we have is a gift from God and should be used to love him and our neighbor in return—“What do you possess that you have not received?” (1 Cor 4:7).

Every person has time, talent, and treasure to give. “As each one has received a gift, use it to serve one another as good stewards of God’s varied grace” (1 Pet 4:10). The stewardship way of life is not just about money. Parishioners can use their time and diverse talents to support their church in myriad ways. Parishes can then allocate financial resources to things that really make an impact on families, such as Catholic education.

How tempting it is to want the Lord to provide grace far in advance! Yet, in the Our Father we have the petition and the promise that our loving Father will give us our daily bread. While there are many layers of meaning, one implication in these words is that he will provide the grace we need in the specific circumstances of our day. In a world where self-sufficiency and independence are praised, we can easily forget this basic truth. It is a truth of which the Lord reminds me almost daily—sometimes even multiple times a day—to shift from my natural self-reliance to childlike trust in him. 

“The sweetest thing in all my life has been the longing . . . to find the place where all the beauty came from.” 

― C. S. Lewis, Till We Have Faces: A Myth Retold 

While pondering the canvas of the world, I dared to accept the challenge my faith had set before me. The Catholic Church claimed to hold the answers to my endless wonderings, and my insatiable desire would leave no stone unturned. I had to know the truth of which the world’s beauty spoke. The beauty you revealed to me. I was determined to find the perfect answer, the perfect words, the perfect formula for my questions. What I found instead continues to astound me.  

I found a painting. It had the same beginning every painting has. It had an artist, gently and lovingly creating from the depth of his heart. Every brushstroke spoke of his care and devotion for each molecule he made. But I found when the artist painted my story it didn’t begin with my birth. It began at the dawn of time with the first human beings: their inheritance and ultimately their great loss. It continued for thousands of years of triumphs and tragedies. So much of their story echoes my own experience of pain and failure. But the great artist never lifted his brush from the painting. Even with its jagged edges and hard-to-make-out details, the artist maintained his throughline of love with every stroke. 

When you began working in the Church, how many friends did you have who were also serving in ministry? For me, it was several dozen. These youth ministers, Catholic school teachers, missionaries, and seminarians all began their work with so much zeal for the mission ahead of them.

Yet, nearly ten years later, I can count on one hand the number of those friends who are still involved in full-time ministry. Maybe you’ve experienced something similar. Most of these friends of mine devoted several years of their lives to a university formation and tens of thousands of dollars to be trained for effective ministry. Yet, when I talk with former parish employees, the majority of them have fled from parish ministry with plenty of hurt and a noticeable level of bitterness toward their experience.

There’s a few obvious reasons—salary limitations and simply discerning a different calling are common ones. However, I’ve experienced another much more troubling and harmful reason: too often, Catholic parishes are some of the most dysfunctional places to work.

I can say this confidently having worked as a leadership consultant with hundreds of pastors who have told me this themselves, as well as having been an employee at two parishes myself. While a Catholic parish office is meant to be a hub of prayer, evangelization, and true Christian friendship, it is far more common that it is a festering pool for mediocrity, confusion, and frustration. This dynamic begs the question: why? What is causing this exodus from parish ministry?

The biggest reason people leave employment in a parish is not because of issues with liturgy, music, programs, or hospitality—things that often get lots of attention. They leave because the organization is unhealthy and tolerates low standards. Without healthy and clear leadership, the best homily or most dynamic video series will only get you so far. This is completely counterintuitive to almost everything that we are taught in studies and formation! We spend hours and hours crafting plans and reading theology (which are extremely important), yet almost no time learning how to effectively lead the people entrusted to us. When I discuss this with pastors, I can’t tell you the number of them who have incredulously told me, “No one ever teaches you this in seminary!”

Tiredness. Little support. Overwhelm. Dryness in prayer. Lack of fruit.

Anyone who has served in ministry in any capacity for any amount time has likely experienced some stage of exhaustion, disillusionment, or even burnout. The work of ministry in the name of the Lord—be it as a parish catechist, a schoolteacher, a hidden IT worker, or a customer service representative—is demanding. It always carries with it the possibility of losing heart and throwing in the towel completely.

I worked at a Catholic high school for close to a decade, and I have many friends laboring to help young children approach their First Communion and First Reconciliation with reverence. Whether it’s dealing with obstinate parents, baseball tournaments that always seem to take priority over Mass, or even just the plain drag of routine and lack of visible results, the grind of ministry can take a toll. Discouragement can find us all if we aren’t taking the time to sit at the feet of the only one who can provide us with rest and renewal for the work we are called to.

We Can’t Give What We Don’t Have

I’ve always loved St. Paul’s expression, “I will most gladly spend and be spent for your souls” (2 Cor 12:15). There’s true beauty in that sentiment of a life generously lived in service for others, and we rightfully extol the labors of people like St. Teresa of Kolkata for this reason. But I’ve often twisted St. Paul’s words to justify a workaholism that leans on the work of my own hands instead of the God who called me to his vineyard in the first place. “I’ll rest when I’m dead,” I’ve thought to myself, with a not-so-hidden whiff of unholy self-reliance behind those words.

It’s easy to fall into a semi-Pelagian attitude—to work in ministry more like a practical atheist than a disciple trusting in a Father who will come through on his promises. “I got this, God,” we assert. “No one can handle this task but me.” Only recently have I become more aware of a masochistic “savior complex” that might be at work within a deeper part of me. And even if we don’t fully fall into that subtle pride of self-reliance, it’s still easy to feel beaten down by the tsunami of a culture that’s antagonistic to Christianity and by the forces of this world blinding so many of our peers to the Gospel (see 2 Cor 4:4).

I worked as a firefighter for a brief period after college, and one of the lessons hammered into us was to take care of our own oxygen masks before helping others. “You can’t give what you don’t have.” It’s no good to run into a burning building to try and save someone if by my own recklessness or pride I also become unconscious. In Renewed and Received, Ascension Press’s recent resources for First Communion and First Reconciliation prep, my wife Jackie and I emphasize several points of encouragement for catechists and others working in ministry. That pithy advice, “you can’t give what you don’t have,” is an apt expression for the spiritual life, parenting, or any other important labor. We must ensure that the engine we’re running on relies on God and not our own strength.

Sometimes God allows us to falter; sometimes our efforts fail from an earthly perspective. Here, too, we can see God’s mercy at work, ensuring that we don’t fall into a dangerous state of pride. In these moments we can choose to recognize that we can’t “fix” every problem for every student, parishioner, or person we encounter. Jesus is the Savior—we are not.