Franciscan at Home

Every January we enter back into ordinary time with the baptism of Jesus at the Jordan by John the Baptist. As John’s father Zachariah prophesied at his birth, John is the “Precursor” who “will go before the Lord to prepare his way” (cf. Lk 1:76).

This transition to ordinary time provides a rich context for a fresh reflection on our Christian mission to “prepare the way of the Lord.” In this article, we’ll look at several philosophical proofs of God’s existence and then see how everyday acts can prepare the mind and heart for faith. In order to enter into this topic, it will help to begin with a few thoughts about human reason.

The purpose of this article is to answer the title-question as succinctly as possible from within the framework of the Second Vatican Council and subsequent papal interpretation by Pope St. John Paul II in Veritatis Splendor (VS). First we must understand two terms in order to more fully grasp the meaning of conscience and how it operates in life, namely, the terms “freedom” and “truth.”

Truth That Sets Us Free

Freedom and truth are uniquely tethered to one another in the Gospel of John where Jesus says, “If you remain in my word, you will truly be my disciples, and you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free” (8:31-32). The first thing to note is that truth here is not a mere concept, but a person: the second Person of the Blessed Trinity Incarnate. Truth here is not an ideology; it is neither propaganda, nor can it be reduced to a set of theological propositions. The fullness of truth is a Person, Jesus Christ, the Word Incarnate, who died and rose again. The fathers of the Second Vatican Council proclaimed as much in Dei Verbum (no. 4) in their treatment of Revelation, taking their cue from the First Letter of John who spoke of “the Word of life – for the life was made visible; we have seen it and testify to it and proclaim to you the eternal life that was with the Father and was made visible to us” (1:1-2).

The Council fathers did not intend to divorce Catholic doctrine (truth) from the Person of Christ (the fullness of truth) in their account of Revelation. Rather, they intended to teach something more profound about truth, namely, its power to summon, call, beckon, entreat, instruct, and even lay claims to our freedom. Truth shines like light in the darkness (Jn 1:5), similar to what St. Paul taught when he wrote: “For God who said, ‘Let light shine out of darkness,’ has shone in our hearts to bring to light the knowledge of the glory of God on the face of Christ” (2 Cor 4:6). There is splendor in truth whereby we can legitimately speak of being addressed by veritatis splendor. Jesus made this clear before Pilate when he said: “For this I was born and for this I came into the world, to testify to the truth. Everyone who belongs to the truth listens to my voice” (Jn 18:37).[i]

In coming to know this truth, which is to say, by remaining in Christ, the Light of the World (Jn 8:12), we are set free. We are freed primarily for love, since there can be no love without freedom; and freedom for the purposes of this article is defined as: self-possession through realization of the good. If love is a ready self-donation or laying down one’s life for one’s friends (Jn 15:13), then one obstacle to love surely includes being insufficiently self-possessed as to render an authentic gift of oneself more difficult; there’s “no one” to give. Being set free in further “finding oneself” through realization of the good, however, means that the abuse of freedom is possible as well, such that evil follows. In the experience of evil, we do not so much give ourselves as throw ourselves away, thereby becoming “lost” (Lk 15). Such evil actions steadily lead to lesser degrees of freedom as we throw ourselves away instead of preparing the gift in and through greater self-possession. Greater self-possession is another way of conceiving the truth that in giving ourselves, we find ourselves (Gaudium et Spes [GS] no. 24). This was why Jesus counseled us: “Do not give what is holy to dogs, or throw your pearls before swine, lest they trample them underfoot, and turn and tear you to pieces” (Mt 7:6). Evil is what evil does, ending by “tearing you to pieces,” stealing “you” away along with your self-possession and freedom by trampling them underfoot. This is a distinctive way of “losing oneself” that is pleasing neither to God nor to Jesus Christ whom he sent.

Pope St. John Paul II fully understood the essential role that real parish community plays in the mission of catechesis. In Catechesi Tradendae he makes an astonishing statement regarding the necessity of Christian community, which is easy to bypass without letting the force of his words set in: “Catechesis runs the risk of becoming barren if no community of faith and Christian life takes the catechumen in at a certain stage of his catechesis.”[3] The pope put his finger directly on what many of us know experientially, namely, that though many may come into the Church, instead of finding a Christian community they find isolation, lack of zeal, and an environment that can kill any vestiges of Christian joy. If you think my words too strong, look again at what the pope wrote: if there is no community to receive the catechumen, all the catechesis you’ve done (pre-catechumenate, catechumenate, etc.) will prove lifeless (barren). His use of the word barren is striking. He emphasizes that Christian formation disconnected from real community will not be able to generate or sustain life. It might produce sacramentalized people but not disciples. According to Matthew 28:19, the mission is to make disciples, and Baptism is part of that process. Too often, it seems that Catholics see the mission as Baptism, with a little bit of discipleship on the side, and only if there’s time. Without Christian community, we set up our catechumens to be just like the Franciscan University students in the early 1970s: isolated, alone, addicted, and soon-to-be non-practicing Catholics.

Why do so many newly baptized Catholics stop practicing their faith within only a couple years? The causes of attrition are various, and can include inadequate catechesis in the RCIA process, lack of interior conversion to Christ, and insufficient support and connection with other Catholics or the wider parish community.[i]

Let’s think about these new Catholics for a minute. Still wet from baptism and glistening with the oil of confirmation, they now have a new status and, according to the tradition of the Church, a new name. The elect who have been initiated into the Catholic Church are called “neophytes.” The term neophyte comes from the Greek, neos, meaning new, and phutos, meaning grown or planted, so, literally, “newly planted.” The former catechumens are now newly planted or grafted onto the Vine who is Christ. Initially, the term neophyte meant only those receiving full sacramental initiation; it has come to refer equally to candidates who are received into the Church. They retain this special name and status for a year following their initiation.

If the neophytes are fortunate, their parish provides a post-baptismal catechesis called Mystagogy, which lasts until Pentecost. Yet, whether at Easter or at Pentecost, the RCIA experience ends, and they set forth to begin a Catholic life, but now unaccompanied—seemingly alone and often surrounded at work and at home with non-Catholics, who are anything but supportive of their new faith. They are “newbies” in a faith that takes a lifetime to learn, in a world ever more hostile to the basic premises of Christianity. Their need for pastoral care is, one could argue, every bit as great as when they were engaged in becoming Catholic. No gardener would put his new plants in the ground unprotected in the early spring. No, he would keep them in a greenhouse, or cover them with plastic, and keep a careful watch on them. Just so, the newly planted need to be accompanied and strengthened as they “practice” being Catholic. This is the purpose of the “Neophyte Year.”

Before I became Catholic, if there was one word that summed up my evangelical Pentecostal Protestant experience, it was “spontaneous.” If there was one word that summed up my perception of the Catholic experience, it was “rubric.” My perception was that Protestants were spontaneous and therefore “authentic,” while Catholics had rubrics and were therefore “lifeless.” After I became Catholic, I began to work with RCIA and discovered that apparently I’m not alone. While concluding an RCIA inquiry meeting one year, I closed in an extemporaneous prayer and, when finished, one of the inquirers said out loud, “Wow! I had no idea you could pray like that. I thought Catholics could only pray memorized prayers.” As I have settled into being Catholic, I’ve learned the key to “authenticity” in prayer is not spontaneity but sincerity. Yes, there are many rubrics and prewritten prayers, but these are given to ensure that the faithful will hear more than an individual’s personal insights. As the tears streamed down my face during the Mass where my wife and I were received into full communion, there was nothing “spontaneous” about the event. The fact that I knew what was coming did not make it any less powerful or life giving. I’ve also learned that there is room for spontaneity. Like most things in the Church, it is both/and, with everything being done in its proper place and time. This article will examine aspects in the Church’s RCIA that allow for “planned spontaneity.” I use the phrase “planned spontaneity” because they are not truly spontaneous, but areas where the Church gives the celebrant freedom to adapt a particular part of the rite. I hope this article will inform those who direct RCIA and inspire priests to be more pastorally effective.

Every new year brings new hopes, dreams, promises, and possibilities, as does the Year of Mercy! The Holy Father asks us to respond wholeheartedly to the call for a widespread and generous outpouring of mercy, despite the fact that this emphasis on mercy might appear to minimize the demands of justice and the law. Some may be surprised at this, as were the pharisees and scribes at the time of Jesus. At the same time, though, millions of Catholics and non-Catholics are delighted as they observe Pope Francis and his announcement of this Extraordinary Jubilee of Mercy. How Does This Document About Mercy Affect Us? During this Year of Mercy—Annus Misericordiae—we will contemplate and reflect the Face of Mercy, Christ’s Face, or the Misericordiae Vultus. We plunge into this contemplation in order to understand and become that which we contemplate, so all might find a path to conversion, a path home to our Father. The Bull of Indiction of the Extraordinary Jubilee of Mercy outlines Pope Francis’ pastoral focus for the New Evangelization. In it, he stresses mercy as the core of a life-altering Gospel that can lead to deep metanoia, thus transforming our hearts into the meek and humble heart of Jesus, full of mercy and compassion. The pope believes, prophetically perhaps, that contemplating the face of mercy and allowing ourselves to be inwardly transformed by it will enable us to “be merciful like the Father” (cf. Lk 6:36), as the motto for the Jubilee Year pronounces. Thus transformed, we will become instruments of conversion and transformation among “insiders” and “outsiders” alike, and thereby change the world. The bull, Misericordiae Vultus, states: "Jesus speaks several times of the importance of faith over and above the observance of the law. It is in this sense that we must understand his words when, reclining at table with Matthew and other tax collectors and sinners, he says to the pharisees raising objections to him, “Go and learn the meaning of ‘I desire mercy not sacrifice.’ I have come not to call the righteous, but sinners” (Mt 9:13). Faced with a vision of justice as the mere observance of the law that judges people simply by dividing them into two groups – the just and sinners – Jesus is bent on revealing the great gift of mercy that searches out sinners and offers them pardon and salvation."[i]

In 2004, I resigned from being a Pentecostal pastor to enter the Catholic Church, and therefore needed to find new employment. The only job I could find was selling cars. Going from pastor to car salesman was an extreme culture shock.
In training for my new job, one principle loomed large over all others: no matter what happens, do not let the customer leave without making a purchase. If a customer responded to my sales pitch with “I’m just looking today” or “I need to talk to my wife,” I had a litany of responses close at hand. If a customer was balking at the negotiating table, I was to turn the deal over to a designated “closer,” who was a master at keeping people in their seat. The mission was to make whatever concession necessary to get the customer to say “yes” and close the deal.
As I have witnessed the implementation of the Rite of Christian Initiation of Adults (RCIA) in parishes throughout the country, I have seen many RCIA directors who operate like they are selling cars, willing to make any concession as long as the “customer” says “yes.” They seem to operate by the principle that they must never let a participant leave RCIA, no matter what Church teaching they refuse to accept. If participants are cohabitating or unrepentant about sexual transgressions or if they reject important doctrinal teachings, many RCIA directors might say, “No problem.” You support same sex marriage? No problem. You don’t like confession? No problem. I once received a call from a priest, begging for help, because the RCIA director in his parish told him, “We mostly focus on building relationships in RCIA, and we cover the Creed and the moral life in one session.”
The Catholic Church does not recommend that we model RCIA on selling cars, but on catching fish.

There is a compelling challenge that every catechist must face: having fallen in love with Christ ourselves, how do we pass this love on to others? The answer is far from simple. Human beings are multi-dimensional, so we have to work on many levels simultaneously. In considering how to approach this work, we are indebted to the great Roman catechist, Sofia Cavalletti. It was she who drew attention to the typical order in which catechesis—indeed all human learning—unfolds, especially for children: first the body, then the heart, then the mind. If we are to catechize well, we need to follow this order, or we may find ourselves working against human nature instead of with it. Hans Urs von Balthasar, in more elevated, theological language, proposed the same basic progression: first beauty, then goodness, then truth. Both Cavalletti and von Balthasar discerned the Trinitarian analogy underpinning this human learning process, and consequently, elements of Trinitarian theology can be applied. For example, while each “aspect” is distinct, none of them can be neatly separated from the others; they always operate together. Whatever is perceived by the senses will in some way affect the heart and then be reflected upon by the mind. Sometimes, it may seem like this is happening in the same instant of time, and at other times, each dimension may follow on from the other slowly and ponderously, with the meaning finally dawning on us weeks, months, or years afterwards. How then can we integrate this insight into our catechetical practice? It would seem that a significant part of the answer lies in retrieving a catechetical approach almost as ancient as the Church itself, one that uses the same human learning progression identified by Cavalletti and von Balthasar. It is called mystagogy, which is essentially an unfolding of the holy mysteries revealed in the Scriptures through the liturgical signs by which they are celebrated and made present.

Being attuned to the presence of God at Mass is vitally important if we are to be formed by liturgy over the course of life. In this article, Scripture teacher Gayle Somers reflects upon the encounter with God possible in the Liturgy of the Word and offers important concrete suggestions for entering more deeply into the Scriptures proclaimed at Mass. “When we take up the sacred Scriptures and read them with the Church, we walk once more with God in the Garden.”[i] Who can resist an invitation like this—to share the intimate communion with God given originally to Adam in Eden? Every time we are at Mass, the Church welcomes us to the Table of the Word, to this great reality. The Fathers of Vatican II told us that “…in the sacred books, the Father who is in heaven meets his children with great love and speaks with them; and the force and power in the Word of God is so great that it stands as the support and energy of the Church, the strength of faith for her sons, the food of the soul, the pure and everlasting source of spiritual life.”[ii] When we truly comprehend this statement, the only question to be asked of us is: Are we paying attention? All of us know how easy it is for our minds to wander during the Scripture readings at Mass. We are particularly susceptible to this if (1) they are unfamiliar to us, (2) we don’t understand their meanings, and (3) we don’t recognize them as being spoken by God himself. St. Jerome put his finger on this last problem: “When we approach the [Eucharistic] Mystery, if a crumb falls to the ground we are troubled. Yet when we are listening to the Word of God, and God’s Word and Christ’s flesh and blood [in His Word] are being poured into our ears, yet we pay no heed, what great peril should we not feel?”[iii] The Church assures us that God is the author of Scripture; he inspired men to write what he desired his people to know.[iv] No wonder St. Jerome was so unsettled by the thought of indifference toward hearing Scripture read at Mass. He was echoing the sentiment of St. Augustine: “For now, treat the Scriptures of God as the face of God; melt in its presence.”[v]

No one sneaks into the Catholic Church. I absolutely love this aspect of becoming a Christian in the Catholic Church. Let me explain. I was raised in a Pentecostal Protestant denomination (International Church of the Foursquare Gospel). In some ways, Pentecostalism is closer to Catholic doctrine than Reformed Protestantism, but there is a major difference in how people become Christians. To become a Christian in the church of my youth, a person (let’s call him “Bob”) might have an experience like this. Upon being invited to church, Bob would hear Christ-centered praise and an expository sermon on a biblical text. At the end of each service, an appeal to become a Christian would be given. In doing this, the pastor would invite the congregation to bow their heads and close their eyes — no looking. Then he would ask those who wanted to receive Jesus Christ as their Lord and Savior, for the first time, to raise their hands. If Bob wanted to respond, he would publically raise his hand and the pastor would invite him to silently repeat a simple prayer of belief in Jesus. As a child I always wanted to peek to see who raised their hands. I was fascinated that people were responding to Jesus for the first time, and I wanted to see who they were. I always wondered why we were not allowed to know who had just been “saved.” As a result, I never met the new Christians of my Church unless they freely divulged this information in conversation. Bob might have attended for one Sunday or twenty, but following the hand-raising response, there was no assessment of what he believed or understood. There was also little to no personal follow up and formation. Bob was simply invited to keep coming to Church. The RCIA process in the Catholic Church is notably different. We march people in front of the liturgical assembly several times before they are fully initiated: the Rite of Acceptance, Rite of Sending, Rite of Election, and three times during the Easter vigil! Catholicism emphasizes the public profession of faith and the consequent prayerful presence and affirmation by the community. While there are stark differences between the respective Pentecostal and Catholic understandings of salvation, many do not realize that the Catholic Church teaches that, objectively, the process of salvation begins with a public profession of faith, long before baptism. According to the Church, there is a profound transformation that takes place within each person in this public profession during the Rite of Acceptance. This transformation depends upon two essential catechetical milestones that prepare for the Rite of Acceptance. If these two milestones are lacking, the inquirer will not have the necessary disposition to allow the rite to bear its intended fruit. The rite will objectively take place, but its fruit in the life of a new catechumen will be stunted.