Franciscan at Home

The catechetical aspect of the Order of Christian Initiation of Adults (OCIA) is inseparable from the practical reality it seeks to inform. It is the work of teaching the faith so as to empower people to truly live it in their daily experience.

As catechists, we owe it to those being catechized to be the best communicators of the content of the faith as possible. But to whom are we to look for the best example of how to achieve this end? Memories of our favorite teacher might help; perhaps, one of the myriad books on teaching techniques might aid us; but, given the importance of what we teach—the salvation of each member of mankind—should we not look just a little bit higher? Maybe even to the author of the material we are to impart?

To many who are hearing this for the first time, it could sound very presumptions. But really, what has God done throughout Revelation other than show us all the ways in which he teaches us through the three persons of the Trinity? Does this not become the “source and model of the pedagogy of faith” and of God?[1] While each of the three persons of the Trinity have their own methods to impart, perhaps the most relatable of the three, for pedagogical purposes, is the one who took human form: the Son.

A brief survey of the Gospels shows many varied teaching techniques and methods. With the apostles, Jesus was “their only teacher,” a “patient and faithful friend,” someone who consistently taught them the truth throughout his whole life.[2] “He provoked them with questions”; he told them more than he told the masses; “he introduced them to prayer”; he sent them forth on missions with others; and “he promised them the Holy Spirit” (DC 160). Additionally, Christ “evoked and elicited a personal response” in all who heard him (DC 161). And though this response of obedience and faith was deep-seated, because of sin, it required “ongoing conversion,” which Christ provided (DC 161). Unfortunately, we oftentimes read right past Christ’s pedagogical methods and don’t learn how to teach from the divine teacher himself. There are five examples (out of many) I would like to propose that illustrate Christ’s teaching methods in Scripture that will be helpful for catechists.

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.

Most catechetical texts and digital materials used in parishes and schools throughout the United States today are the product of thoughtful collaboration between the publishers who create them and the bishops who certify their theological and pastoral integrity.

Most catechetical texts and digital materials used in parishes and schools throughout the United States today are the product of thoughtful collaboration between the publishers who create them and the bishops who certify their theological and pastoral integrity. This collaboration yields catechetical materials that are not only doctrinally sound but also are effective tools for what is known as an evangelizing catechesis. The history and significance of this collaboration is the subject of this article.

An Immigrant Church

Desiring a common language of faith for the children of the many immigrants to their country in the 19th century, the bishops of the United States published the first edition of the Baltimore Catechism in 1885. That catechism was based upon Doctrina Christiana (1598), the catechism of St. Robert Bellarmine  published in the wake of the Council of Trent. The Baltimore Catechism would later be divided into three volumes, each volume corresponding to a particular age group. Although over one hundred other catechetical texts for children and youth would be published and used in Catholic schools and parishes, the Baltimore Catechism remained the most widely used catechetical text in the United States until the late 1960s. A four-volume set of the Baltimore Catechism remains in print (the fourth volume is a manual for teachers and catechists).

The Age of the Second Vatican Council

Unlike many previous ecumenical councils, the Second Vatican Council was not convened to address particular matters of faith or morals. Nevertheless, the council that was proclaimed to be pastoral rather than doctrinal in nature gave rise to sweeping changes in the life of the Church, especially in her sacred liturgy and practices of piety and devotion.

For most Catholics, the Second Vatican Council is seen as the council that replaced Latin with the vernacular at Mass, reoriented sanctuaries, introduced modern architectural forms into the building of new churches, and curtailed the requirements for fasting and abstinence. Pope Benedict XVI would note that these and other changes in the life of the Church led many to view the Second Vatican Council only through a particular lens, where one saw the council as a call to discontinuity and rupture from “former” doctrines and practices. As a remedy, Pope Benedict emphasized a hermeneutic of continuity, a lens through which the Second Vatican Council would properly be understood only within the context of the wider and longer Tradition, rather than the converse.

Catechetical texts of this era were not immune to the hermeneutic of rupture and discontinuity, nor from a contemporary culture that heralded the benefits of “new and improved” over “tried and true.”[1] Pedagogy of that era generally eschewed the rote memorization that was a staple in earlier times; religious educators attuned to these trends desired catechetical materials of a pedagogy far different from that used by the Baltimore Catechism. Some religious educators expressed a praiseworthy desire for catechetical materials that would place greater emphasis upon Sacred Scripture and offer the rationale for the tenets of Catholic faith and morals. Other religious educators, caught up in the spirit of that age, preferred catechetical materials that ultimately reflected a tendency to relativize Catholic teaching and minimize the gravity of Catholic moral teaching. An influential parish priest once grumbled to me, “The Baltimore Catechism provides great answers to questions that nobody asks.” That same priest would repeatedly express his admiration for the 87 theologians (mostly priests) who publicly expressed their strong dissent from the teachings on the grave evil of contraception in the 1968 papal encyclical Humanae Vitae within hours of its promulgation.

At the end of his public life, Jesus sent his apostles into the world to preach, teach, baptize, and share the life he had given them (see Mt 28:16–20).

At the end of his public life, Jesus sent his apostles into the world to preach, teach, baptize, and share the life he had given them (see Mt 28:16–20). This is the divine model: people are called to God to be formed by him and then sent to bring others to share in that joyful life. Teachers of the faith in particular enjoy both the joys and the responsibilities of living and sharing that life.

The Church in the United States finds herself in a similar position as those first disciples in this, the final year of the Eucharistic Revival: it is the Year of Mission. After some time of diocesan and parish renewal, each of us is being charged to go forth into the world to bring Christ to others. Having been formed in these last years by our Eucharistic prayer and study, we are now commissioned as missionaries, sent to invite others to experience the great joy of knowing and serving Christ in the Blessed Sacrament of the Eucharist.

In the case of those already engaged in catechetical ministry, this call will also take the form of renewing and deepening our own understanding, methods, and engagement with those whom we teach. To such an end, there are four main “pillars” proposed to us to guide our way and to help keep us stable in our pursuits of drawing people to Christ.

Pillar I: Eucharistic Encounter

The first of these pillars is Eucharistic Encounter. This pillar is meant to encourage and continue what we have been stressing this entire revival: we need to encounter Christ in the Eucharist—we need to meet him in his presence and spend time with him. This is the start and end of all our endeavors, for the Eucharist is the “source and summit of the Christian life.”[1] As the old saying goes, nemo dat quod non habet; nobody gives what he doesn’t have. In other words, we cannot expect to lead people to Christ if we are not spending time with him ourselves.

Catechists can help their students to grow in this area by helping them to participate worthily and well at Holy Mass, attending daily if possible; by going to adoration and benediction of the Blessed Sacrament; and by making short visits to the tabernacle, even spiritually if you cannot do so physically. Frequent confession is a must in this area as well. Good and helpful explanations of what participating in these sacramental realities mean will of course be necessary and will go a long way.

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.

“Walking with,” commonly referred to as “accompaniment,” is a critical aspect of discipleship. And while it’s one of the new buzzwords these days, I’m not sure those who use it always understand what the word exactly means. Pope Francis has used it many times, particularly in his statements and writings to young people. For example, we hear him say in Evangelii Gaudium (“The Joy of the Gospel”), “The Church will have to initiate everyone—priests, religious and laity—into this ‘art of accompaniment’ which teaches us to remove our sandals before the sacred ground of the other. The pace of this accompaniment must be steady and reassuring, reflecting our closeness and our compassionate gaze which also heals, liberates and encourages growth in the Christian life.”[1]

What exactly does accompaniment mean? I had an experience a long time ago during my single young adult years. At the time, I was living with a family with small children. One night, the parents were trying to get their five-year-old down for bed. Instead of going to sleep, the young girl kept coming up with all kinds of “needs”—one more drink, one more story, one more hug and kiss, etc. I had trouble not laughing as her poor father kept getting more and more frustrated with her pleas. Finally, in a hopeful and exasperated attempt, her dad grabbed the crucifix off the wall in the family room and brought it into her room. He laid the cross on her bed, prayed with her, and asked Jesus to be with her in a special way and help her go to sleep. My eyebrows raised as I watched the scene; that was a good idea, I thought. I was taking notes for my eventual parenting days. But I’m not sure any of us could have guessed what would happen next. After almost 15 minutes of silence, we heard from her room:

“Daddy?”

“What?!” her father replied.

“I need someone with some skin on.”

As frustrating as the whole experience was for her parents, that five-year-old might have come up with one of the best definitions for accompaniment I have ever heard. The spiritual life needs human accompaniment precisely because we are not divine. Despite all the great riches of truth, Scripture, doctrine, and belief, without other human beings most of us would struggle to know exactly how to put all those riches into practice in our day-to-day lives. Some of that accompaniment can be “virtual” or indirect, as when we are accompanied by the saints—holy men and women whose lives we hear about or words we read. But a large part of it needs to be personal and direct, meaning from a real person who is walking beside us and modeling for us how they are living out the faith.

Accompaniment has been a popular topic in catechesis for the past several years, and rightfully so. The Directory for Catechesis lists “accompanier” as one of the primary roles of the catechist, adding, “the catechist is an expert in the art of accompaniment.”[1] In his apostolic exhortation Evangelii Gaudium (“The Joy of the Gospel”), Pope Francis defines accompaniment as a process of walking with the other, listening, and leading others “ever closer to God.”[2] The image of walking together is a particularly salient one as we think about children’s catechesis, since children (especially young children) often literally walk hand-in-hand with an adult in most places, especially unfamiliar ones. We walk with children for a variety of reasons: we want to make sure they go in the right direction and don’t get lost along the way; we want them to feel safe; we want to make sure they don’t miss things that will form them and excite their imaginations. But most of all, we walk with children because we love them, and we know that people grow best when that growth occurs in the context of relationship.

Getting to Know You

How can catechists of children walk with young people in a spiritual sense as they are formed in the faith? One way is by getting to know our learners. Look for resources on the cognitive, social, moral, and spiritual development of children in the age group you teach. This information, which can sometimes be found in the catechist manual accompanying a religious education curriculum, can offer a starting point for understanding the thinking and developmental needs of your learners.

Even as we understand what’s typical for children at a particular age, it’s important to remember that every child is different and to get to know the individual child. Listening to the individual experiences, hopes, dreams, and interests of our learners can help us present the faith as relevant to their lives. It might be helpful to begin each session with icebreaker questions or games that allow learners to share something about themselves and their interests. Think of questions that begin with phrases like, “Tell about a time when you . . .” or “What is your favorite . . .” In today’s hectic and noisy world, too often we fail to take time with one another, to listen without worrying about what we will say next. Accompanying children means sitting with them, listening to the words they speak, and reflecting on the feelings behind the words. It means recognizing what a gift we are being given when little ones trust us with their stories. It means being present to children as a reminder that God is present with them.

In his apostolic exhortation Evangelii Gaudium (“The Joy of the Gospel”), Pope Francis urged the Church to practice the “art of accompaniment.”[1] But what does this mean, and how do we do it? As others have noted, we have a model of accompaniment in our Lord’s appearance on the road to Emmaus (Lk 24:13–35).[2] When the two disciples were walking away from Jerusalem, their hopes dashed at the foot of the Cross, Jesus accompanied them on the way: he listened to them, he asked questions, and, eventually, he challenged them and shared the Gospel with them.

What does this mean for us catechists, priests, and teachers who sometimes meet people who are disillusioned and moving “away from Jerusalem”—away from Christian life? How can we help them? Where do we start? Like Christ on the road to Emmaus, we accompany them: we meet them where they are, we enter their lives, we listen to them, and we ask them questions. But also, like Christ, we accompany them toward a destination, so that, with minds enlightened and hearts set aflame by the Gospel, they may “return to Jerusalem” and live in the power of Christ’s Resurrection. Thus, Christian accompaniment requires a clear sense of our “destination,” and, in particular, a clear understanding of the nature of Christian faith.

In what follows, I briefly outline the nature of Christian faith (as distinguished from “natural faith”), describe its grandeur and demands, and offer some consequences for our ministry.