Franciscan at Home

The Spirituality of the Catechist
What is the most important element in the catechetical process? Is it the doctrine to be passed on? Is it the method one employs? Is it the catechist’s preparation or the ability to adapt to the age and culture of the students? These are all essential, as the General Directory for Catechesis reminds us. These elements, however, depend on one indispensable and often overlooked factor: the spirituality of the catechist. Why is this so? Unlike subjects in the arts and sciences, the Christian faith cannot be adequately passed on unless the catechist lives that faith—unless it has penetrated his very being and transformed him from within. When this happens, he is no longer merely a teacher, but a living witness to something beyond himself. Like John the Baptist, he points to another, to the Lamb of God. The Guide for Catechists, a wonderful document about catechesis in mission territories, puts it this way: “The work of catechists involves their whole being. Before they preach the Word they must make it their own and live by it. The world…needs evangelizers who speak of a God they know and who is familiar to them, as if they saw the Invisible.”[i] The catechist, in fact, invites those he catechizes to share in the communion he himself has with Christ as a member of his body, the Church. Echoing St. John’s words in his first epistle, catechists can say: what we have seen and heard we proclaim to you, “that you may have fellowship with us, and our fellowship is with the Father and with his Son Jesus Christ” (1 Jn 1:1-3).

A catechist does not merely impart a body of knowledge, therefore; his catechesis “form[s] the personality of the believer.”[ii] The catechist offers his students an “apprenticeship of the entire Christian life.”[iii] The students will acquire from him a way of being, an attitude, a way of relating to the world. Those who have children know that they are deeply affected not only by the content of the words we speak, but by how we speak those words, by how we act, and by our attitudes, in a word, by how we live. Who am I? What gives me joy? What do I love? How do I respond to weakness, to poverty, to sickness, to sin? How do I look at other people in the world? All these fundamental attitudes are conveyed when we catechize. Do our students learn from us what it means to be a Christian?

We invite you to read the following testimony from a catechist, in the hope that, as you respond to your own vocation, you may also find ways of Encountering God in Catechesis.

I left work one December afternoon with a headache, stinging and tired eyes, and a heart full of frustration. It is not glamorous being on the front lines of the battle for evangelization. This particular instance of frustration was the result of my reaction to a hormonal, assertive, struggling-with-senioritis, existentially confused 18-year-old male in my Church History class. He marched into the room, roused his fellow students, and started a small rebellion insisting that we postpone the test until tomorrow. Why? Because he wanted an extra day to study. In my eyes, the kid was disrespectful, defiant, and ill-prepared.

My very being rebelled at the idea of responding in a loving, Christian manner. I pulled this young rioting gentleman aside after the test to call him out for his behavior, fully expecting him to apologize, and all I got was more disrespect. So, like a good religion teacher, I marched my indignant self over to the chapel later that day to deal with my emotions welling up inside. What did Christ the Teacher say to me in that sacred moment? “It’s not about you. Get over it and move on with your day.” Ouch! Not exactly what I wanted to hear!

Yet, as I drove home that afternoon, speaking intimately to God and asking him the best way to respond to this student who was such a “thorn in my side,” I rediscovered my own unworthiness and inadequacy.

“For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them” [Mt 18:20]. These familiar words of Jesus teach us as catechists that we have multiple opportunities to encounter him, not just in communal prayer but also in missionary outreach and every time we step into our catechetical sessions. Yes, even the mundane and hectic are sanctified by God’s presence. Since he called us, he won’t abandon us. The question is: are we watching and waiting for him? And, are we attuned to him and how he wishes to move us and those in our care?

We invite you to read the following testimonies of catechists, just like you, in the hope that, as you respond to your own vocation, you may also find ways of Encountering God in Catechesis.
In the early winter months of February 2014, I joined with four other parishes for a joint retreat. I was struggling through my first year as a youth minister, just trying to make it through and keep my head on straight. When the opportunity to join the retreat presented itself, I jumped on board, as much as to check off the “take teens on a retreat” box on my imaginary youth ministry “to-do” list than to provide them a retreat experience where they could encounter Jesus. Even after only eight months on the job, I was already frustrated with the lack of commitment to faith many of the families in my parish exhibited; I did not expect any teens to sign up for the retreat.

To my surprise, I took three girls from our Hispanic community. Their parents were enthusiastic that they go on the retreat and the girls were excited as well. I felt guilty for my own lack of enthusiasm as I prepared for the retreat; in many ways, I was just going through the motions.

The retreat was beautiful. We started on Friday night and by Saturday’s session were bringing the teens into the presence of Jesus in the monstrance and personally introducing them to Christ. It was amazing to pray with the teens and watch them as they encountered Christ.

This article is the first of a series of articles on catechesis for and with persons who have disabilities.

We live in a time that has much to offer to the education of people who may need some accommodation in coming to know and follow Jesus. New technologies and means of communication constantly arise, which are put to the service of this noble aim. Unfortunately, our time has also seen abortion, euthanasia, and medical rationing threaten the lives of those whom society may deem “unnecessary,” with people often committing these atrocities in the name of “mercy.”

In early Greece and Rome, those considered “defective” were killed outright or left to die. In the Gospels we see that if a person was disabled in some way, people thought that it was because of that person’s sins or the sins of the parents. Jesus overturned this idea and instead cured the blind, the deaf, and those suffering from other disabilities. One only needs to read Mark’s Gospel to see Jesus cure people with these ailments and even raise the dead.[i] Matthew records Jesus’ mission entrusted to the disciples, highlighting the fact that even they would be involved in healing: “And as you go, preach, saying, ‘The kingdom of heaven is at hand.’ Heal the sick, raise the dead, cleanse the lepers, cast out demons…” (Mt 10:8).

In this introductory article, I would like to establish the context for the series by drawing from my own experience with persons with disabilities. I beg your patience as I describe the experiences that will inform how I treat the issues raised in this series.

“For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them” (Mt 18:20). These familiar words of Jesus teach us as catechists that we have multiple opportunities to encounter him, not just in communal prayer but also in missionary outreach and every time we step into our catechetical sessions. Yes, even the mundane and hectic are sanctified by God’s presence. Since he called us, he won’t abandon us. The question is: are we watching and waiting for him? And, are we attuned to him and how he wishes to move us and those in our care?

No one arbitrarily volunteers to become a catechist. Rather, the Church understands this vital responsibility to have the dignity of a vocation [see General Directory for Catechesis, no. 233]. This means that being a catechist is a call that a person receives from God—an authentic path to sanctity. One reason for this is the profound level of cooperation with God that is needed in order for catechesis to be fruitful. Cooperating with God in the process of catechesis can sometimes be a grand and dramatic endeavor, but most of the time being attuned to God as a catechist happens in silent and simple experiences. Of course we know that God is always present and moving when his Word is proclaimed and encountered. We have Christ’s word on this: “For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them” [Mt. 18:20].

It is our hope that regularly reading the testimonies of catechists, who share God’s powerful presence in the work of catechesis, will not only inspire but bring hope.

"Thank you, God, for shots!"

Sometimes God works in ways we could never imagine, let alone plan.

Just as parents were dropping off their three, four, and five year old students for an early evening catechetical session with me, a woman I had never seen before introduced herself. “I’m here to fill in for your aide. Her husband is in the hospital. I’m not sure whether she had a chance to call you, but I said I would take her place.”

The young woman had never served as an aide before, but there was precious little time to explain what was expected of her. Instead I breathed a prayer and she prayed along; “Come Holy Spirit, fill the hearts of your faithful . . .”

The two hour session progressed peacefully and toward the end we gathered around the prayer table. As usual, the children offered spontaneous thanksgiving. A three year old, sporting a bright Band-aid on her upper arm spoke quietly, “Thank you, God, for shots.” “Shots?” A boy turned to her incredulously. “Why would you thank God for shots? They hurt!” “Because…even though they hurt, they keep you from getting very, very sick!” Satisfied, the boy offered his own prayers of gratitude and we sang a closing song.

Alone, we were cleaning up the room when the substitute aide turned to me, tears streaming down her face...

Angelo Cardinal Scola wrote of conversion to Christ and conversion to reality.[1] Just as conversion opens our eyes to the ugliness of sin and the beauty of grace, so it overflows in opening our hearts to the many and various splendours of creation.

The significance of place, geography and archaeology were subjects, I have to confess, that I accepted in principle—but, you might say, without enthusiasm and insight. In this brief reflection on a recent visit to the Holy Land, I want to consider the catechesis of place. The Holy Land is a testimony to the living interrelationship of archaeology, geography and the incarnation of the history of salvation. Just as God “in his wisdom … brought it about that the New should be hidden in the Old and that the Old should be made manifest in the New,”[2] so, simple as it might seem, there is an interplay between the events of Christ’s life and the historical locations in which they took place.

Briefly, then, I want to touch on three categories of place: first, those graced by the presence of the Holy Family, Christ and His disciples; second, the place of the Transfiguration, Mount Tabor; and, third, Jerusalem, the City of King David and the place of the Paschal Mystery of Christ.

Modern man listens more willingly to witnesses than to teachers, and if he does listen to teachers, it is because they are witnesses. Pope Paul VI, Evangelii Nuntiandi, no. 41

I just returned from visiting my former grade school teacher who is sick in the hospital. He is aging and has been chronically ill for many years. Most recently he’s had surgery to remove some cancer. While my three teenage boys dutifully sat around the hospital room showing quiet reverence to this suffering man, I told my teacher something that surely surprised my boys at least a little. I told him that he was my hero.
A hero doesn’t have to be perfect

The surprise in this comes from their immediate perception of the man to whom I was speaking. This is a guy who does not conform to modern society. He smokes and drinks and makes odd jokes and dresses out of step with the modern world. Today as he sits in that hospital bed, he is no longer particularly handsome or strong or athletic. He is not wealthy, has no spouse or children of his own, and never accumulated many public accolades for all the good things he has quietly done over the course of his lifetime. So how could their father possibly call him a hero? Was it just a white lie to comfort an ailing man? Or was there something more going on?

No lies were being told in that hospital room. This man is a hero to me. I first met him when he became my teacher in seventh grade. I was smart, but I didn’t care about school very much. In fact, I considered it embarrassing that I was pretty bright. My adolescent mind was filled with two things and two things only: sports and girls. The rest of life was simply a necessary inconvenience to endure. He changed all that for me.

In this article Dr. William Newton addresses the fundamental philosophical deficiencies in Richard Dawkins’ arguments to “prove” God does not exist.
Dear Patience,

Many thanks for your letter. Yes, I remember you telling me that your father was an armchair atheist. That is why I was so surprised when you said that your mother had bought him a “bible” for his birthday. It took me some time to realize you meant Richard Dawkins’ The God Delusion. Armed with all that new ammunition to throw at you, I guess that made your visit back home more interesting than usual!

Yes, I read that book a while back…with trepidation. I braced myself for an onslaught against our shared faith like a man about to be hit by an intellectual tsunami. I was happily disappointed. Let me explain.

As far as I can see, The God Delusion has two main points. Professor Dawkins’ first point is that it is very improbable that God exists, so improbable that we ought to live as if He didn’t. The second point is that religion is a travesty in the world and we would all be a lot better off intellectually and morally if it were to disappear completely. The second point seems so obviously wrong in the face of universities, hospital systems, humanitarian outreaches and so many more good things that are directly linked to Christianity, but I’ll have to leave a more thorough comment for another occasion and deal with the first thing first.

An old pastor sits in the front corner of his small country church one autumn evening. The lamps are coming on outside, the children are hurrying home for supper, and each chime of the bells above brings the priest a moment closer to the time when he must deliver his Sunday sermon. But he is at a loss for words. He has drilled into his parishioners the proofs for God’s existence, the reasons for the immorality of abortion, and the importance of prayer. Time and again he preached about the need to live a life of stewardship, the significance of the confessional, and the wrongs of gossip. And the fruits of his work are visible. The children recite the catechism with diligence, the women’s guild prays the rosary with devotion, and the young men can reason through disputes over the saints and Blessed Mother with their protestant co-workers. Yes, his flock has been given a toolbox. What more then is there? What further work can he do?

Suddenly he hears the creaking of the door to the church open behind him. “Somebody has got to oil that one,” he thinks to himself, making a mental note of this task for the custodian. The quiet patter of feet passes him and then stops. As the priest lifts up his head, he is taken aback at the site of the scene before him. A little child is there, kneeling before the crucifix. Father recognizes the lad from Sunday school, a quiet fellow from a good family. His hat in his hands and his eyes fixed upon the mangled body of Christ hanging limply on the tree, the child’s lips move slowly, reverently. The priest leans in, trying to hear what soft sounds are exuding from the boy’s mouth. He is quietly uttering the Anima Christi, each powerful word taking on new meaning in this child’s sweet voice. With that, the priest falls to his knees. And then the answer comes…
In order to reconcile his people to himself, God became seeable, hearable, touchable, and reachable, taking on true human flesh. “By nature incomprehensible and inaccessible, [God] was invisible and unthinkable, but now he wished to be understood, to be seen and thought of,” writes St. Bernard of Clairvaux.[1] In a sense, he became concrete and graspable, yet at the same time mysterious and unknowable, bridging the imminent and the transcendent. Preface I for Christmas so beautifully reads, “By the wonder of the Incarnation, your Eternal Word has brought the eyes of faith a new and radiant image of your glory. In him we see our God made visible and so are caught up in love of the God we cannot see.”

It is poetry that most fully takes on these characteristics, creating images that rouse our senses and help us to understand reality, yet always leaving a sense of the unknown, an aura of mystery. It is poetry, that theology (as St. Anselm defined it, “Faith seeking understanding”) so desperately needs, else it turn into the mechanical “study of God.” It is poetry for which the faithful long in order to come to know Christ, the Divine Poet himself. It is poetry, which this priest’s preaching is lacking.