Franciscan at Home

Many were the attempts made in Europe during the nineteenth century to redefine and refashion human existence. Significantly, over the same period there were three major apparitions in which Mary, Mother of the Redeemer, was present: Rue du Bac in Paris, France (1830); Lourdes, France (1858); and Knock, Ireland (1879). Taken together, these offer the answer to humanity’s searching. Let us look particularly at Mary’s eighteen apparitions to Bernadette Soubirous in Lourdes.

In February 1934, one year after Bernadette’s canonization, Msgr. Ronald Knox preached a sermon in which he compares the young girl’s experience with that of Moses, even suggesting we might see Lourdes as a modern-day Sinai.[1] We should note that the events on Sinai are at the heart of biblical revelation, whereas those in Lourdes were private revelations later acknowledged by the Church to be for our good; yet, Knox finds many similarities between the two. Both, for example, took place on the slopes of hills; Moses and Bernadette were shepherds at the time; for both, a solitary experience resulted in the gathering of great crowds. Moses took off his shoes out of reverence for holy ground; Bernadette removed hers to cross a mill stream. Each was made aware of a mysterious presence demanding their attention: for one, by a fire that burned but did not consume; for the other, at the sound of a strong wind that did not move trees and the sight of a bright light that did not dazzle.

Moses was to lead the people out of bondage, though the Hebrews fell back to the worship of a golden calf. Knox writes that Bernadette was also “sent to a world in bondage,” a bondage in which it rejoiced. He finds significance in the fact that her visions took place in the middle of the Victorian age, when material plenty had given rise to materialism, “a spirit which loves . . . and is content with the good things of this life, [which] does not know how to enlarge its horizons and think about eternity.” Bernadette “was sent to deliver us from that captivity of thought; to make us forget the idols of our prosperity, and learn afresh the meaning of suffering and the thirst for God.” “That,” Knox uncompromisingly affirms, “is what Lourdes is for; that is what Lourdes is about—the miracles are only a by-product.” The preacher has no doubt of our own need for this message: “We know that in this wilderness of drifting uncertainties, our modern world, we still cling to the old standard of values, still celebrate . . . the worship of the Golden Calf.”

What happened to Mary? This is a question that could easily occur to anyone reading through 20th-century theology. Marian theology up to the 1960s was vibrant and flourishing. Fr. Edward O’Connor’s 1958 magisterial volume The Immaculate Conception (recently re-released by University of Notre Dame Press) seems to sum up an era. The lively essays harvest the best of traditional theology and seem poised to surge ahead, bursting as they are with both creativity and fidelity. And yet, ten years after its publication, Marian study was nearly dead. This book remains unsurpassed in its field.

What happened to Mary? This same question could be asked by anyone old enough to remember Marian piety before 1968, even if, as is more and more likely now, they were only children at the time of Vatican II, which closed that year. Marian piety had seemed so alive and well that it seemed unthinkable that it could be dislodged. But within ten years of the Council, it had all but vanished.

What happened to Mary? This same question is most likely not to be asked by Church members who grew up in the post-conciliar Church. The tragedy of any enduring loss is that eventually no one notices anything is missing. When one’s spiritual sensibilities have been dulled through lack of use, one lives an impoverished spiritual life without even realizing it. The question is not likely to occur to those born in the 70s or later, unless, perhaps, they travel to regions in the world or encounter subcultures within our own society where Marian devotion is alive and well. The encounter can almost seem shocking to the person whose spiritual sensibilities are thereby newly awakened. They might very well be prompted to ask, “But what happened to our Mary?”

This is a paid advertisement. To order these resources visit www.ignatius.com or call 800-651-1531.

In his important apostolic letter Dies Domini (“Keeping the Lord’s Day Holy”), St. John Paul II argues that to rest is to re-member (put together again) the sacred work of creation on the day set aside for worship, thus orienting times of rest toward a deeper contemplation of God’s vision of humanity. “Rest therefore acquires a sacred value: the faithful are called to rest not only as God rested, but to rest in the Lord, bringing the entire creation to him, in praise and thanksgiving, intimate as a child and friendly as a spouse.”[i]

The human need for rest is not a call for inaction or laziness. Times of rest need some form of activity to remove our minds and attachments from the workaday tasks that can too easily become heavy and uncomfortable burdens. St. John Paul II’s use of “in praise and thanksgiving” is shorthand for the celebration of the liturgy.

Embracing the Paschal Mystery

Liturgy, as the celebration of the Paschal Mystery, is the heart of Catholicism. It integrates the divine and the human, the active and the contemplative. “The Paschal mystery of Christ’s cross and Resurrection stands at the center of the Good News that the apostles, and the Church following them, are to proclaim to the world. God’s saving plan was accomplished ‘once for all’ by the redemptive death of his Son Jesus Christ” (CCC 571).

Note

Most of them didn’t go to Catholic schools. A quarter of them never served at Mass. Only about half were ever in a youth group, and a good chunk are converts. A majority of them are over 40 years old. One in three has no European ancestry. By statistical and anecdotal analyses, the newest priests of the United States come from varied, even surprising, backgrounds.[1]

The lack of sufficient vocations to the priesthood and religious life stands out as the preeminent practical challenge for the Church in our country today. We might opine at length about the theoretical causes of this crisis and the other related pastoral woes, strategic errors, and cultural forces with which we must contend, but the pressing imperative remains: We need more priests now, before the future unfolds far more bleakly. Band-aid solutions like merging parishes—in some places, parishes that are financially sound and demographically stable—or contracting foreign and religious clergy (blessings though they be) only serve to delay the inevitable and potentially disturb the faith of parishioners in the interim. The following suggestions only supplement the ongoing conversation to build a positive culture of healthier vocational discernment in the Church, our parishes, and the families from which the priests and religious of tomorrow are called.

Let’s Get Practical

Practical problems call for practical solutions. I often hear it said about the topic of vocations, “What can we do aside from pray?” Well-intended as that sentiment may be, we must believe firmly that imploring God’s grace through prayer remains the most fruitful tactic. It is his supernatural activity that accomplishes every good, especially the sublime gift of a holy vocation. Communal liturgies and devotions concretely bring people together and witness to the need, which can in turn inspire young hearts. I recall finding myself as a high school student in our parish’s perpetual adoration chapel praying the Rosary for more priestly vocations, and finally it hit me . . . it’s me!

Note

This article is part of a 3-year series dedicated to promoting the efforts of the National Eucharistic Revival in the United States.

“The Body of Christ.” “Amen.” Each time we participate in Mass, we have the opportunity to encounter the Lord Jesus in the most intimate way through the reception of Holy Communion. This moment is the most practical and profound way we can live Jesus’ invitation to “abide in my love” (Jn 15:10) this side of heaven. Yet, this moment of communion is not solely about a personal bond with Jesus. The relationship with him—strengthened and nourished by the Eucharist—impels us to charity for our brothers and sisters, especially the most vulnerable.

In this article, I want to reflect with you on two of the Beatitudes, allowing the witness and words of St. Francis of Assisi to help us understand how our inner life is transformed by the reception of Holy Communion. Flowing from that transformation, as “other Christs,” we are fortified to live lives of charity in action.

This is a paid advertisement. To order these resources visit www.ignatius.com or call 800-651-1531.

To learn more: go to www.franciscan.edu/ssd or email [email protected] or call 740-283-6402.

During the summer after my senior year in college in 1990, I experienced a return and deepening of my faith through the intercession of our Blessed Mother. The following January, as a 23-year-old seminarian, I began attending Mass every day. Today—32 years later—I have since gone to Mass and received Holy Communion over 10,000 times. Little by little, bit by bit, these 10,000 Communions have transformed me. Only in retrospect can I appreciate how much I needed to be transformed. Today, I am still a work in progress, but the Eucharist is the center of my life, the daily event around which I plan all things. It is probably not surprising, then, that most significant events in my life somehow seem to get intertwined with my relationship with Jesus in the Eucharist.

The fact that I had a heart attack in 2021 is nothing extraordinary. People have heart attacks all the time—over 800,000 in the US every year. What makes mine remarkable are the circumstances surrounding it.

On Ash Wednesday that year, I went away on a three-day silent retreat with a friend. I fast during Lent and find it helpful to get my Lent started at a place with perpetual Eucharistic adoration and no food temptations. While praying in front of the Blessed Sacrament, I often pray using symbolic images of my heart. Sometimes, I sit silently and ask our Lord to make my heart beat in sync with his. Sometimes, I ask him to heal it. Oftentimes, I imagine him reaching into my chest with both of his warm hands; together, they completely cover my heart. I then imagine him lifting it out of my body and bringing it toward his face, where he carefully blows on it with his warm breath, melting the ice and making it healthy again.

As I spent these days in prayer before the Blessed Sacrament, I received an unexpected and confusing thought during my prayer. While I prayed, I kept hearing that something was wrong with my heart. At first, I took this to mean a reference to my spiritual heart, so, naturally, I prayed for him to heal and transform it. But instead of a comforting, satisfying prayer, I felt increasingly agitated and unfulfilled. This was very frustrating, and it led me to question what this message meant. As we drove home on Saturday I shared this experience with my friend, and we concluded that I should schedule an appointment to get my heart checked out. At the time, I had no conscious awareness that anything might be wrong with it. Both of us agreed, however, that given my medical background—three bouts of cancer, two stem cell transplants, thirty lifetime surgeries, eighteen years of constant hospitalizations, etc.—it was probably a prudent thing to do.

The Rosary is arguably the most widely prayed, most enduring devotion in Catholic history. Many have spoken about the power and beauty of the Rosary. Pope St. Pius X said, “Amidst all prayers, the Rosary is the most beautiful, the richest in graces, and the one that most pleases the Most Holy Virgin.”[1] October, the month of the Rosary, is the perfect time to introduce this beloved prayer to children and to encourage families to pray it together. The following are some recommendations for handing on this treasure of the Church.

1. Remind Your Learners That Mary Is Our Mother

Motherhood is associated with a gentle, approachable strength. Many children feel most comfortable going to their mothers first when they are distressed or in trouble. When Jesus commends his mother to St. John at the Cross (Jn 19:26–27) he is, by extension, offering her as mother to the whole Church. And indeed, she is—for the Church is the Body of Christ and Mary is his mother. As our mother, the Blessed Virgin Mary wishes to encourage us, to protect us, to nurture us, and to teach us by always pointing us to her Son. Jesus is a good Son who loves and listens to his mother, so we can be certain that he hears whatever questions, worries, and problems we place at her feet. As Pope Leo XIII wrote, “How unerringly right, then, are Christian souls when they turn to Mary for help as though impelled by an instinct of nature, confidently sharing with her their future hopes and past achievements, their sorrows and joys, commending themselves like children to the care of a bountiful mother.”[2]