Franciscan at Home

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The Assumption of the Blessed Virgin Mary is a beautiful dogma of the Church that conveys to the faithful the importance of the Blessed Mother. In 1950, the apostolic constitution Munificentissimus Deus (The Most Bountiful God) was promulgated by Pope Pius XII. It declared that Mary was assumed into heaven—body and soul—at the end of her earthly life. Many traditions gathered from ancient sources tell us of Mary’s life after the scriptural conclusion of the apostolic age. The whole Church, in both in history and in contemporary times, has perceived the bookends of Mary’s life to be remarkable—a woman born without sin would also be free of the earthly demands of conventional human death. Supported by the patriarchs, the prophets, her Magnificat, the Marian visionaries, bishops, clergy, the lay faithful, and especially her relationship to her Son, Pius XII was moved to establish this dogma to help us know the fullness of Mary ever better.

But how can an artist depict something as mysterious and glorious as an event like this? As in images depicting many other glorious parts of the narrative of salvation, an artist is called to stretch the imagination, to conceive of a design that amplifies our meditation instead of bringing it “down to earth.” Certainly, composing a simple, factual scene of a woman flying into the sky would be insufficient. The Assumption by Masolino is an image that does more than show a literal historical event. It is painted in the International Gothic style—a post-Medieval, pre-Renaissance mix of realism and imaginative idealism. In art, realism depicts what the neutral eye naturally sees, whereas idealism is a vision of what the mind would like to see based on invisible ideas, usually something better than what we find when looking at the world. Realism and idealism are found throughout the history of art in both secular and religious images. Artists who create sacred art often use forms that are “more than real” in order to convey the mysteries of our faith. Masolino is one of those artists.

I come here often. Sometimes I come in gratitude. Other times I come here to beg. I come alone. I come with my wife and our kids.

Growing up, it took thirty minutes to get here. Back country roads. Flat. Everything level and straight. Fields speckled with the occasional woods, a barn, a farmhouse. It was practically in my backyard. But then I moved. Now, it takes about three hours. I drive up the long interstate to those familiar country roads that lead into the village.

The sleepy, two-stoplight town is something of a time warp. Life just moves slower in Carey, Ohio. The rural way of life is simpler than the suburban variety.

I stay for hours, or for twenty minutes. Being here is all that matters.

Yes, I come here often. It’s in my blood.

I am a pilgrim.

Basilica and National Shrine of Our Lady of Consolation

In June of 1873, Fr. Joseph Peter Gloden was entrusted with the mission in Carey, Ohio: thirteen families and an unfinished church building. The people were discouraged. But Fr. Gloden rallied the small band of Catholics, and the nascent congregation finished the construction of the church. It was given the title Our Lady of Consolation, for, as Gloden said, “We are not yet at the end of our difficulties and we need a good, loving and powerful comforter.”[1]

After the church was dedicated, Gloden, originally from Remerschen, Luxembourg, sought to obtain a copy of the statue of Luxembourg’s Our Lady of Consolation. The statue was made of oak and adorned with a fabric dress. The replica of the statue from the Cathedral of Luxembourg arrived in Carey in March 1875. To give Our Lady’s statue a most solemn entrance into her new home, Fr. Gloden and his parishioners decided on a seven-mile procession to the church in Carey from the nearby parish in Frenchtown, Ohio.

The big event was to take place on May 24, 1875. The day before, a heavy storm swept through the area. On the morning of the proposed procession, another storm threatened. Lightning could be seen across the horizon. Gloden urged the crowd not to scatter, calling out, “Let the procession proceed; there is no danger.”[2] And so they charged into a thunderstorm. The rest is history. Rain poured all around the procession, but nobody in the procession got wet. Once the statue reached the church and was safely inside, the rain pelted the earth.[3] From the beginning, the whole thing was viewed as a miraculous event—a light prelude to events that would happen in Fatima some decades later. On that day in rural Ohio, Mary protected her beloved little ones from the elements.

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.”

In Evangelii Nuntiandi (EN), Pope Paul VI, of sainted memory, said something that has become almost a banner that we fly above our apostolic work today, both in our evangelization and our catechesis. “Modern man listens more willingly to witnesses than to teachers, and if he does listen to teachers, it is because they are witnesses.”[1] This is often taken to mean that teaching, both the act and its content, are somehow to be considered a second-rate concern for our mission today.

The almost ubiquitous line is, “Well, doctrine is important, but . . ..” In statements of this kind, the implication is that what follows the ellipsis—whether it be encounter, the heart, the personal dimension, or, as in Pope Paul’s statement, Christian witness—is primary, and that doctrine is secondary. Unfortunately, in some cases these statements are really intended to communicate that content isn’t very important at all. 

As Christians, we are called to affirm the dignity of each human being. This dignity has its beginning from our first moment of existence, when each of us receives the gift of life itself. The Catechism of the Catholic Church teaches that “Human life must be respected and protected absolutely from the moment of conception. From the first moment of his existence, a human being must be recognized as having the rights of a person—among which is the inviolable right of every innocent being to life” (2270).

Made in God’s image, each human being possesses an intellect and will, along with the capacity to love and be loved.[1] When we live in accordance with our dignity, what we were truly made for, it causes deep happiness and fulfillment. When we witness to a culture of life, we help uphold the dignity of everyone around us.

Notes

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.

Sarah: aged and barren. Joseph: rejected, betrayed, and enslaved. Moses: desperately cast afloat in a basket. Daniel: sent to death by lions. Mary: unknown, unmarried, unbelieved.

Salvation history is the story of the poor ones, the bowed down, the lowly—the anawim, as they are named in Hebrew. In both the Old Testament and the New, God tends to the impoverished, the helpless, and the abandoned with special care and favor. The widows, the orphans, the outcasts—they have nothing, and God chooses them to receive everything.

Poverty is also a central thread of the Incarnation. Jesus came in the poverty of a stable. Poor shepherds received the Good News first, before any wealthy king or powerful governor. When Jesus began his public ministry, he reached out to the disregarded children, the lame, the blind, the social pariahs, and especially the poor souls exiled in sin. Jesus lived humbly and ultimately gave himself to the darkest poverty of death.

But Easter changed everything! The Resurrection exploded the darkness and opened the eternal treasure of heaven. After the Ascension and Pentecost, the spirit-enflamed disciples pursued this treasure even as they, too, were rejected, persecuted, and ultimately martyred.

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.

“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. 

The General Directory for Catechesis (1997) and the National Directory for Catechesis (2005)

General Directory for Catechesis (1997)

In light of the publication of the Catechism, it was decided that the General Catechetical Directory (GCD) was in need of revision. A portion of the task was given to the Congregation for the Clergy’s International Catechetical Commission (COINCAT). Even before the members and experts of COINCAT gathered, a thorough, international consultation on the proposed revision of the GCD had been conducted. The presidents of episcopal conference catechetical commissions, representatives of catechetical institutes and organizations throughout the world, and the members of COINCAT were asked to respond to a series of specific questions relating to a proposed revision of the GCD. Those responses were collated by the staff of the Congregation for the Clergy and woven into the Instrumentum Laboris, a document over seventy pages in length. The Instrumentum Laboris reflected three fundamental perspectives on the proposed revision of the GCD. The first seemed to advise only a slight revision, the second a moderate revision, and the third a more substantial rewrite.

The Ninth Plenary Session of COINCAT was held in Rome in September of 1994. Jose Cardinal Sanchez, prefect of the Congregation for the Clergy and president of COINCAT, called upon Archbishop Sepe, the Congregation’s secretary, to provide the more specific outline of COINCAT’s work for the week. In this outline, Archbishop Sepe first addressed the necessity for the revision of the GCD. He noted that it had been almost twenty-five years since its publication, that several important magisterial documents had been issued, and that much renewal had been undertaken within the ministry of the Word. He also pointed out that the pope had issued the call for a “New Evangelization,” that there had been significant development in the catechetical sciences, and that the Catechism had been recently published. Quoting Pope John Paul II in Catechesi Tradendae, Archbishop Sepe underscored the importance of the GCD and the need for its revision: “a Directory remains a fundamental document for the stimulation and orientation of the renewal of catechesis in the whole Church . . . it remains the norm of reference.”[1]

Archbishop Sepe then provided the parameters for the revision of the GCD. Based on the findings of the surveys, a moderate revision was indicated. That meant that all material that remained useful and relevant would be included in the revision; the universal character of the document would be preserved; and the information contained in magisterial documents published after the GCD would be incorporated where possible. Also, the Catechism would thoroughly inform the revision.[2]

The provisional scheme for the revised GCD has an introduction, five parts, and a conclusion. The general outline is as follows:

Introduction: The Purpose of the General Catechetical Directory

Part One: The Ministry of the Word of God

Part Two: The Christian Message

Part Three: The Pedagogy of the Faith

Part Four: Those to Whom the Catechesis Is Directed

Part Five: Catechesis in the Pastoral Action of the Church

Conclusion: Catechesis: The Work of the Holy Spirit[3]

The work of revising the GCD was divided into three main segments: Part One and the conclusion, Parts Two and Three, and Parts Four and Five, with one day of COINCAT’s plenary session spent on each. The last day would be spent formulating a table of contents for the revised Directory and suggesting the next steps to take for the timely completion of the project.

To this provisional scheme the working group added some criteria for redaction of the GCD. These criteria did not have the benefit of revision within the working group because there simply was not enough time to do so. Therefore, the criteria were understood as a provisional first draft subject to later revision. They were as follows:

1. Continuity and enrichment. The present General Catechetical Directory comes with valuable elements. We should seek improvement by adding that which seems to be necessary.
2. Be mindful of events that followed the publication of the General Catechetical Directory in 1971: the two synods regarding catechesis; the apostolic exhortations Evangelii Nuntiandi and Catechesi Tradendae; the 1983 Code of Canon Law; the encyclicals Redemptoris Missio and Veritatis Splendor; and finally, the publication of the Catechism.
3. In the new structure of the General Catechetical Directory there are elements that should be replaced in view of a new synthetic ordering.
4. Literal citations of the documents of the Magisterium should be placed in the new text.
5. The four parts should be presented as criteria of the unity of life in Christ, the aim of catechesis.[4]