Franciscan at Home

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.

For a long time now, there has a been a growing

This is a paid advertisement. To review these resources, visit https://openlightmedia.com/ or call (734) 996-4245.

This is a paid advertisement. To order these books, visit https://ignatius.com/ or call 800-651-1531.

Those who have children and those who teach children have firsthand experience of the child’s need to do his own work. The very young child expresses this need quite bluntly: “I do it!” As the child matures, the expression becomes more nuanced and polite: “May I try?” In what appears to be a regression, the adolescent expresses the same need, though not with the same charm: “Why don’t you trust me?” I would argue that the child’s desire to “do for self” stems not from unruliness but rather from an intrinsic need impressed upon his nature by God himself.

The Need Is in Our Nature

In the command to Adam to “subdue the earth,” God impressed upon the human soul both the dignity and the need for work. Reflecting on this passage from Genesis, St. John Paul II writes:

From the beginning . . . [man] is called to work. Work is one of the characteristics that distinguish man from the rest of creatures, whose activity for sustaining their lives cannot be called work. . . . work bears a particular mark of man and of humanity, the mark of a person operating within a community of persons. And this mark decides its interior characteristics; in a sense it constitutes its very nature.[1]

In this same section the Holy Father explains that “work” refers to “any activity by man, whether manual or intellectual.” Just as the person has a need to diligently build his environment, he has a similar need to intellectually build his knowledge.

The Holy Father’s insight that work is a constitutive need of our nature should cause us to pause and wrestle a moment with its meaning. Most certainly, the comment should not be taken to its extreme, suggesting that someone lacking the capacity for manual or intellectual work is somehow not fully human. Yet at the same time, the statement lends itself to a consideration of how personal work is in some fashion so integral to the human person that to deny him the opportunity is to violate his God-given nature.

The Child’s Need for Independent Work

During her many years of being with children, observing how they live, learn, and develop, Dr. Maria Montessori came to see that the child possesses the same intrinsic need for work as do adults. In fact, this need may be even more critical for the developing child. She writes:

The reaction of the children may be described as a “burst of independence” of all unnecessary assistance that suppresses their activity and prevents them from demonstrating their own capacities. . . . These children seem to be precocious in their intellectual development and they demonstrate that while working harder than other children they do so without tiring themselves. These children reveal to us the most vital need of their development, saying: “Help me to do it alone!”[2]

Think of the work that a baby chicken must do to peck its way out of its shell. Any attempt to help the tiny creature—to do for it what it must do for itself—results in the chick’s premature death. A similar phenomenon happens to the child when adults routinely overstep and do the work that the child can and must do for himself: he experiences a kind of psychic death. Some children become unnaturally timid, overly dependent, or abnormally compliant. Other children become rebellious against authority. In both extremes, the child’s interior freedom has failed to develop properly. “The child’s desire to work represents a vital instinct since he cannot organize his personality without working.”[3]

“Then every scribe who has been instructed for the kingdom of heaven is like the head of a household who brings from his storeroom both the new and the old” (Mt 13:52).

The scribes were the lay ecclesial ministers and catechists of their day. They safeguarded the Scriptures and written traditions of Israel so that they could be passed down and taught in every generation. Jesus reinterprets their role and elevates their purpose when he talks about scribes who have been “instructed for the kingdom of heaven.” The Church calls her catechists, today’s scribes for the kingdom, to utilize modern methods that embrace “new media” (a term that seems rather passé for a generation of people who only know these forms of media) without jettisoning older methods and media that still have value. We have to bring forth “both the new and the old.”

Innovation and Tradition

The faith itself is ever ancient and ever new, and our presentation of the Gospel must draw from the best of the past while exploring new ways forward. The new Directory for Catechesis calls for “widely differing methods.”[1] The National Directory for Catechesis gives similar guidance: “Catechesis has to investigate new possibilities offered by the existence of the new technologies and imagine whole new models and systems if the Gospel message is to penetrate the culture, make sense to the next generation of Catholics, and bring about a response of faith.”[2] The Church is calling us to an innovative spirit that, frankly, makes many of us uncomfortable. To be clear, we are not being asked to get creative with doctrine. But we are being tasked with being creative in the ways that we present it.

Innovation in how we present the Gospel also calls for innovation in where we present it, the media through which we propose the faith. Since catechesis is primarily intended for adults, and since study after study points to the importance of parents in handing on the faith to the next generation, we would do well to consider what media are most suitable for adult formation. The “Catholic Media Use, 2023” report from the Center for Applied Research in the Apostolate shows a significant increase (27%) in the consumption of spiritual content, whether videos or podcasts, by adults since 2005.[3] If videos and podcasts are the media through which the adults in our communities and the parents in our programs are seeking spiritual content, then that is where we need to try to meet them. Considering the trends toward hyperlocal news sources, we need to be sure it is we who are meeting them there and not just a popular Catholic blogger or YouTube channel.