Franciscan at Home

At the end of his announcement of the Year of Mercy, Pope Francis invoked the Blessed Virgin Mary, Mother of Mercy: “Let us henceforth entrust this Year to the Mother of Mercy, that she turn her gaze upon us and watch over our journey: our penitential journey, our year-long journey with an open heart …”[1] This invocation of Mary, Mother of Mercy was underscored by the announcement that the Holy Year will begin on the Solemnity of the Immaculate Conception. Let’s think about these two titles of the Blessed Virgin Mary together and ask ourselves how they are related. Mary is the Immaculate Conception. This is how she identified herself to St. Bernadette. That she was immaculately conceived does not mean that she existed outside the economy of redemption, on her own independent track, but rather that she, by the merits of her Son, was redeemed in a unique way, preserved immune from all stain of original sin from the first moment of her conception.[2] The “stain” of original sin is, of course, not a physical stain, but rather it refers to the impairment of freedom and therefore of the ability to love. This is the legacy of original sin. For this reason, either we are afraid of the consequences of choosing the good, or some other alternative seems more attractive. We can even choose the right alternative but for the wrong reasons or for mixed motives. Consider the power disparity that exists between Mary, a creature, and her Creator! Although it would not have been a sin to say “no,” Mary could have said “yes” to her vocation out of fear of God’s power or out of attraction to the status God could provide her! In a case like this, “in order for Mary to be able to give the free assent of her faith … it was necessary that she be wholly borne by God’s grace.”[3] God’s grace is God’s mercy, and therefore Mary had to be wholly borne by God’s mercy. God’s mercy elected her for this vocation, and in and by God’s mercy she was able to assent with perfect freedom to God’s request. Because she is the Immaculate Conception, her whole being is defined by God’s mercy, and her “yes” is a completely unhindered act of assent to all of God’s merciful plans towards humankind that come to their fruition in the Incarnation. She is the “Mother of Mercy” in the sense that her motherhood is a gift of God’s mercy, and also in the sense that she is literally the Mother of the Incarnate Word, who is God’s mercy extended to us. Devotion to Mary, Mother of Mercy, helps us realize that the Incarnation, as God’s greatest work of mercy, is not an abstract concept but is a Person. “Though he was in the form of God, he did not count equality with God a thing to be grasped, but emptied himself, taking the form of a servant” (Phil 2.6-7). Devotion to Mary deepens our awareness of how far that “self-emptying” mercy went, namely, to the point where the “Almighty became weak for us,”[4] in other words, to the point where he became the direct opposite of almighty, a helpless baby who “uttered crying noises like all other children”[5] and was completely dependent upon his mother. The divine compassion is concrete, not abstract, and the more devoted to Mary we are, the more a vista of the depth of this compassion, or mercy, dawns on our spiritual vision and we cry out: “How awesome is this place! This is none other than the house of God, and this is the gate of Heaven!” (Gen 28:17) The mercy of God is the gate of heaven, and in contemplating its awesomeness we stand on heaven’s threshold! There is nothing more powerful than the contemplation of God’s self-emptying mercy to prompt conversion.

This article is the final in a series on the spiritual life commemorating the five hundredth anniversary of the birth of St. Teresa of Avila. From the moment of her conversion, a wellspring of joy sprang up in Teresa’s heart from its most inner “dwelling place,” and she wanted to share this wellspring with others. She proposes the image of two large basins of water in a garden to explain the essential feature in her new life of prayer, source of this wellspring: With one, the water comes from far away through many aqueducts and the use of much ingenuity; with the other the source of the water is right there, and the trough fills without any noise (…). There is no need of any skill, nor does the building of aqueducts have to continue; but water is always flowing from the spring.[i] For our Doctor of the Church, the first basin symbolizes the work of the Spirit in meditation. It produces joy, but it is a human joy, the joy produced by a work well done. The second basin symbolizes contemplation, which invites God’s pure gift, which is so abundant that the capacity of the basin is too small to receive all the water. Never mind that, says Teresa: the Lord himself will enlarge the basin,[ii] according to this Psalm verse: I run the way of your commandments, for you enlarge my understanding [literally: my heart] (Ps 119:32).[iii] Thus the basin will grow as it is filled by water. This dilation of the heart filled by love and joy cannot be the fruit of human work. “There is no need of any skill,” only a loving faith is necessary.

Noëlle Le Duc, a member of the Carmelite secular institute Notre Dame de Vie, was a pre-school and kindergarten teacher who worked with three to seven-year old children, in order to awaken their faith. Her work with children formed a foundation for the later development of the Come Follow Me program. She believed that even very young children can enter into a lively personal relationship with God and live this out through prayer, as well as in all the dimensions of human life. This relationship grounds catechesis and allows it to bear lasting fruit. In this article, we will begin to examine the baptized child’s capability for a dynamic relationship with God. A Powerful Inspiration at the Beginning Before we examine Le Duc’s contributions, we must first understand the Carmelite founder of the Notre Dame de Vie Institute she entered in the 1950s, Ven. Fr. Marie-Eugene of the Child Jesus, whose cause for beatification is currently being examined. Fr. Marie-Eugene was a spiritual master, who highlighted especially the treasures that come with baptism. Fr. Marie-Eugene believed that catechesis must not only teach the truth about God, but it also has to “give the sense of God” and to teach people how they can “put into practice” the capacities given by grace. He thus explains what the catechist must do: the catechist has to awaken the child to all the supernatural realities present in his soul; therefore, it is necessary to teach the child how to put the theological virtues into practice. Then the catechist must foster in the child the habits inscribed in the depth of his soul, where the reflexes that guide human nature are mainly to be found. The purity and the simplicity of the child increase his capacity to put into practice this “supernatural organism” of the theological virtues and the gifts of the Holy Spirit that are integral to the working of baptismal grace. The catechist has to teach the child how to find God, to have regular personal encounters with him, and to remain in his presence. Thus faith becomes keener and penetrates more deeply into God. In this way the child acquires incomparable spiritual riches that will benefit him his whole life. Emphasizing the act of believing, Fr. Marie-Eugene challenges catechists: what pedagogy can bring children to God and help them adhere to him in faith? How can the catechist help them discover God as a living and loving person, whom we can trust and who wants to enter into dialogue with us?

This year marks the 200th anniversary of the birth of St. John Bosco. This great saint’s insights into forming young people remain vitally important and relevant today.

In 1988, St. John Paul II wrote a letter to the head of the Salesian Order to commemorate the centenary of the death of St. John Bosco. It was titled, Iuvenum Patris, or “Father of Youth.” Only the Italian version is available on the Vatican website—perhaps that is why few English speaking people have heard of it. [1] It is a beautiful document that looks at the educational spirituality of St. John Bosco. Iuvenum Patris was written by a saint who loved young people about a saint who loved young people. St. John Paul II’s insights are as practical as they are inspiring.

St. John Bosco employed a method, which has since become famous, for passing on the faith to his boys: “Reason, religion, and loving kindness.” Those who minister to youth today can still learn from this pedagogy.

At the beginning of her consecrated life, St. Teresa experienced a “surprising” joy: “I was filled with a joy so great, that it has never failed me to this day…I was filled with a new joy that surprised me, nor could I understand whence it came.”[i] At the same time, though, she was also attracted by worldly vanities, which tempted her even in the cloister.[ii] How did she become able to sacrifice immediate “vain” joys for lasting joy? She needed to experience a true conversion, a kind of liberation. Like Mary Magdalene, she reached joy through the experience of tears.
Fidelity to prayer was, for Teresa, the path of her conversion and the way to reach true joy.

In this year dedicated by Pope Francis to the consecrated life, Saint Teresa of Avila is a vivid icon of the joy given by the “sequela Christi.” She followed the steps of Christ, his way of life, through obedience, poverty, and chastity.

Teresa was a joyful woman, full of the light of her Lord. She was gifted for relationship and many people were fond of her company, but these very gifts could become traps in her search for happiness. Thus her way to reach true joy—that is to say, joy that remains in the depths of the heart even when experiencing hardships—was not a straight one. Following her story may be illuminating for us.

Living and Proclaiming the Joy of the Gospel This department begins with a series focused on the insights of St. Teresa of Avila into the joy and desire to evangelize which comes from communion with God. In this first article, the author shows how St. Teresa was a woman of deep joy, who was responsive to her profound desire for God, which was a divine gift in itself. 2015 is the five-hundredth anniversary of the birth of St. Teresa of Avila.[1] This is a time of thanksgiving for the whole Church because St. Teresa, as a doctor of the Church, is a light for all the baptized. She is often called “mater spiritualium,” mother of interior souls, because her teaching is about the richness of baptismal life. She was so grateful to the Lord for giving such treasures to souls, whenever he finds them open to his love. “The joy is so excessive the soul (…) wants to tell everyone about it.”[2] I chose this sentence from the Interior Castle as the theme for this series because it is typical of Teresa’s personality. She was a joyful person, always ready to praise the Lord. Where did this joy originate? That is what we will investigate in this series. And, there is another point which is particularly inspiring for the period we are living now in the Church: Teresa was eager to share this joy.

In the past few issues of The Sower, I have looked at the apostles as catechetical saints. Of course they are obviously catechists, personally chosen and sent by Christ to evangelize the world. I usually pray about which saint I will write about and then I do some research. Repeatedly Simon and Jude came to my mind, not because they are so well known and popular, but because, for the most part, they are unknown. Even Pope Benedict stated that they are somewhat obscure

In the past few articles I have been looking at the Apostles as catechetical saints. As I have mentioned before, twice this past year I had the opportunity to go to Rome. On both trips I was able to visit the Church of St. Louis where Caravaggio’s famous painting of the Calling of St. Matthew is displayed. It was a great blessing for me to see the painting in person. It never ceases to remind me of my own vocation, which is why I have a large print of the painting in my office. In many ways, we can look at the Gospel of St. Matthew as the catechist’s Gospel, so let’s take the opportunity here to look at his vocation.

Matthew’s call is unique to the apostles because of his profession and the “sin” associated with it. He was a tax collector working for the Romans. The Jews hated his profession. We must admit that the profession is not very popular even today, but Jesus called him anyway. St Paul says, “Where sin abounds, grace abounds all the more” (Rom. 5:20). This was certainly true for Matthew, also known as Levi.

Pope Benedict wrote that to read Matthew 9:9 is to “recall Caravaggio’s magnificent canvas” (Wednesday Audience, 30 August 2006). In Caravaggio’s painting, we see Jesus calling Matthew. He is sitting at his job surrounded by obviously rich men, all counting money in front of them. Matthew knows that he is being called to something, and yet his attention is still on the money. He is aware that Jesus has come to his house, the house of a sinner, and is moved to follow Jesus. Matthew’s conversion is personal and profound.

In the second of these articles on the Apostles as Catechetical Saints, we look at St. Andrew. Peter is usually mentioned first in the list of the apostles because of his position as the first Vicar of Jesus Christ, but in John’s Gospel Andrew is the first to be called by Jesus. Pope Benedict tells us,
Andrew, then, was the first of the Apostles to be called to follow Jesus. Exactly for this reason the liturgy of the Byzantine Church honours him with the nickname: “Protokletos” [protoclete], which means, precisely, “the first called”. (General Audience, 14 June 2006)
It is he who introduced his brother Peter to the Lord. They were both fishermen in Capernaum, and after the death of Jesus they became fishers of men. Both apostles also followed Jesus literally to the cross. Peter died on an upside down cross, because he did not deem it worthy to die exactly as his Master. Andrew shared this same sense of unworthiness and died on an X-shaped cross. St. Andrew’s Cross (saltire) eventually became the national flag of Scotland and is also on the flag of the Canadian province of Nova Scotia (New Scotland).
Initially Andrew was a follower of John the Baptist. After Jesus’ baptism in the Jordan, Andrew left to join the one that John called the “Lamb of God”. He immediately left everything when Jesus called him to leave his nets. Later, we see him act as mediator two times in the Gospel of John.
It is obvious that Andrew possessed a lingering desire for the truth, first with the Baptist and finally with Jesus. Let us examine what we catechists can learn from St. Andrew.