Franciscan at Home

As we prepare for the Beatification of Cardinal John Henry Newman, Professor Norris helps us to understand Newman’s vision of education for mission.

In the month of October 1850 an announcement was made which shook the whole of England: the Catholic Hierarchy was to be restored in the land. After its banishment two hundred years previously it was now being set up again. ‘It is difficult to realise the fury caused. Protest meetings were held all over England, the Pope and Cardinal Wiseman were burned in effigy.... The agitation showed the strength of English Protestantism’[i]. The net effect of the agitation was that the Bishops were effectively silenced. Convinced that the church was not only the hierarchy but all the People of God, Newman wrote to a friend, ‘I dare say it may be advisable for our Bishops to do nothing ‑ but for that reason, if for no other, the laity should stir’[ii]. The hour of the laity had struck.

But what kind of laity? From the time he joined the Catholic communion five years previously in 1845 he was increasingly aware of the inadequate preparation of the lay people for the mission now falling to them. In particular, they needed education and formation for the task ahead. At the end of Lectures on the Present Position of Catholics in England, delivered in 1850 in reply to the attack on the Bishops (G. K. Chesterton described it as having been practically preached to a raging mob), he described the kind of laity he wanted for the times now upon Catholics in England. It is worth quoting this purple passage,

‘Your strength lies in your God and your conscience; therefore it lies not in your number. It lies not in your number any more than in intrigue, or combination or worldly wisdom. What I desiderate in Catholics is the gift of bringing out what their religion is. I want an intelligent, well‑instructed laity; I am not denying you are such already: but I mean to be severe, and, as some would say, exorbitant in my demands, I wish you to enlarge your knowledge, to cultivate your reason, to get an insight into the relation of truth to truth,....to understand how faith and reason stand to each other, what are the bases and principles of Catholicism. In all times the laity have been the measure of the Catholic spirit; they saved the Irish Church three centuries ago, and they betrayed the Church in England’[iii].

There was in Father McGivney a balance between the human and divine. His ability to mourn with those in sorrow and rejoice with those in need of joy and encouragement typified his priestly disposition. Every one of us, cleric or lay, married or single, need to achieve such a balance, an integration, in our own lives. www.fathermcgivney.org

Fr. Michael McGivney is probably not familiar to most readers, unless they are connected to the Knights of Columbus. The Knights are known for their work for the poor, for Catholic education, and for the disabled.

I attended a conference sponsored by a non-religious organization who work with and for people with severe disabilities. One session, focused on independent living for people with developmental disabilities and the life of one individual was highlighted. It was noted that part of the success achieved by this man in living independently stemmed in part from the invitation of his neighbor to attend a meeting of the Knights of Columbus. He joined the organization, worked very hard in the projects sponsored by them, and eventually became a member of the Catholic Church. I was surprised that a state run organization would highlight the religious life of a client, but I was not surprised that the Knights played a role in the man’s support group.

Dear Co-worker of Christ, Father,

You have said ‘yes’ to Jesus and He has taken you at your word.

The Word of God became Jesus, the poor one. And so there is this terrible emptiness you experience. God cannot fill what is full – He can fill only emptiness – deep poverty – and your ‘yes’ is the beginning of being or becoming empty. It is not how much we really have to give – but how empty we are – so that we can receive fully in our life and let Him live His life in us.

In you today He wants to relive His complete submission to His Father – allow Him to do so. It does not matter what you feel but what He feels in you. Take away your eyes from yourself and rejoice that you have nothing – that you are nothing – that you can do nothing. Give Jesus a big smile each time your nothingness frightens you. This is the poverty of Jesus. You and I must let Him live in us and through us in the world.

‘The Catholic Church, which elevated this man in sacred orders, who was ‘wonderful in his pastoral zeal, in his devotion to prayer and in the ardour of his penance’ to the honours of the saints of heaven, now, one hundred years after his death, offers him with maternal joy to all the clergy as an outstanding model of priestly asceticism, of piety, especially in the form of devotion to the Eucharist, and, finally, of pastoral zeal.’ Sacerdotii Nostri Primordia 10 St. Jean Marie Vianney was born in Dardilly, near Lyons, on 8 May 1786, the son of Mathieu Vianney and Marie Béluze, poor peasants with a strong faith. He was not a Religious but an example of the life of a diocesan priest lived in the desire and pursuit of holiness. However, as John XXIII points out in SNP 11, his life reveals a holiness lived in accordance with the evangelical counsels of poverty, chastity and obedience. Pope Pius XII had said that these counsels are not binding on the secular clergy, yet it is true that they are signs of holiness, and become a foundation for the life of all priests for they are founded on virtue which is universal, which is of course consecrated to be lived with radicalism in religious life, but which contain a call to all Christians, and not least to priests.

The Lord continues to send priests to serve in his Church. The latest figures from the Vatican Yearbook show a slight increase in 2009 over the 2008 figures worldwide for candidates to the priesthood, and the whole period from 2000 onwards is also one of stability, with a slight increase in numbers. Globally, also, the percentage of the world population who are Catholic continues to rise (it now stands at 17.4%). We can praise God for this, not because we are interested in numbers for their own sake, but because each number represents a person, precious to the Father.

What, then, is a priest? The answer was given to us existentially by St Maximilian Kolbe. When this friar martyr of Auschwitz was asked why he wished to take the place of a Polish father and husband, Francis Gajowniczek, in the punishment bunkers where camp inmates were starved to death, Maximilian Kolbe gave only one reason: ‘I am a Catholic priest’. Pope Paul VI called this an ‘incomparable’ response. The response came, he said, ‘from a heart trained to give itself’. And is not a Catholic priest, Pope Paul asks, a ‘second Christ’, who is the redeeming Victim of mankind? ‘What a glory it is for us priests, and what a lesson…to find such a splendid exemplification of our consecration and of our mission!’ Maximilian Kolbe provides us with an outstanding manifestation of the very heart of Catholic priesthood.

Sr. Mary Michael Fox shares the richness of St. Thomas Aquinas’ profound hymns on the Eucharist which are excellent catechetical tools.

The Eucharistic hymns of Saint Thomas Aquinas are an eloquent synthesis of the same profound and insightful theology found in his Summa Theolgiae—a work that is, I daresay, indispensible for catechists and one that the Church considers preeminent theology.[ii] Yet, the Summa is indeed somewhat daunting due to its structure and sheer magnitude. Fortunately, Saint Thomas offers more than one way of studying, contemplating and teaching the profound doctrine of the Eucharist. His Eucharistic hymns, Lauda Sion, Verbum Supernum, Pange Lingua, and Panis Angelicus, are a perfect convergence of theology and poetry. Their truth is beautiful and their beauty is true; and for this reason, they are perfectly catechetical.

John tells the story this way: There was a wedding in Cana. Mary was there as a guest. So was Jesus, her Son. So were His first disciples. Mary noticed that the wine was running short, a terrible embarrassment to the hosts of the wedding. In going to her Son, Mary simply said: ‘They have no wine.’ Imagine Jesus looking at her deeply, accompanied with a bit of a sigh. ‘How does this concern me? My hour has not yet come.’ The best was yet to come. Mary’s response. She said nothing. She found the wine servers. She pointed back to her Son. She said: ‘Do whatever he tells you.’ And that was her exit out of the story. She left it up to her Son Who instructed the servers to fill the large stone jars with water. That water became the good wine. That good wine was the beginning of the signs and wonders that ‘revealed His glory’ to the world, even and especially to this day. John’s story of the Wedding Feast of Cana is like peeling an onion. There are so many layers, ever so delicate and unique that we can gather from this chapter of Scripture.

Saints offer us living theology. How do we draw on the saints for this living theology, both for our own lives and for our work as catechists?

In my experience as a catechist, I have found that, in general, people relate to saints in one of three basic ways.

First, there are those who have little or no relationship with saints. Secondly, there are those whose love for the saints may indeed replace their relationship with the members of the Blessed Trinity, or may border on superstition. Thirdly, there are those who understand that the saints lead us to the intense relationship with the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit.

The key to understanding the saints is that they lead us into relationship with God and with others. In our desire to follow the example of the saints, we cannot just be configured into a narrow relationship of the ‘saint and me’. Saints did not, and we do not, live in isolation.

Teaching on St Catherine of Siena can be a powerful and inspiring way to teach a love for the Church.

‘Be certain of this…if I die, the cause of my death is the zeal which burns and consumes me for the Church. I suffer gladly, and am ready to die for her, if need be.'[i] Saint Catherine of Siena

When was the last time you headed off to your RCIA class or Religious Education class with such bold desire to sacrifice your life for your lesson on ecclesiology?! Yet, is this not the fire that every catechist is called to have for Holy Mother Church? While St. Catherine of Siena may not be your average ‘catechist,’ nevertheless, this fiery woman of Tuscany has a lesson or two to teach us about catechesis and loving the Church. We should not be surprised that they are the same lessons, on the nature and mission of the Church, which we find in the Church’s magisterial documents.

We have just finished celebrating the Year of St Paul, and it is fitting that the theme for this issue of The Sower is ‘Loving the Church’, for that is a wonderfully succinct way of summing up the essence of Saul’s conversion and of his receiving a new name rooted in a new calling. Saul was converted to an abiding love for the Church.

After all, what was Saul before his conversion? He was one who loathed the Church. He found the Church not so much irrelevant or simply unattractive, as deeply offensive and hateful—to himself and, he was convinced, to the God of his fathers. Saul, we know from the Acts of the Apostles, was present for the stoning of Stephen: those who had acted as the witnesses against Stephen, the first Christian martyr, ‘laid down their garments at the feet of a young man named Saul’ (Acts 7:58). ‘And Saul was consenting to his death’ (8:1). Following the death of Stephen, Acts describes how Saul ‘laid waste the Church’ (8:3). He ‘dragged off men and women and committed them to prison’ (8:3), ‘breathing threats and murder against the disciples of the Lord’ (9:1).

Saul’s conversion was a complete turning around, a total change of direction, so that what was hated now became the occasion for his deepest and most ardent love. The Risen Jesus appeared just as Saul had apparently gained new powers for persecution of these followers of ‘the Way’ (9:2). After this meeting, Saul completes his journey to Damascus, no longer seeking those whom he might imprison but, in his own words, ‘a prisoner of Christ Jesus’ (Philemon 1). The capturer has been captured. His physical journey and destination is unchanged, but he has undergone a dramatic spiritual reversal of direction. He receives a new name, Paul, and a new vocation. There is a ‘new creation’ and now nothing else is to count for anything apart from this new reality, this new love (see Gal 6:15).mHis persecution of the Church is now to be remembered as his most reprehensible activity: he is ‘the least of the apostles, unfit to be called an apostle, because I persecuted the church of God’ (1 Cor 15:9).