Franciscan at Home

Every new year brings new hopes, dreams, promises, and possibilities, as does the Year of Mercy! The Holy Father asks us to respond wholeheartedly to the call for a widespread and generous outpouring of mercy, despite the fact that this emphasis on mercy might appear to minimize the demands of justice and the law. Some may be surprised at this, as were the pharisees and scribes at the time of Jesus. At the same time, though, millions of Catholics and non-Catholics are delighted as they observe Pope Francis and his announcement of this Extraordinary Jubilee of Mercy. How Does This Document About Mercy Affect Us? During this Year of Mercy—Annus Misericordiae—we will contemplate and reflect the Face of Mercy, Christ’s Face, or the Misericordiae Vultus. We plunge into this contemplation in order to understand and become that which we contemplate, so all might find a path to conversion, a path home to our Father. The Bull of Indiction of the Extraordinary Jubilee of Mercy outlines Pope Francis’ pastoral focus for the New Evangelization. In it, he stresses mercy as the core of a life-altering Gospel that can lead to deep metanoia, thus transforming our hearts into the meek and humble heart of Jesus, full of mercy and compassion. The pope believes, prophetically perhaps, that contemplating the face of mercy and allowing ourselves to be inwardly transformed by it will enable us to “be merciful like the Father” (cf. Lk 6:36), as the motto for the Jubilee Year pronounces. Thus transformed, we will become instruments of conversion and transformation among “insiders” and “outsiders” alike, and thereby change the world. The bull, Misericordiae Vultus, states: "Jesus speaks several times of the importance of faith over and above the observance of the law. It is in this sense that we must understand his words when, reclining at table with Matthew and other tax collectors and sinners, he says to the pharisees raising objections to him, “Go and learn the meaning of ‘I desire mercy not sacrifice.’ I have come not to call the righteous, but sinners” (Mt 9:13). Faced with a vision of justice as the mere observance of the law that judges people simply by dividing them into two groups – the just and sinners – Jesus is bent on revealing the great gift of mercy that searches out sinners and offers them pardon and salvation."[i]

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.

Personally, I must admit that my mind often wanders during Mass, especially at daily Mass. Usually, I plop down in a pew thirty seconds before or after the priest has entered. My mind is racing and I’m distracted by a thousand little preoccupations.

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.

“For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them” (Mt 18:20). These familiar words of Jesus teach us as catechists that we have multiple opportunities to encounter him, not just in communal prayer but also in missionary outreach and every time we step into our catechetical sessions. Yes, even the mundane and hectic are sanctified by God’s presence. Since he called us, he won’t abandon us. The question is: are we watching and waiting for him? And, are we attuned to him and how he wishes to move us and those in our care?

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.

No one arbitrarily volunteers to become a catechist. Rather, the Church understands this vital responsibility to have the dignity of a vocation [see General Directory for Catechesis, no. 233]. This means that being a catechist is a call that a person receives from God—an authentic path to sanctity. One reason for this is the profound level of cooperation with God that is needed in order for catechesis to be fruitful. Cooperating with God in the process of catechesis can sometimes be a grand and dramatic endeavor, but most of the time being attuned to God as a catechist happens in silent and simple experiences. Of course we know that God is always present and moving when his Word is proclaimed and encountered. We have Christ’s word on this: “For where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them” [Mt. 18:20].

It is our hope that regularly reading the testimonies of catechists, who share God’s powerful presence in the work of catechesis, will not only inspire but bring hope.

"Thank you, God, for shots!"

Sometimes God works in ways we could never imagine, let alone plan.

Just as parents were dropping off their three, four, and five year old students for an early evening catechetical session with me, a woman I had never seen before introduced herself. “I’m here to fill in for your aide. Her husband is in the hospital. I’m not sure whether she had a chance to call you, but I said I would take her place.”

The young woman had never served as an aide before, but there was precious little time to explain what was expected of her. Instead I breathed a prayer and she prayed along; “Come Holy Spirit, fill the hearts of your faithful . . .”

The two hour session progressed peacefully and toward the end we gathered around the prayer table. As usual, the children offered spontaneous thanksgiving. A three year old, sporting a bright Band-aid on her upper arm spoke quietly, “Thank you, God, for shots.” “Shots?” A boy turned to her incredulously. “Why would you thank God for shots? They hurt!” “Because…even though they hurt, they keep you from getting very, very sick!” Satisfied, the boy offered his own prayers of gratitude and we sang a closing song.

Alone, we were cleaning up the room when the substitute aide turned to me, tears streaming down her face...

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 this article, Lisa Marino highlights the centrality of the “gift of self,” not only in God’s divine initiatives throughout salvation history but also within the love between husband and wife. The self-emptying of spouses, in fact, finds its source in God and is a luminous sign for the world of how God gives himself to us in how he loves.

God is the Ultimate Gift-Giver. He is at once both Gift and Giver, in the beginning creating us through a gift of his own life: "...the LORD God formed man out of the clay of the ground and blew into his nostrils the breath of life, and so man became a living being" (Gn. 2:7). God doesn't merely give us a thing—He gives us a Person, himself, and so this Gift has his qualities: it is enduring, active, alive.

A gift needs a receiver, and God himself prepares us to receive his gift. We were made explicitly for this. We were created by receiving this gift. We are most fully human when we continue to receive God's gift and, being made "in the divine image" (Gn. 1:27), in turn make a gift of ourselves. By recapitulating this gift of self, we live fully as an image of God, giving ourselves just as God gives himself. Indeed, "Man cannot fully find himself except through a sincere gift of himself" (Gaudium et Spes, no. 24).

In the Garden of Eden the serpent lies to Eve, telling her that God made the rule against eating the fruit of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil in order to keep her from becoming "like gods." Eve understands from this that to be like God she would have to grasp the fruit for herself. Denying that God already made her "in his image" and that he was already making a gift of himself to her, Eve considers the fruit and then grasps at God instead of receiving him, losing exactly him whom she is seeking. In the process she also loses herself, ending up less like God than before. She denies herself the quality of "receptivity," believing that if God is not the kind of God to give himself freely to her, then she could not possibly be the kind of person made expressly to receive his love. This is, of course, all a lie, perpetrated by the "father of lies"(Jn. 8:44).

God does not abandon us in this lie, and immediately promises a Savior. As a living down payment on this promise, God contradicts the serpent's lie by continuing to make a gift of himself throughout salvation history. He gives himself in the Law, in the Prophets, and in many ways great and small until He gives himself in the manger and on the cross.

The fullness of God's promise is realized through Jesus in the Paschal Mystery. We receive forgiveness from original sin, poured forth from the side of Christ and into us in Baptism, but still the “temporal consequences of sin remain..." (CCC 1264). Some of the hurt that remains is the difficulty of believing that God is making a gift of himself to us, and that we are actually made from the beginning to receive him. We question whether he listens to our prayers, we look for a thousand comforts to fill our loneliness, still forgetting that "our hearts are restless until they find rest in you, O Lord" (St. Augustine).