Chevalier de la charité

The call to faith in Jesus always is a call to service and mission, Pope Francis told seminarians, priests and staff of the Pontifical North American College.

« Whenever Jesus calls men and women, he always does so in order to send them out, in particular to the vulnerable and those on the margins of society, whom we are not only called to serve but from whom we can also learn much, » the pope said Jan. 14.

The college, a seminary in Rome sponsored by the bishops of the United States, has 116 students from 55 dioceses.

Msgr. Thomas W. Powers, rector of the college, told Francis: « The generous young men you see in front of you want to be like Jesus, the good shepherd. They know the Lord will use their eyes to seek out the suffering; their mouths to preach his Word, console the afflicted and make him present in the Eucharist; their hands to give strength to the sick and the dying and to heal those oppressed by sin; and their feet to go to the peripheries to lead the lost sheep home. »

Francis noted that the students’ years in Rome coincide with « the synodal journey that the whole church is presently undertaking, a journey that involves listening — to the Holy Spirit and to one another — in order to discern how to help God’s holy people live his gift of communion and become missionary disciples. »

The same « challenge and task » is entrusted to those preparing for ordination, he said. « People nowadays need us to listen to their questions, anxieties and dreams so that we can better lead them to the Lord, who rekindles hope and renews the life of all. »

Francis used the Gospel story of the call of Andrew and Simon Peter to illustrate what he said are three elements « essential to priestly formation: dialogue, communion and mission. »

When Jesus noticed Andrew and another following him, he asked what they were seeking and invited them to come and see where he was staying.

« Over the course of your lives, and especially throughout this time of seminary formation, » the pope told the seminarians, « the Lord enters into a personal dialogue with you, asking what you are looking for and inviting you to ‘come and see,’ to speak with him from your hearts and give yourselves to him confidently in faith and love. »

Daily prayer, Scripture meditation and praying « in silence before the tabernacle » are essential for building a personal relationship with the Lord, learning to hear his voice and discovering « how to serve him and his people generously and wholeheartedly, » the pope said.

« By staying with Jesus, the disciples began to learn — from his words, gestures and even his gaze — what really mattered to him and what his Father had sent him to proclaim, » he said. « In a similar way, the journey of priestly formation demands a constant communion: first with God, but also with those joined together in Christ’s body, the church. »

The pope asked the seminarians to « keep your eyes open both to the mystery of the church’s unity, manifested in legitimate diversity yet lived in the oneness of faith, and to the prophetic witness of charity that the church, particularly here in Rome, expresses through her concrete acts of care for those in need. »

Witnessing and participating in that service, he said, « will help you develop that fraternal love capable of seeing the grandeur of our neighbor, of finding God in every human being, of tolerating the nuisances of life in common. »

Francis prayed that the students « will always be signs of a church that goes forth, sharing the presence, compassion and love of Jesus with our brothers and sisters. »

Franciscan Fr. Dan Riley felt called to write a book on the « longing to listen and learn from God within God’s world, to come to know who I am before God, and to come to know who we are as God’s people. » In Franciscan Lectio, he succeeded in putting such personal pen to paper. The question is, will it impact the reader as much as its author?

Encouraged to write by Franciscan Murray Bodo and Bruno Barnhart of New Camadoli Hermitage in Big Sur, and aided by collaborator Stephen Copeland, Riley’s self-proclaimed be « talkative » nature is reflected in the text, which is chock-full of personal stories and experiences as he shares his Franciscan take on lectio divina.

Lectio divina (divine reading) is a form of contemplative prayer that dates to the third century. Riley describes it as « a practice that arose out of the desert from people determined to become more grounded in the radicalness and richness of gospel living. »

The book is divided into four sections, based on words written in a letter from St. Clare to Agnes of Prague. Clare recommends to Agnes a style of prayer in which she should gaze upon Christ, examine, contemplate and follow his example. Thus, Riley’s section titles: Gaze, Consider, Contemplate and Imitate. The first of these takes up the majority of the pages.

Riley and Copeland have a bit of difficulty deciding on the aim of this book. Riley’s personal reminiscences are blended with quotes from a broad range of sources — St. Bonaventure, St. Clare, Robert Lax, Rainer Maria Rilke, Richard Rohr, Thich Nhat Hahn and others. He includes only one Benedictine-related source — Thomas Merton — which struck me as both unfortunate and an odd choice, considering the intimate connection between the Benedictine tradition and the practice of lectio divina.

As someone who has studied both Franciscan and Benedictine spirituality for decades, I found the absence of Benedictine sources in Riley’s chapters intentional. He credits the desert fathers and mothers with originating lectio divina, but from there mentions little of how this rich practice continues, even today, within countless monastic communities. He claims, « Lectio Divina is a significant and rediscovered practice. » It was, however, never lost.

The author allows that much of the text may seem to go in circles and, as such, will need to be revisited by the reader. But I found the structure less akin to circles than to erratic tangents that made the work hard to follow — and in mixing pronouns, asking questions of the reader along the way, and then providing his own answers, Riley further muddles his message.

This is not to undermine the validity of many of Riley’s points. He rightly asserts, « Lectio helps us to practice our coming into unity with our diversity, complexity, feeling, and thinking. » He points out how God is immediate and, « Lectio begins when we create a place within ourselves for an encounter. » I found such observations deeply nourishing.

Riley is steeped in the Franciscan tradition, having lived nearly 40 years at Mt. Irenaeus. He travels with other friars and students from nearby St. Bonaventure University, sharing the spirituality learned in his community in the Allegheny Mountains of western New York in the « marketplace » — as Franciscans have done for eight centuries.

« Our Franciscan tradition helps us open our eyes to the undervalued wholeness of being a human person and the wholeness of all creation, » he writes. There is an earnest attempt to integrate this concept into the practice of lectio divina; even an offering of « recipes » in an addendum following the main text.

Riley advocates for variations like « sidewalk lectio, » lectio of the Mountain, the lectio of St. Clare and others. He lists the four Ss of lectio: solitude, silence, simplicity, service; and the four Ws: watch, wonder, wait, work.

Lectio, Riley says, is « a full meal, » which is a delightful description. But then he confuses matters by adding, « Lectio is not random but is rich in spontaneity and depth as the spirit of God surprises us so that we also surprise one another when we ‘cook Lectio.’  » Riley creates more of a seven-course gourmet repast, where the readers may find themselves overstuffed and bewildered from the effects of the different wines served with each dish.

For those interested in learning more about Riley and Franciscan beliefs, this book is worthwhile. Those hoping to learn about lectio divina may find more of what they seek elsewhere. Perhaps, when creating this work, Riley should have taken his own words — and one of the staples of Franciscan spirituality — to heart: « One of the geniuses of Lectio is its simplicity. »

Have you ever glimpsed pure goodness in another person? Sometimes we see it as we gaze on a baby — goodness, innocence and seemingly limitless potential. On rarer occasions, we get caught up in a similar perception of a young person or an adult. Some people seem to exude peace and integrity. They are a blessing to be around. That must be what John the Baptist perceived in Jesus: a person whose very being illustrated holiness.

Who was John that he could recognize Jesus for who he was? According to Luke, John was a new Isaac, a son of the promise born to an aged couple. Today’s liturgy suggests that he identified with the servant Isaiah described: called from the time of his conception to be a light to his people. All the Gospels depict John as a conscious forerunner to the Christ. Never claiming to be a messiah, he preached to prepare the way, probably never guessing how different Jesus’ preaching would be from his own.

Surprisingly, the Baptist’s essential characteristic, at least as he appears in the Gospel of John, is his humility. The rousing prophet, the desert ascetic who invented the baptismal ritual that continues to our own day, proclaimed that the unknown one to come after him ranked ahead of him. Although John’s Gospel avoids admitting that Jesus submitted to baptism, the Baptist testifies that he saw the Spirit come down upon Jesus at the moment the other Gospels describe as the baptism.

Although he was not a disciple, John gets a more detailed and personal description than the Gospels give any other character except Jesus himself. Historically, John was probably as well known as Jesus and his following rivaled that of Jesus. But, with all that John accomplished, his greatest Gospel witness came through his saying that he was not “the one.” The picture we get of John is that he not only had enough faith to believe in his own unique and crucial vocation, but enough to see beyond his own call, talents and insights.

If there were one phrase that could sum up John’s essential message, it might be our Muslim friends’ cry, « Allahu Akbar » (« God is greater »). With all his accomplishments, with everything he saw around him, be it the might of Rome or the uncountable stars in the sky, John lived and breathed an attitude of « Allahu Akbar. »

That is the attitude that allowed John to recognize Jesus. With a profound grasp of his own prophetic vocation, John recognized something greater in Jesus, something that reflected more of God and more of God’s promised future. Thus, John uttered those mystery-filled words we repeat in each Eucharist, « Behold the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world. » The grace that impelled John in his vocation led him to recognize the grace that filled Jesus.

What did John mean by calling Jesus, « Lamb of God »? Was he referring to the lamb that replaced Isaac in Abraham’s sacrifice? The lamb of Exodus whose blood saved the people from destruction? The lamb of atonement sacrifice that restored the people’s broken relationship with God? To the apocalyptic lamb whose death brought life? The servant of God who went to death like a lamb to the slaughter?

The simplest answer is, yes. John called Jesus the lamb and the son of God. John saw Jesus and could only say, « Allahu Akbar. »

The Gospels tell us about John so we may learn from him and to see ourselves in him. Like John, we have been called from birth. The mystery of our lives is that we are created in the divine image and called to become images of the divine. That’s what Paul means when he says we have been sanctified and are called to be holy. John could recognize Jesus and say « Allahu Akbar » because he too shared the divine life: like knew like. We too know our moments of crying out « Allahu Akbar » because what we see in others and in creation reminds us of both God’s unfathomable greatness and God’s intimate love — a love that dwells in us as well.

John comes to us today inviting us into his own attitude of humble wonderment. First, listening to Isaiah like he did, we remember that we are created in the divine image and that sharing divine life is the reason for our being. Then, lest we ever settle for less or even just settle, John shows us how to open ourselves to the wonder of the God who is greater than we can imagine.

As we begin « Ordinary Time, » John invites us to learn over and over to recognize Christ for who he is and what he offers. Then we too will cry out « Allahu Akbar » in any and every language we speak.

Despite a few successes — like the establishment of a loss and damages fund — the latest United Nations international conference on climate change (COP27) fell short by failing to name the main source of our global problem: the burning of fossil fuels.

Globally, greenhouse gas emissions are still rising, and most nations are not on track to reduce their emissions at the necessary pace to avert irreversible climate impacts. New fossil fuel projects are being planned or developed across the globe. Keeping the Paris Agreement objective of 1.5°C maximum planetary warming alive seems like an already lost battle.

Religious institutions were present at the November climate summit in Sharm el-Shiekh, Egypt, to lend their moral influence to climate conversations. But one of their most significant contributions to the cause is more tangible than morality, albeit an avenue of often untapped potential: church finances.

Religions worldwide are incarnated into millions of institutions — churches, temples, congregations, schools, health services and more. These institutions own and manage large plots of land, numerous buildings and significant financial assets. In addition to their spiritual and moral influences, religious institutions’ possessions give them great temporal power.

Over the last six years, hundreds of Catholic institutions have publicly committed to divesting from fossil fuels, and thereby aligned their investment policies with the social teachings of the church on care for our common home. By divesting, Catholic institutions raise a prophetic voice, echoing Pope Francis in his 2015 encyclical Laudato Si’, « We know that technology based on the use of highly polluting fossil fuels — especially coal, but also oil and, to a lesser degree, gas — needs to be progressively replaced without delay. »

Yet, the Catholic world is vast, and there are still many voices missing from divestment announcements, despite the Vatican’s clear guidelines. I suspect there are a few reasons for this, among them disconnection, discomfort, confusion and complexity.

Finance is often seen as a technical issue outside the scope of moral and pastoral issues, therefore finance committees and staff are isolated from the work of their counterparts in ministries of justice, peace and creation care. But as Francis says in Laudato Si’, « Everything is interconnected. » Just as Catholic values should influence investing, finance professionals should share their industry knowledge by translating into comprehensible language what are the options on the table. Finance is a means to many ends, not only a way to earn more money.

Many institutions have become used to steadiness in high return and low risk investments. The complexification and commodification of financial assets hides our responsibility as owners or lenders. Some congregations or institutions rely on wealth accumulated over time to take care of elderly members of their communities or to implement projects they have planned over the years. The diversity of financial vehicles must not prevent from having discussions on why and how the wealth accumulated over time is to serve church missions. This is exactly what Mensuram Bonam, the recent text of the Pontifical Academy of Social Sciences, tells us.

The extent of the changes needed is complex and multifaceted. We need some imagination to prepare for the future — to cut emission by half in less than eight years (what is required by the Paris Agreement) looks more like the rapid conversion to war economies during World War II than the gradual transition into the industrial era two centuries ago. This speedy transition can only succeed with total engagement from all actors and strong stewardship of public authorities. Investing 5% of assets in impact investing isn’t sufficient. Decisions to fully divest from fossil fuels and invest in climate solutions show the way forward. Holding shares in, and thus profiting from, fossil fuels means not taking the Paris Agreement or church teaching seriously.

Fossil fuel-related investments’ market values are overestimated and accumulated money is likely to disappear if it’s invested in fossil fuel-related assets, what Carbon Tracker has dubbed « stranded assets. » Financial predictions have been unable to integrate the extent of the damages climate change will inflict on us. For example, only some insurers realize they cannot insure large infrastructures at risk because of more frequent extreme weather events. As the impacts of climate change worsen, our societies and economies are going to change dramatically. « We don’t need an army of actuaries to tell us that the catastrophic impacts of climate change will be felt beyond the traditional horizons of most actors — imposing a cost on future generations that the current generation has no direct incentive to fix, » said Mark Carney, governor of the Bank of England at the time.

This poses challenges for the business model of many Catholic institutions. Those who work in finance departments can no longer manage assets according to prudential rules based on the economy of the past, they must consider the economy needed for the future. We cannot separate questions of finance from political and moral questions. That is why the Laudato Si’ Movement encourages Catholic institutions not only to divest from fossil fuels, but also to endorse a fossil fuel non-proliferation treaty. Those are two sides of the same coin.

The church has sustained itself over time through prudence, but also through prophetic stances, boldness and a spirit of service. It may be difficult for Catholics to put Laudato Si’ and the social teachings of the church into action. But identifying specific challenges can help us overcome them, and help the Catholic Church to raise a prophetic voice and induce dramatic change through the reorientation of its finances.

Pope Francis will celebrate the fourth annual Sunday of the Word of God Jan. 22 and, like he did last year, will confer the ministries of lector and catechist on several lay people, according to the Dicastery for Evangelization.

The theme for the 2023 celebration is: « We proclaim what we have seen, » a quotation from 1 John 1:3, the dicastery said.

Francis began the Sunday of the Word of God to promote « the celebration, study and dissemination of the word of God, » which will help the church « experience anew how the risen Lord opens up for us the treasury of his word and enables us to proclaim its unfathomable riches before the world. »

The Mass in St. Peter’s Basilica Jan. 22 for the annual event was included in the Vatican’s short calendar of papal liturgical celebrations for January and early February. The calendar was published Jan. 12.

Also on the calendar is Francis’ celebration of an ecumenical evening prayer service at Rome’s Basilica of St. Paul Outside the Walls Jan. 25 to close the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity.

The week is organized by the Vatican Dicastery for Promoting Christian Unity and the Commission on Faith and Order of the World Council of Churches. The theme for 2023 is: « Do good; seek justice, » which comes from Isaiah 1:17.

The calendar also includes Francis’ trip to Congo and South Sudan Jan. 31-Feb. 5, which means he will not celebrate at the Vatican the Feb. 2 feast of the Presentation of the Lord and the World Day for Consecrated Life.