Transitions: Where the Grace Is

Christmas is not just a day but a season of celebrating joy and hope. Hanging lights, stars, and Christmas trees make the occasion colorful, but it is undoubtedly incomplete without a nativity scene. Have you ever wondered how the tradition of staging the nativity scene began? Greccio, a small town in Italy, was home to peasants who led a peaceful agricultural life. More than 800 years ago, Brother Francis, returning from a pilgrimage to the Holy Land, obtained permission from Pope Honorius III to re-enact the birth of Jesus, the scene of which he had just visited. So on Christmas Eve of 1223, inside a cave in Greccio, villagers disguised as Saint Joseph and Mother Mary acted out the historical event that only Bethlehem had seen. Francis welcomed more life to the holy night act with a rag doll representing the Christ Child; he even brought an ox and a donkey, giving the villagers a visual treat. He then stood before the manger, full of devotion and piety, his face bathed in tears and radiant with joy; the Holy Gospel was chanted, and he preached about the nativity of the poor King. Unable to even utter His name for the tenderness of His love, Francis called Him the Babe of Bethlehem. Master John of Greccio, a valiant soldier and a dear friend of Brother Francis, who, for the love of Christ, had left the worldly affairs, witnessed Francis cradling a beautiful infant in his arms so gently as if he feared the baby might wake up. Doubtless, the baby was the Christ Child Himself because a trail of miracles followed the scene. It is said that the hay of that manger, being preserved by the people, miraculously cured the cattle of many diseases and other pestilences! Brother Francis turned out to be none other than Saint Francis of Assisi, one of the most famous Saints in the Church’s history, whose very name excites every heart with the compassionate love of Christ!

I told my best friend: “The Church could really use someone like you in this broken world…” Somewhere, it resonated deep. My best friend and I met three years ago. We didn't become very close right away because, for starters, Dave takes a good while to warm up to people, and more importantly, people here in prison are a lot more guarded than those on the outside. Over time, however, that all changed, and Dave has since become my closest ally. Not long after I met Dave, it became clear to him that I was very serious about my Catholic faith. I had a Crucifix and pictures of Saints hanging on the wall of my cell. I watched and participated in Mass on television, and to be honest, I brought the topic up quite frequently. At first, Dave didn't make any comments or show much interest in my faith; he would just politely nod his head and move on, but something was telling me that I shouldn't let that hinder me from sharing all about what I believed and telling stories about the miracles and peace that I'd received directly from being Catholic. Returning to the Roots As time progressed and I became closer to Dave, he began to open up a little bit more about his own faith. He told me he was a Christian but he hadn't really been to services in years, partly because he had been locked in a cell for so long, unable to move around the prison compound. But as I dug deeper, I found out, to my astonishment, that Dave was actually raised as a Catholic. Not only that, but he had received all three Rites of Initiation! I immediately began to ask him question after question and learned a lot more about him and his faith journey. Of the many things I discovered, one really stood out. To this very day, Dave has had a fascination with the Catholic knights of old. Because of that, the favorite church he had ever attended was a Catholic church that was round in shape, reminiscent of the Knights Templar churches. I could sense through this fascination that there was still some interest in the Church, even if it was just a small one. Talking to Dave about a possible return to his roots was not as promising, however. Let me be clear—he was never rude or aggressive, but he didn't seem to have any desire for the Sacraments. He was resigned to his habits, and they didn't include Catholicism, and unfortunately, the Church had all but forgotten about him. A Glimmer of Hope As the months went on, Dave would ask little questions about the Church. Nothing big, just showing a bit more interest as time ticked by. Of course, I didn't want to make him feel pressured, so I patiently and prayerfully continued my mission to bring him back to the Church. I could sense that there was more of a glimmer of hope than before and I would sometimes say to him: "You know Dave, the Church could really use someone like you in this broken world." He never would answer me, only musing over my words silently, but for Dave, a lot is said in his silence. A few weeks ago, a group of Catholic deacons came to visit with us in our cells. They brought Communion for Catholics, and literature for everyone, and went from cell to cell asking if people would like to pray with them. Sometime after they left, Dave came to my cell and told me about how one of the men had surprised him because they spoke about a particular round shaped church the man was a parishioner of. This happened to be the very same one Dave had gone to as a kid. He said the man had told him he hoped to see him there one day. The next thing Dave told me was a big surprise: "You know, I've been thinking about it, and I might like to go back to the Catholic Church." I was dumbfounded. I'd been waiting for this type of interest for literally three years, and I knew it was possible it would never come. I’d prayed for it time and again. I didn't know what to say. After a prolonged silence, I asked him: "Would you be interested in receiving Communion again?" He said he was. The Open Door At 15, Dave was charged as an adult and sentenced to life in prison. He is now 48. When he went to prison as a mere child, he tried to fit into a world of adult criminals. There's been plenty of violence and bloodshed in his story. Most people who go down his road are so jaded in the end that it seems nothing can bring them back, but now, Dave was interested. Praise God! Last week, Dave received Communion for the first time in 33 years. He had never once received Jesus in prison, though it had been available all the time. He had been forgotten in the system. Due to the impossibility of receiving the Sacrament of Reconciliation, he did not go to Confession first but was allowed to receive Communion circumstantially. He is in a maximum-security cell block and has the highest security risk rating, so they have trouble allowing a priest to visit one-on-one. So, he made a thorough examination of conscience and an act of contrition and will make a Confession at the first opportunity. Never Forgotten There are innumerable forgotten people all over the world. There are men, women, and even children in your own community who need someone to just be a friend and share their love and the faith Christ has given us in His Church. Let's continue to spread the Good News. If you have been away from the Church and Her life-giving Sacraments, there is an open invitation for healing starting with the Sacrament of Reconciliation. The first step back into fellowship with God and His Church is confessing our sins, but remember, while we are certainly confessing our sins to God, even more so, God is using this time to confess to us in a very special way, His forgiveness and love. Nothing is too big to be forgiven, and nothing is too great to stand in the way of God's healing; the door is always open to forgiveness and mercy. Contact a local church or parish priest and make plans to attend the next scheduled Sacrament of Reconciliation. Be sure to show up a little early in case others are waiting as well. You'll be glad you've made this step, and the Angels and Saints in Heaven will rejoice at your homecoming.

I was so busy teaching my kids all about faith, that I forgot this integral lesson… “Wait! Don’t forget the Holy Water!” My six-year-old had decided he was ready to lead bedtime prayers by himself. Shaking the bottle of Holy Water—in case the ‘holy’ had sunk to the bottom—he blessed us and began: “God, we love You. You are good. You love us. You even love bad guys. We thank you, God. Amen.” My stunned silence filled the room. This simple prayer touched my heart deeply. My son had just shown me how to pray with the simplicity of a child of God. As a parent, sometimes it’s hard for me to step out of my ‘grown-up’ mindset. I spend a lot of energy trying to help my kids form good habits and grow in the faith, but often I lose sight of what my kids teach me about loving Jesus. When my son mustered courage and prayed aloud, he reminded me that simple, spontaneous prayer is important in my daily relationship with Christ. He taught me that, despite feeling unsure or clumsy, my prayers still please the Lord. A Real Challenge As adults, the swirling complexities of family life, schedules, and work responsibilities often consume us and make it difficult to simply talk with the Lord. Saint Teresa of Calcutta understood this real challenge and gave some advice to her own Missionary of Charity sisters: “How do you pray? You should go to God like a little child. A child has no difficulty in expressing his little mind in words, but they express so much … Become as a little child.” Jesus Himself showed us the importance of learning from children: “He called a little child to Him, and placed the child among them. And He said: ‘Truly I tell you, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of Heaven. Therefore, whoever takes the lowly position of this child is the greatest in the kingdom of Heaven.’” (Matthew 18:2-4) How can you and I learn to pray like a child? First, ask God for courage and humility, and invite the Holy Spirit to guide you. Next, find a quiet place away from noise and technology. Begin your prayer with the sign of the Cross and your favorite devotional name for God. I have found in conversation that using someone’s name deepens connection. (The Hebrew name for Jesus–Yeshua–means ‘the Lord is salvation’ so if you are not sure which name to use, go simple. “Jesus” will do!) Securing a Direct Line Now, it’s time to talk with the Lord. Pray out loud, spontaneously, and tell God whatever comes to your mind—even tell Him if you feel awkward or distracted. Still unsure where to start? Thank God for something, ask Him to transform your heart and pray for someone by name. Do your best and be patient with yourself. Your willingness to discover the simplicity of child-like prayer pleases the Lord very much. God delights in His children! So, embrace the invitation to learn from your children. Together you can learn to enter into a deeper relationship with Christ. Pray for courage and humility as you learn to talk with the Lord. Be intentional, and you will discover the joy and simplicity of praying as a child of God!

Silence is difficult even for adults, so imagine my surprise when I was instructed to train kids in that language! Catechesis of the Good Shepherd (CGS) is a Catholic catechetical model developed by Sofia Cavalletti in the 1950s, which incorporates Montessori education principles. One of the pioneering aspects of Dr. Maria Montessori’s work was her cultivation of times of silence for her children. In Dr. Montessori’s Own Handbook, she explains: “When the children have become acquainted with silence … (they) go on to perfect themselves; they walk lightly, take care not to knock against the furniture, move their chairs without noise, and place things upon the table with great care … These children are serving their spirits.” Each Sunday morning, anywhere between ten and twenty children, aged between three to six, gather in our atrium for catechesis. In CGS, we say ‘atrium’ rather than a classroom because an atrium is a place for community life, prayerful work, and conversation with God. During our time together, we make time for silence. The silence is not stumbled upon but purposefully made. It is also not a tool for control when things get noisy; it is regularly prepared for. This is what I have especially learned from these children. True silence is a choice. Practise Makes Perfect In the CGS atrium, we speak about ‘making silence.’ We don’t find it, we aren’t surprised by it. With a regular routine, with intention and attentiveness, we make silence. I didn’t realize how little silence was in my life until I was asked to purposefully make silence each week. This is not for a long time, only fifteen seconds to a minute, two at the most. But in that brief period, my entire focus and goal was making my whole self to be still and silent. There are moments in my everyday routine where I might encounter a period of quiet, but the silence itself was not the goal of the moment. I may be driving in the car alone, perhaps a few minutes of quiet while my children read or are otherwise occupied in another area of the house. After reflecting on the practice of making silence, I have begun distinguishing between ‘found quiet’ and ‘made silence.’ Making silence is a practice. It involves not only pausing one’s speech but also one’s body. I am sitting in silence as I type these words, but my mind and body are not still. Perhaps you are sitting in silence while you read this article. But even the act of reading negates the making of silence. We live in a very busy world. Background noise abounds even when we are at home. We have timers, televisions, reminders, music, vehicle noise, air conditioning units, and doors opening and closing. While it would be lovely to be able to enclose ourselves in a soundproof room to practice making silence in the utmost quiet, most of us do not have such a place available. This does not mean we cannot make authentic silence. Making silence is about quieting ourselves more than insisting on quiet in our environment. The Art of Listening Making silence provides the opportunity to listen to the world around you. By stilling our body, stilling our words, and as best we can, stilling our minds, we are able to listen with greater attentiveness to the world around us. At home, we more readily hear the air conditioning unit working, which gives us the opportunity to be thankful for its cooling breeze. When outdoors, we hear the wind rustle the leaves of the trees or can appreciate more fully the birdsong around us. Making silence is not about the absence of other sounds, but about discovering silence and stillness within your own self. As people of faith, making silence also means listening with the ears of our hearts for the whispering of the Holy Spirit. In the atrium, every so often, the lead catechist will ask the children what they heard in the silence. Some will answer with the things one might expect. “I heard the door close.” “I heard a truck drive by.” Sometimes, however, they astonish me. “I heard Jesus say I love you.” “I heard the Good Shepherd.” We can learn a great deal from making silence. Practically speaking, we learn self-control and patience. But even more importantly, we learn to rest in the beauty of the truth of Psalm 46:10, “Be still and know that I am God.”