The final weeks of Advent are about joy, power and majesty—all appearances to the contrary notwithstanding.

On the third Sunday our church puts aside the priest’s purple vestments with their penitential flavor; instead priests don rose-colored chasubles to remind us of the joy that will soon be ours. It is called Gaudete Sunday, from a Latin word meaning “Rejoice!” We are supposed to feel good because Christmas is less than two weeks away.

But can we rejoice when so many things are going wrong? Our economy is in such frightening trouble that countries around the world feel its impact. Unemployment is high and threatens to go higher. Millions go without health insurance. Many families find themselves one paycheck away from welfare. The looming clouds of terrorism never go away, even though we are so angry at one another that we barely have the time or energy to notice. Our country’s leaders face daunting tasks of reconciliation and protection. And some of us have personal problems that wear us down and will not go away either. When we look squarely at all these troubles, how are we supposed to rejoice?

Well, “Gaudete” does not simply mean “cheer up.” When Paul tells us to “rejoice always, in all circumstances give thanks,” he is not just telling us to lighten up. This is not about mere cheerfulness, looking on the bright side of things. Paul is not speaking about the joy of the lighthearted and carefree, but about a deep-down joy at the core of our being. There have been times when, no matter how many things were going wrong, we have been basically at peace with ourselves and with our lives. We have not lost sight of what we know by faith: that God is a loving parent who cares and watches over us. We are going to be reminded of this at Christmas, when we recall that God sent his only Son, of whom Isaiah foretold, “The Lord has anointed me; he has sent me to bring glad tidings to the poor, to heal the broken hearted, to proclaim a day of vindication by our God” (Is 61:1).

From then on, whatever life throws at us, Jesus has been there, for the highs and the lows. Have you experienced the joy of success and a feeling of accomplishment? Jesus knows the feeling. Do you ever feel lonely or depressed or misunderstood? Jesus says, “Hey, I know what it’s like.” Have you known confusion or disappointment or failure? So has he. The Word was made flesh and pitched his tent among us. From now on, we are never alone.

In the readings for the last days of Advent, the church speaks not only of consolation but also of power and majesty. The Lord assures King David that his kingdom will endure forever. The angel tells Mary that her son will inherit David’s throne and that his kingdom will have no end. What is the power that these people are talking about?

David ruled over a third-rate power in the Middle East. The descendant who would inherit David’s throne was raised by a carpenter and a peasant woman; he spent a few years as a traveling preacher and was executed as a criminal. When John the Baptist announced his coming, Tiberius was emperor, Pilate was procurator, Herod was tetrarch and Annas and Caiaphas were high priests. These were the dangerous, important men who held power. And who were the opposition? Two obscure preachers from up north. Could the odds have been any worse?

Yet look what happened. Talk about upsets! The Caesars and procurators and tetrarchs and high priests are gone, and they left no mark. Down through the centuries, great nations have risen and fallen. Who has survived? Whose voice endures?

The impact of Jesus on hearts and minds has never waned. He continues to influence every corner of the world. He inspires fidelity, conviction, courage, generosity, forgiveness and mercy. Men and women have dedicated their lives to spreading his message and living by his ideals. His divine majesty is expressed in impressive and enduring cathedrals. He is celebrated in art as well; the most beautiful Christmas cards you receive reproduce great paintings that portray the mother and child of Bethlehem. And the soaring notes of Handel’s “Messiah” add to the symphony of celebration. This is power. This is majesty.

We cannot make light of the dangers and disasters that afflict us today, but we must not let them defeat us, either; we must not give in to despair. Beneath all the glitter and warmth of this festive season, a profound mystery is at work. Yet it can be perceived only with the eyes of faith. We look in the crib and see a God who loves us, not from a distance, but in our very midst, as one of us.

One of the most prominent figures in the religious drama that plays out during the run- up to the birth of Christ is John the Baptist. The Advent liturgy is replete with accounts of the sayings and actions of this prophet, the most powerful preacher of his day. He was a colorful figure who looked like someone who lived mostly outdoors and survived on a limited diet. He held no regular job in the synagogue, but conducted an open-air church on the banks of the Jordan River that drew crowds of people from all walks of life. They came away feeling inspired and challenged, and if we listen to him the same thing could happen to us.

John’s message was simple: “The Messiah is coming, and we have to get ready for him.” John proclaimed the coming of Christ in the words of Isaiah the prophet: “Make ready the way of the Lord” (Is 40:1); “all mankind shall see the salvation of God!” (52:10). The religious leaders in the synagogue were supposed to help prepare the Jewish people for God’s anointed, but the people who came down to the river had long since given up on them. The word had gotten around: Listen to this man John. He knows what he is talking about. He does not settle for pious platitudes or legalistic scolding. He is tuned in to God, and he has a program that is going somewhere.

Unlike some charismatic preachers of our own day, John did not settle for an hour of preaching that charged up the congregation for a while but never got down to the nitty-gritty. John told them that a lot had to be done; they had to get their lives in order. He did not settle for generalities, either. When the people asked him what they should do, he said, “If you have two shirts, give one to the man who has none.” To those social outcasts, the tax collectors, he said, “Don’t collect more than your fixed rate.” When even soldiers came looking for advice, he told them to stop bullying people, not make false charges, be content with their pay and not fatten up their paycheck.

Not everyone who came down to the riverbank was looking for help. Some members of the religious establishment stayed in silent hostility on the fringe of the crowd, checking out this religious maverick. John really let them have it: he called them a “brood of vipers.” (That must have cut down on the collection when they passed the hat around.) He was not out to make friends or soothe his hearers; he had come to tell it like it was and call them to account. The coming of Jesus Christ would be good news if you were good; if you were bad, you had better shape up because time was running out.

And he did not settle for words. John’s ritual was dramatic: confess your sins, walk into the river, be submerged and come back up ready for a whole new life. It was not supposed to be just a harmless bit of religious formalism. It was the beginning of a journey, and they had a long way to go. In the words of Isaiah, “Make straight a highway for our God! Every valley shall be filled, every mountain and hill shall be made low” (Is 40:3-4).

We all have valleys and hills in our lives. On the road to Christmas, Jesus wants us to prepare for his coming by filling those valleys and clearing those hills. Some of the valleys are called laziness, selfishness and irresponsibility. Some of the hills are called addictions, cheating, dishonesty and taking advantage of others. And those are just samples. (For further research, check out the Ten Commandments.) We have to face up to our faults and failings, admit them to ourselves and to God, and try to do something about them. That’s being honest. It can be very difficult sometimes, but we are not alone. God, in the person of Jesus Christ, is on the way to help us.

John was a great preacher, not because he had a new doctrine or a new approach, but because he told people what they knew deep down in their hearts. Some were so moved by him that they thought John might be the Messiah. But he told them it was not about him but about someone far greater than they could imagine. John’s ritual of immersing in water was powerful, but it was nothing compared to what was to come—baptism in the Holy Spirit.

As the kids say in the back seat, “Are we there yet?” No, but the end of the highway is coming up soon. Advent, the time for preparing to celebrate the birth of Christ, is passing swiftly. If you want to move beyond shopping lists in getting ready for the great event, listen to John the Baptist.

Advent is the start of a new church year, but it does not feel as if a new year is beginning. The calendar New Year is still a month away, and schools opened three months ago. But then we remember what Advent is all about: preparing to celebrate the coming of God among us in the person of Jesus Christ. In a few weeks we will celebrate the birth 2,000 years ago of our Savior.

In the Gospel reading for the First Sunday of Advent, what does Jesus say? “Be watchful! Be alert! You do not know when the time will come.” It sounds painfully appropriate today during this frightening fiscal crisis, when the whole country from big-time executives to Main Street investors is looking back at the recent past, wondering why people were not more responsible and careful, why they did not see the meltdown coming. Two years after the terrorist attacks of Sept. 11, 2001, a Congressional committee described how we had failed to be alert and missed signals of impending doom. And like a committee of one, we look back on times in our own lives when we failed to heed a warning or missed an opportunity, and we say to ourselves, “I should have seen it coming.”

I have said this to myself many times lately when I look back on a recent accident that would not have happened to me if I had simply been more careful in the way I moved about in my room. It turned out that the route between my easy chair and my phone, for all its apparently harmless, prosaic comfort, was actually fraught with danger. I ignored it and paid a heavy price—a broken hip and six weeks in a hospital and a wheelchair. It all comes back to me when I read this Gospel passage where Jesus says, “Be watchful! Be alert!”

Advent is not just a time for regret, however, for looking back on mistakes and missed opportunities. It is about the future. Jesus tells us to be alert because “you do not know when the lord of the house is coming.” He is talking not just about preparing for the hour of our death, when we will have to give God an accounting of our lives. He is talking about the Lord’s coming that can happen in many ways at any time. We are preparing to celebrate Christmas, when he came to us in a very special way. It is a good time to stand back and take a fresh look at ourselves. Is there something missing? Is there something that does not belong? Is there someone out there waiting for us to do the right thing at the right time, before time runs out?

In telling us to be watchful and alert, Jesus is not just warning us to avoid danger. He is urging us not to miss opportunities for goodness that may come our way. In the next few weeks before Christmas, our society will experience an extraordinary, temporary transformation. People of all faiths and no faith will be reaching out to one another, renewing friendships, bonding with family, sharing blessings and trying to help the poor and suffering. It is not all as good as it could be, and there will be frequent calls to get beyond frantic shopping sprees and “put Christ back in Christmas.” Some of our most generous instincts will be exploited and debased by the tireless promoters of conspicuous consumption. Despite all those imperfections, many good things will be happening, and we can be part of it. But we have to be perceptive and alert.

God will try to come to each of us in many ways during the next few weeks. God may remind me of someone who used to be my friend until that ugly quarrel took place a few months or years ago. Would this be a good time to forgive, or at least bury the hatchet? As I run through my address book and decide to whom I will send Christmas cards or gifts, I come across a relative who lives in a nursing home and would welcome a visit much more than a card. Should I fit her into my schedule? A survey of my closet turns up several items of clothing that I never wear. Should I contribute them to a collection for the poor? And so on.

These are not earthshaking inspirations, but they are the stuff of goodness that comes through God’s gentle nudging. If we are watchful and alert to grace, we will help to celebrate the coming of Christ not just as something wonderful that happened a long time ago, but as something that is going on here and now.

Future generations of Catholics could call our era “the bad old days.” Or they might look back on this troubled chapter of church history and conclude that while Catholic adults suffered from many religious ailments, apathy about handing on the faith, at least, was not one of them. As evidence they can point to a healthy movement, going on right now, to address the troubling religious illiteracy of our young people. Why are teenagers so ignorant of the faith into which they were born and so uninvolved in the life of the Catholic community? Specifically, what can Catholic schools do to contribute to understanding, engagement and vitality among a generation that seems to be slipping away from us? To find the answers, we will have to address a whole other list of questions: What should we be offering students, both Catholic and not Catholic? What would we consider success in religious nurture and development? What can we realistically hope to achieve? What of the religious dimension of the whole school? What are our limitations? Can they be overcome? How?

Go for the Gold

A good way to start is by thinking of the process of religious education as a contest in which medals are awarded in recognition of different levels of achievement. Students come to us from different religious backgrounds and with various levels of religious receptivity. Think of our success in reaching them as deserving of gold, silver and bronze medals.

Gold. In working with Catholic students, the highest achievement is turning out well-informed, convinced young believers who identify with the faith community and participate in the sacramental life of the church. Besides being well informed and observant, they aspire to a life influenced by Christian values. This includes moral sensitivity and a developing social conscience.

For non-Catholic students, the goals are necessarily different. One is that they take seriously the religious dimension of life. The school’s religious instruction and activities support and encourage commitment to their own religious tradition. They have an understanding and appreciation of the religious traditions and points of view of the Catholic community. They show signs of growth in moral maturity and practice.

Silver. Although not convinced of or practicing their faith, students are religiously literate. They know what well-informed Catholics and other Christians believe and stand for, and why it is important to them. All students should know what authentic religion is, though they do not feel ready to take an active part. They want to lead morally responsible lives.

Bronze. Students are unresponsive to religious insights or concerns and have a basically secular outlook on life. Yet they take moral questions seriously, care about justice and are learning how to form their conscience. They recognize the impoverishment of much of what passes for moral discourse in society at large. They are building resistance to materialism and consumerism, and they aspire to something better.

The descriptions above overlap and blend into one another. They are not exhaustive, but may help us form realistic expectations and assessments of our efforts at religious instruction and formation. We must always go for the gold. When we fall short, we must acknowledge it as a failure, even if no one is to blame.

Educational Consumerism

Some might call this description “not-so-great expectations,” but let’s be realistic. More and more of the young people who enroll in Catholic schools come for reasons other than religious development. Research has shown repeatedly that the religious illiteracy and tepidity of the young are usually a reflection of their parents’ spiritual mediocrity. Often parental motivation in seeking a Catholic school education for their children has little or nothing to do with religion or even learning itself. And for many students, education is not about exploring and questioning, enjoying learning and taking pride and satisfaction in accomplishments. It is about getting good marks, excelling in sports, padding college applications and cheating compulsively in desperation to gain admission to colleges that guarantee success. It’s not what you know, but how high up you go.

This is education’s peculiar brand of consumerism, where the product must be purchased at any cost, including the loss of honesty, integrity, curiosity and culture. Education is not about becoming a cultivated human being, but about getting what you need in order to elbow a place at the common trough of conspicuous consumption. Most disturbing of all, many parents buy uncritically into much of this scramble for upward mobility. The school’s faculty and administration may have problems, too. They may be tempted to measure the school’s success solely by which colleges their graduates attend, not by what kinds of persons they become. In such an environment, religious formation can hardly be expected to exert much impact.

These are daunting obstacles to everyone committed to educating young people for a living faith. They do not condemn us to failure; but if we do not confront them honestly, we will be tempted to settle for a bland kind of religious identity that employs the terminology of traditional Catholic institutions but does little to implement its ideals.

Aiming Higher

How can we overcome these limitations? What should we offer students in religion classes and campus ministry? What kind of support do such activities need from the whole scholastic environment within which they operate?

The content and style of religious instruction have gone through many stages in the last 50 years. We went from rote catechism recitation to the “balloon books” of the 1960s and ’70s that replaced the plastic Jesus with the friendly Jesus, whose main job was to assure all that God does not make junk and to shore up their positive self-image by telling them that God loved them just the way they were and would not want them to change a thing. Fear was out, love was in, and both were soon replaced by boredom. The transcendent God who offers answers to questions of ultimate meaning yielded to a benevolent deity who provoked mostly yawns from youngsters who got tired of being told to be nice to one another.

Into this theological rice paddy strode the alarmed bishops, who tried to restore order by making lists of doctrines and teachings and pointing out errors and inaccuracies. This brought some clarity to the enterprise, though not without some of the usual authoritarian stifling of creativity. But it left undone the task that only educators themselves can accomplish (outside of the home)—teachers must start from a sophisticated sensitivity to the psychological needs and capacities of the young, then offer them a presentation of the Christian message that is not only orthodox but also challenging and inspirational. Don’t play catechetical “Jeopardy.” Instead, help students ask religious questions before offering them the answers to the deepest questions we can put to human life. Young people, growing up in a dominant culture that discourages serious religious searching, need a lot of help. If the questions do not mean anything to them, why should the answers?

Creative Tension

While exploring religious questions with young people, teachers must preserve a creative tension among some basic aspects of Christian belief and practice. God must be presented not only as creator, lord and judge, but also as friend, lover and companion. Jesus must be presented not only as comforting and affirming, but also as challenging and demanding. Christian living must be presented as involving both the carrying of the cross and the sharing in the joy of the risen Christ. One-sided emphases in these areas tend to produce religious styles that are either grim or flabby.

This creative tension has a particular relevance in campus ministry, especially in the conduct of retreats. In the years preceding the Second Vatican Council, most retreats were characterized by an individual kind of piety that stressed acknowledging guilt and seeking conversion, especially through the sacrament of confession. The years following the council saw a healthy, new stress on the communitarian dimensions of prayer and celebration. Several different forms of group retreats evolved that did much to improve the quality of personal relationships among the participants, often affecting positively the life of the school. Some of these retreats, which inspire a vibrant fervor and quiet enthusiasm, are still among the best things happening in Catholic schools.

Retreats present educators with the challenge of maintaining a creative tension. The communitarian, face-to-face experiences of interpersonal relating can sometimes become so effectively horizontal that the vertical dimension of religious discourse all but disappears. God-talk can lose its place, and after a while it is all about us and not about God. Students can begin to look on retreats simply as an experience of making friends. How about making friends with and getting close to God? One possible indication of progress on that point is whether students go to Mass where the congregation is not made up of their peers.

Another part of school life that can enhance the Catholic dimension is the program of service projects in which students serve the poor and the needy. This is one of the positive developments that arose in the postconciliar era. Faith became a matter not just of words but also of deeds, and much good continues to be done by and for the young. But even here a word of caution is in order. What exactly does “Christian service” mean to the girls and boys involved? Does it mean any more to them than it does to their peers in public schools? Of course, good deeds have a value of their own, but here we are considering formal education. Catholic school students need to engage in guided reflection on the meaning of their service, or they may simply be engaging in secular humanism without any faith dimension. That does much for others, but it could do more for the students. Service becomes a learning experience when students reflect on the sources of people’s neediness. Does the need come from unjust social structures and insensitive public policies?

Confronting the Culture

All these efforts at promoting a living faith must be complemented by a hard look at opposing aspects of the surrounding culture. Help young people to be “culture smart”—make them intentionally aware of the contradictions and tensions between mass culture and what the school stands for; offer them a level of sophistication not available elsewhere; help them recognize those elements of the dominant culture that seek to manipulate them. Consumerism is not just about buying things. It is a whole worldview, a way of perceiving and dealing with reality. It defines the human person in terms of material things owned and consumed. Explain how advertising, the machine that powers consumerism, plays on our fear of not being loved, and then promises us that we will be loved if we buy something.

Speak frankly about one of the greatest obstacles to conversion and moral sensitivity: comfort. People who are comfortable don’t want to hear criticism of the status quo. They label as “do-gooders” or “bleeding hearts” or “fuzzy liberals” anyone who has the temerity to suggest that this is not the best of all possible worlds. Clearly offer an alternative vision of life, one that is designed not to soothe students but to wake them up.

Some people equate serious religious education with dogmatism and the restriction of intellectual freedom. But education for a living faith, as proposed here, is just the opposite. It promotes critical intelligence and rational commitment. The best weapon against mindless herd behavior is the human mind. Don’t just teach kids how to make Web sites; teach them how to think. Encourage them to ask questions and demand explanations. At a time when critical thinking is discouraged in both church and state, employ one of the most underused words in education: why. Why can’t this country provide health insurance for its citizens, when many other countries do? Why are we the last industrialized country to resort to capital punishment? Why can’t women be priests? Why are Americans divided on issues like abortion and assisted suicide? Many of us came to adulthood after years of schooling. We learned all kinds of skills except how to raise our hands and ask “Why? How do we know that?” It is time to break new ground, but watch out. If you let students ask questions, you had better know the answers.

A Pervasive Environment

Teachers, campus ministers and service program directors are the adults who explicitly carry the school’s religious dimension. But can they do it all by themselves? There is a temptation, already yielded to by many Catholic school communities, to do just that. We have all heard the argument: “Who ever heard of Catholic math?” But it doesn’t work that way. Older Catholic school graduates who speak positively of the religious formation they received, look back on it as something they absorbed throughout the school day. Subjects like history, English and social studies had a Catholic flavor that was pervasive without being intrusive. They were encouraged to see Christianity as a distinctive way of life, and they got the impression that the adults around them had bought into it. Today, if faculty members and administrators are not Catholic or not interested in the religious dimension of the school, the term “Catholic atmosphere” can become little more than a vague abstraction.

And the most important adults—the parents—must be addressed, too. They may be the hardest to reach, but we have to try. Parents-night activities, which usually involve questions of scholastic achievement and college placement, could make a little room for discussing levels of religious involvement and development.

The “bad times” are not going to go away very soon, but we can nudge our young people along a day at a time. And one of the best ways is by making an investment in the future they represent in our Catholic schools and communities. How? By going for the gold. Stop tiptoeing around issues and impress upon students the difference between cultural Catholicism and the real thing. Tell them that being a genuine Catholic includes free and committed participation in the life of a believing and worshiping community. Those who accept it will contribute to a newly vibrant church. Those who leave the church will at least know what it is that they have left.

Most Catholics love to argue. Once you get past the Apostles’ Creed, there are very few things all will agree on. One is that they want to hear good homilies. Unfortunately, Catholics are often disappointed. Here, then, are a few suggestions for preachers, to help them feed the flock of Christ without leaving the people hungry or suffering from religious indigestion.
Don’t try tosay too much. There are cultures and places in the world where congregations love long sermons, but in the United States our Catholic culture is not one of them. Don’t be rambling or repetitive. Rather, be economical. Use phrases and sentences not to fill up space but to make your point. Of course, such economy of language calls for a certain discipline. Composing short, effective homilies requires much more focused preparation than diffuse discourse. When you take your place in the pulpit, keep in mind what people hope for: that you will say something helpful, and that you will do it in a manner that is brief, clear and to the point. They don’t want you to say a lot. They do hope that what you say matters, that it touches them and their concerns.

Don’t be predictable. Some preachers fall into certain patterns. When Father Smith is on, they know they’re going to be cheered up. When Father Jones appears, they expect to be scolded. Father Mulcahy sounds pretty much the same every week, no matter what the subject.

Jesus of Nazareth, however, was far from predictable. Sometimes he comforted his hearers and gave them encouragement. Another day he took time to explain things about God and what God expected of them. There were times when he criticized, and times when he inspired. He lashed out at hypocrisy and called it by name. He made people think about problems they would rather ignore, like what we’re going to do about the poor and abandoned. Jesus was anything but conventional. His hearers never knew what was coming. After a while they expected to be surprised, which may be part of the reason they turned up in such large numbers, and why they stuck around.

It’s not so hard to be unpredictable. If your homily is based on the readings of the day—if you try to get across what Jesus is driving at—you won’t come across as a broken record. The Gospel is full of surprises, if you pay attention and tease out the implications of what Jesus is saying for all of us here and now. His message is not a list of boring, pious bromides. It exposes hypocrisy, opens up horizons and challenges the harmless platitudes that go into the making of pedestrian, conventional religiosity. You can do the same if you connect the dots between what Jesus is saying and what is going on in today’s world and in the lives of those who are watching and listening.

Don’t bore. As far as we know, Jesus’ listeners were never bored. Why? Not just because Jesus was a great speaker and an unparalleled storyteller. He also had a feel for what was going on around him and in his hearers’ hearts and minds, and he used his skills to reach his listeners. We can never expect to equal Jesus’ eloquence, but there is no excuse for our being boring.

Why are so many of the faithful, no matter how attentive or receptive they are in church, bored out of their skulls? Some people just have uninteresting personalities, including some preachers. Sometimes preachers don’t have much to say. Others, however, do have something important to offer, but don’t know how to do it.

That’s the bad news. The good news is that any minister of the Gospel who brings conviction, zeal and energy to the pulpit can positively affect those who are listening. But certain skills are necessary, skills that can be developed.

We may not be able to tell stories as well as Jesus did, but we can avoid stringing abstract ideas together, and we can try to be as concrete as possible. A good story well told goes a long way. And stories don’t have to be fictitious. Real-life occurrences can bring a message to life, especially experiences of your own. Tell the congregation things that have happened to you, events that have changed your life, things you’re glad you did or wish that you had done differently.

Don’t be afraid to shake up your congregation once in a while. If you are really preaching the Gospel, controversy is inevitable. Years ago a nationally famous, controversial priest said that if no one walked out on him he felt that his sermon had been a failure. Allowing for the hyperbole, you must admit that he was making a good point. I’m not advocating controversy for its own sake or being deliberately divisive. But from time to time we preachers should make some of our hearers sit up straight and wonder, Hey, did you hear that? Or at least, Gosh, I never thought of it that way.

Don’t try to do all of this by yourself. Even if you are experienced and well informed about Scripture and theology, you can’t go from week to week and month to month without enlisting the help of others to expand your insight and grasp of the material at hand. Consult books that offer commentary on the more difficult biblical passage and periodicals with suggestions to help preachers. The best ones don’t try to write your sermon for you, but tell you things about the passages that stimulate your own creative development. Use the ones that you find personally helpful. Or you might try something I learned from a parish priest in Belgium many years ago. He and priests from three other parishes set aside two hours every Monday morning to discuss the readings in the next Sunday’s liturgy. They shared questions and insights. Each came away with ideas worth developing and expressing in his own way. They found that four heads were better than one.

Be very brief on weekdays. Weekend liturgies are not the only times that priests are expected to offer prayerful reflection and commentary. What about Masses on weekday mornings and during lunch hour? In the pews sit hardworking people who devote a precious portion of their crowded day to prayer and spiritual sustenance. Celebrating the Eucharist for them presents a challenge for the priest who wants to proclaim the word. They expect and hope to hear a helpful commentary on the readings, but their time is limited and they must get off to work. Any minister who takes preaching seriously knows how difficult it can be to say something meaningful in a few words. It takes prayerful thought and preparation to do justice to the readings in two or three sentences that are not just brief but right on target. I’m not referring here to throwaway lines but rather to compressed wisdom.

This plea for a one-minute commentary requires applying the same principle that works for weekend homilies. We are a busy people with never quite enough time to do all the things we must, so we would like our priests to say something worth hearing and to say it clearly, distinctly, and with reverent dispatch. Such seed is much less likely to fall on stony ground.

This kind of preaching, especially at the weekday Masses, demands not only religious insight and rhetorical skill but also self-discipline. When we ministers reflect on readings that are rich in inspiration, we find ourselves wanting to offer more than one good thought. That’s the time to remind ourselves that the liturgy is not about us but about the people we serve. A morning or lunchtime Mass is for busy people who don’t have time to listen to stories or drawn-out anecdotes or theological elaboration. Say one thing, say it briefly, and move on. Leave the rest to the Holy Spirit.

Shakespeare was right: brevity is the soul of wit. The homilist who is still not convinced labors under the misapprehension that richness of content and brevity of expression are somehow incompatible. Not only are they not opposed; they actually reinforce each other. Abraham Lincoln found that out when he delivered the Gettysburg Address. Some of Jesus’ best parables are his shortest. On a more prosaic level, so are those catchy commercials that grab your attention in the blink of an eye and stay with you until you flash your credit card. And on a more elevated level, we are reminded of what Jesus told the apostles at the Last Supper in a slightly different context: “I have many things to tell you, but you cannot bear them now.”

Thanks Be to God

Preaching in many Catholic churches these days leaves much to be desired. If a preacher finds these suggestions helpful and puts one or two into practice, the result would be taking a step toward meeting a real need. Let’s give our people something to take home, preferably in a small package. Then at the end of Mass, when the priest or deacon says, “The Mass is ended, go in peace,” and the people say “Thanks be to God,” they will be expressing gratitude, not “Thank God it’s over!”

In the sacristy after Mass, a woman told me that she was very disturbed by something I had said during my brief homily. I was commenting on the Gospel reading in which Jesus says that the fields are white for the harvest and that we should pray that the Lord sends workers into the fields. I observed that there were two possible reasons for the alarming shortage of priests: 1) God is calling people, but they are not responding, or 2) there are people who feel called but are not accepted, such as women and married men. I then asked: “Are such people called? Only God knows for sure. So let’s pray that we listen to the Spirit.”

The parishioner (I’ll call her Virginia) objected to my bringing up the possibility of women being called to the priesthood, because Rome has pronounced any discussion of the issue as out of bounds. I replied that I was aware of this; but since I have yet to hear any personally convincing arguments against women’s ordination, I continue to wonder. And it was this very wondering that offended her! How could I, a priest, have any reservations when authority has spoken? And worse still, how could I even intimate such reservations from the altar?

Any attempt to explain my thinking was, of course, futile. Such a conversation was doomed from the outset and destined to go downhill, which it did. For this dispute was not just about women’s ordination but about something much more basic. It goes to the very heart of what it means to be a Catholic, and it sheds light on the divisions that presently trouble the church and threaten to tear it apart. Virginia and I are like two ships passing in the night, and we both have millions of companions on our respective vessels that seem to be drifting farther and farther apart.

It would be well to point out, at the outset, that we are not disagreeing about some article of the Creed or other basic dogma. As in other derivative issues, like artificial birth control, capital punishment and end-of-life care, the substance of the faith is not at stake. These questions are important but must be kept in perspective. And there should be room for serious adult Catholics to reflect, question and debate such issues without reading one another out of the church. This is not to say that one opinion is as good as another, or that sincerity is all that matters. We’re talking here about a search for truth. The question is, how should we search for the truth?

For Virginia, the answer is simple. Listen to those in authority, especially the pope and those around him, whose judgments are final and not subject to review. The reasons they give for their decisions are irrelevant; the only thing that matters is the source. Her attitude is based on genuine faith in the vicar of Christ, confident that any pronouncement emanating from the Vatican comes from God. Any attempt to question its validity is tantamount to a rejection of the faith. But for me, and others like me, there is a problem. We have these little gray cells that persist in working even after respected authority speaks. We can’t seem to turn these cells off, and we tend to wonder, to question, to speculate, to evaluate, to criticize. In short, we can’t help thinking; and if those of us who are priests think out loud, Virginia and her friends are scandalized. She thinks our job is to tell people when to stop thinking, instead of giving bad example and continuing to speak when we have all presumably heard the last word.

In the final analysis, it’s all about loyalty. How can you refuse to give unquestioning assent and still call yourself a loyal member of the church? Isn’t the very notion of loyal opposition a contradiction in terms? It depends. I question the wisdom of some church policies and disagree with some decisions, but I do not leave the church. I work within the community of believers, accepting and obeying regulations and procedures even as I try to do my little bit, preaching and teaching and writing, to change them by appealing to minds and hearts. I know enough church history to realize that down the centuries, fallible church leaders have made mistakes and pursued misguided policies, many of which have in time been corrected with the help of the Holy Spirit. I am often annoyed, sometimes disappointed and occasionally angry, but I try not to lose patience and I keep the faith. And there are millions more like me.

If these divisions among Catholics were found only in the pews, it would be bad enough. But they go all the way up through the clergy and the episcopacy. Everyone knows that there are litmus tests to be passed before priests can become bishops or bishops become cardinals. And there is a disturbing development going on in the seminaries and among the priests themselves. Many of the younger clergy find their identity in professing unquestioning assent to authority, and they explicitly differentiate themselves from those older priests who have failed to purge themselves of the disease of critical thinking.

There have always been careerists and climbers among the clergy who were willing to stifle individuality for the sake of advancement, but now there is a rising generation of priests who are moved not just by ambition but by a disturbing collectivism that narrows options for service and styles of leadership. These men are interested not in asking questions but in giving answers. Questions make trouble; answers provide assurance. Inquiring minds are not only annoying; they are superfluous. All the answers we need are ready at hand, supplied by documents and pronouncements that are self-justifying and need no validation.

This movement comes at a time when many Catholics are suffering from a loss of nerve. Empty convents and rectories, half-empty churches, closing schools, contracting parishes and sexual abuse scandals eat away at our confidence. There is an understandable hunger for stability, for certainty. Unity is sought through uniformity. Catechetical materials are vigorously scanned and blue-penciled. Stimulating topics and speakers are no longer welcome in parish halls. Adventuresome theologians are not just criticized; they must be silenced. All this amounts to a kind of intellectual circling of the wagons—a skill at which the clergy have often excelled.

All popular movements have their buzzwords, and this one is no exception. The patrons of mental somnolence have a favorite: serene. Sometimes serenity is a good thing, a mark of emotional health, as when Pope John Paul II, in his last hours, was described as serene in the face of approaching death. That was admirable, even inspiring. At other times the word is used to manipulate and to offer false comfort. Time and again during the last several years, when pronouncements from the Vatican provoked consternation and disbelief on the part of thoughtful Catholics, the papal spokesman advised one and all to welcome the latest bad news “in a spirit of serene acceptance,” or words to that effect.

This is not the kind of serenity that comes from inner strength or conviction, but rather that of Alfred E. Newman, the resident dunce of Mad magazine: “What, me worry?” Cheer up, everyone; cool it. If no one gets excited, then everything must be all right. But in the church today, everything is not all right. There are pressing needs to be addressed, policies to be reviewed, problems to be faced, dogmatisms to be challenged, issues to be taken off back burners and closed questions to be reopened. At such a time, being serene is just another way of being in denial.

At this moment in the life of the church, those who refuse to close their eyes, turn off their minds, and settle for slack-jawed certainty are in for some bad times. They look more and more like blue staters in a red-state church, as the true believers move into positions of power and influence and set out to silence the voices of reason.

We have been down this road before. A hundred years ago, Catholic biblical scholars were being harassed, threatened and discredited for questioning outdated, untenable interpretations of Sacred Scripture. Sixty years later, during the Second Vatican Council, they were vindicated, and their best work was endorsed as official Catholic teaching in the “Dogmatic Constitution on Divine Revelation.” Pierre Teilhard de Chardin (1881-1955), the French Jesuit paleontologist and religious thinker, never got to see his impressive body of work in print. He had to die first, so that friends and admirers might see to its publication. John Courtney Murray, S.J. (1904-67), the U.S. theologian, fared somewhat better. He lived to see his teaching on religious liberty vindicated by the council, but only after enduring years of enforced silence imposed by mediocre minds. In all these cases the operative force was fear—fear of confusing or disturbing the faithful. Such concern is not improper. What is mistaken is the attempt to maintain clarity by silencing voices and closing minds. In so doing, those who use these tactics create a desert and call it peace.

Today the Catholic Church stands at a crossroads. This is a time fraught with peril and possibility. There is a place for caution and prudence, but also a need for creativity and courage. A jumble of conflicting voices frightens the guardians of order, but we have more to fear from a false impression of unanimity achieved at the price of stifling the most active minds among us. It is a characteristic of many dysfunctional families that their members are unable to bring their differences to the surface and deal with them. Many noisy, quarrelsome households, on the other hand, are actually healthier.

Yes, Virginia, there is another opinion out there, and it’s all right. You do not have to agree with it, but try not to be shocked at its expression. It means you belong to a church that is not dead but alive, and where the little gray cells continue to grow and flourish in freedom.