Ave Explore Series

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Monday, May 12, 2025

Mary in the Life of the Church

by Rev. Rafael Capó Mary is a central figure in our faith, so important that we continue to deepen our understanding of the Blessed Mother’s place in the history of salvation and her role in the life of the Church. Since the time of the Apostles, the Church has deepened her devotion and understanding of Mary, gradually realizing that she is not just the mother of Jesus of Nazareth, but is truly the Theotokos (Mother of God); conceived without original sin (Immaculate Conception); who remained a Virgin all her life (Perpetual Virginity); and was taken up into Heavenly glory at the end of her earthly days (Assumption). Since Pentecost, when the Holy Spirit came upon Mary and the Apostles gathered in the Upper Room, Christians have discovered that Mary’s role was not just a motherly responsibility within the Holy Family but also had a courageous and influential position as she sustained the Church in her life and mission. She was, since the beginning, Mother of the Church. But from all Marian titles recognized by the faithful, the last to be formally enunciated was “Mother of the Church,” proposed by St. Paul VI at the end of Vatican II, included in the Litany of the Rosary by St. John Paul II, and included in the universal liturgical calendar by Pope Francis at the beginning of 2019. Some years ago, I heard the story of how during Holy Week 1980, a young man on pilgrimage to Rome told St. John Paul II that among the dozens of statues of saints in St. Peter’s square, he couldn’t find an image of the Blessed Mother. The Pope replied: “Good, very good! We have to put the finishing touch on the square!” A few months later on the feast of Our Lady of Fatima, John Paul II was shot on the square. He explained that his life was preserved thanks to the protection of Mary. He then remembered the young man asking about an image of Mary and on December 1981, the Pope blessed a beautiful mosaic of the Virgin Mary with the title “Mater Ecclesiae”—Mother of the Church—and had it installed above St. Peter’s Square. I contemplated that mosaic for the first time as a student in 1985 at the gathering of young people that St. John Paul II inaugurated as World Youth Day. Raising my eyes with trust to Mary, I began the journey of my own vocation to the priesthood after listening to the words of St. John Paul II, calling all young people to “Be not Afraid!” and to say “yes,” just like Mary had said “yes” at the Annunciation. From that day, I began to discover that Mary was to be the support of my vocation, just as she had supported so many men and women in the Church throughout the centuries. So perhaps it is when we discover that Mary is mother of our own vocation that we can more clearly understand how she is Mother of the Church. Mary continues to shine in the heart of the Church as a supreme model to all who seek to say yes once again and to build the Kingdom with courage and fidelity. The strength of her yes is an example for all in the Church—lay faithful, consecrated men, women religious, and ordained ministers—as we are all called to be a Church of missionary disciples. On the last World Youth Day, Pope Francis invited the young Church in Panama to look upon Mary, the “influencer” of God. With just a few words she was able to say yes—the Pope said—and to trust in the love and promises of God, the only force capable of making all things new. The Hispanic young people I accompanied in Panama came home convinced that Mary was going to be support for the Church of our times and for their own vocation in the Body of Christ. Several of those young people have made vocational commitments as missionary disciples, supporting the Church’s efforts with Hispanic ministries in Southeast United States. As we continue to deepen our understanding of Mary in the life of the Church, I pray that she will continue to help us say yes to the joy of the Gospel, with courage and generosity, and that she will especially care for all vocations in the Church and illumine anew the Body of Christ, her Son. Download this article as a PDF here.

Monday, May 12, 2025

Why Mary Matters

by Sonja Corbitt I don’t know why it always surprises me that when I choose something, I often find God has also somehow chosen it for me. I like to tell people that I offer “Bible study spinach that tastes like cake.” When I selected the Magnificat for my Bible Study Evangelista Show study series, I was wading into unfamiliar territory. The Magnificat is “Mary’s Song” recorded for us in Luke’s Gospel. While Mary is a familiar friend to most Catholics, as a convert from denominationalism, I had a “Meh!” notion toward Jesus’ mother. As I began to do the research, however, I found my heart slowly changing as I made a startling discovery: No one could love Jesus’ mother more than he does. And he was inviting me (and he’s inviting YOU) to get to know her the way he knows her. I wondered why would he do that? How does he know her? What does that have to do with me? I was humbled when the realization first hit me that Jesus must have been a little put off by my ambivalence toward his mother. Experiencing her gentle motherliness has been a profound and beautiful gift from them both. Mary Is the Model of Prayer Pope Emeritus Benedict XVI called Mary the model of prayer. She was (and is) not who I imagined—some quiet, shy, naïve teenager who stumbled into the virgin birth as though she fell into a rain puddle. She was made for it—and for Jesus. And she had to be fierce to mother him. Even now, Mary retains her utter uniqueness because she alone can be at the same time mother and disciple of the Lord. When we draw close to her and enter into her yes as fellow Christians, we allow her to gather us up in her motherly mantle. We are pulled up into the soaring communion of love that she knows—like a big hug—communicated through the man who “gave himself up for her” (Eph 5:25) and for each of us, even unto death on a Cross. Although I was unaware of it when I first began to study the Magnificat, I came to see her song as a personal gift from Jesus, preserved for us by the Holy Spirit for millennia. This ancient canticle shows us the many ways that Jesus’ mother is a very special gift from him to the whole Church. Hear the Heartbeat of the Church Mary’s joyful response to the revelation of the Incarnation, recorded in Luke’s Gospel, is the heartbeat of the liturgical and devotional life of the Church, revealed in both the Rosary (in the Annunciation and Visitation Mysteries) and daily office (at Vespers). While the Magnificat’s origins have been the subject of academic debate, Mary approaches us as a mother, not academic. Therefore, my own exploration of the Magnificat was more meditative than critical. Jesus taught me to approach his mother as an icon of every soul seeking its relationship to God, and he invited me to experience her invitation to a particular relationship with the Holy Spirit that is revealed through her song. As she does for each of us, I believe Mary invited me herself, through Jesus, into her own relationship with the Holy Spirit by inspiring me to study and imitate her Magnificat. She approached me as her child by sharing her own method of praying with scripture, simply (I am convinced) because she knows how much I love the scriptures and wanted to connect with me through something we share and consider deeply special. Why Mary Matters How tender; how sweet; how beautiful; how powerful. What a precious gift. In following her, I personally experienced and grew in her humility, her, depth, her strength, her love, and her motherhood. Why does Mary matter? Because she knows the sacraments with the scriptures are what brings the power of the Holy Spirit to bear most fully on our daily lives and circumstances (CCC 103). Through her Magnificat, offered to us daily in the scriptures, she longs to share something of her experience with each of us. As such, I think you might find studying her song with me as nourishing as spinach and maybe even as tasty as cake. I pray your journey through Mary’s Magnificat is so life-changing and fruitful that you experience exactly why Mary matters as deeply as I have.Download this article as a PDF here.

Monday, May 12, 2025

Hail, Queen of Peace

by Katie Prejean McGrady I had a statue of Mary on a shelf in my bedroom when I was growing up. Clad in her signature blue with her eyes cast downward and hands reaching down, I’d often ask my mom why Mary was so sad. She’d always tell me she wasn’t sad, just peaceful. But still, that statue and her closed eyes and empty face always made me a little uncomfortable. Why did peacefulness have to be depicted with what I considered to be sad eyes and idle hands? Why did Mary have to look so defeated? I think that statue, and my perception of how she looked based on that one image, is what kept me from investing in devotion to Mary until later in life. I wasn’t interested in a peaceful woman. I wanted a role model that was powerful, fierce, memorable, and who did something. I didn’t need an eyes-to-the-floor woman who seemed sad and bored. A New Vision of Mary While studying in Rome, I was wandering through the Basilica of St. Mary Major one afternoon and I stumbled upon this statue of Our Lady. I immediately fell in love with it. Her hand is raised up, as if to offer a high five or demand we pay attention to her. The squirmy, almost sassy toddler Jesus with curly hair is clearly trying to wiggle his way out of her arms. The flowing robes that looked like silk are even carved into the marble. Everything about the statue screamed fierce, powerful, passionate, capable, and beautifully feminine. Even more powerful, something linked this image of Mary to the statue in my childhood bedroom: her eyes were cast down as if she was looking upon a crowd of people delivering a message that demanded to be heard. I didn’t immediately assume she was just a sad, demure woman. I instantly saw passion in that downward gaze, power in that raised hand, protection as she held baby Jesus, and importance as she sat upon the throne. I needed to know what this statue was called. Imagine my surprise when I translated the words “Ave Regina Pacis” carved into the bottom of the statue: “Hail, Queen of Peace.” This was Our Lady, the Queen of Peace. There it was again: peaceful Mary. But I no longer thought of her peacefulness as sad, idle, downtrodden, alone, or afraid. Instead, she was a mother at peace—calling for and bringing peace. This statue of Our Lady, Queen of Peace, was commissioned by Pope Benedict XV during World War I and was placed in Santa Maria Maggiore (Our Lady’s Basilica) at the conclusion of the war. Her arm is stretched out, calling for peace to end the horrendous bloodshed of this first global war. Her eyes are cast down, filled with sadness at the loss of so many lives. She clings to the child Jesus, waiting to let him loose into a world in desperate need of his presence. In just a few minutes of standing there staring at this statue, my perception of Our Lady changed, as if she herself was wrapping her mantle around my shoulders. My resistance to getting to know her began to fade. I stood there soaking in the image, thinking about the beauty and power of the statue. I bought a postcard at the gift shop with a picture of the statue and decided to also grab a small wooden rosary. I still carry that rosary with me, more than a decade later. Every time I pray with it, I’m reminded of this image of Our Lady tucked against a wall in a basilica in Rome, depicting a woman I once ignored, but who swept me up in her loving arms to bring me ever closer to the heart of Her Son simply by stretching out her hand and casting her eyes downward. A Woman with Many Names Mary, the very Mother of God and Queen of Heaven, goes by many names. She’s the virgin, immaculately conceived without sin; the Theotokos, the God-bearer, assumed into heaven body and soul; Mother of the Church; and the Lady we ask to be with us at the very hour of our death. And yet, despite her prominence and importance within the Church, many of us have held her at arm’s length because we either misunderstand, misinterpret, or are disinterested in her. But Mary, her role in the life of the Church, and her role our own lives, cannot be understated. The mother of the Savior, who said yes to the very invitation of God to give birth to Jesus, doesn’t stand idly by with her hands folded and her eyes cast down, a statuesque figure that can be tossed aside. She sits atop a throne, holding her Son close, arms outstretched, calling down peace—the peace only Jesus brings—to be with us. As the team was planning Ave Explores, we brainstormed a lot of topics we’d like to cover, but something became very obvious to all of us: if we want to take a look at how to live our Catholic faith every day in an honest, real, personal, and relevant way, then who better to help us live and explore the everyday expressions of that faith than Mary? This edition of Ave Explores will challenge you to welcome Mary into your life more deeply. Articles, podcasts, and videos will address everything from Church documents about Mary to devotions, and from consecration to Mary’s role in pop culture. In the same way I was once captivated by a statue of our Blessed Mother in a basilica in Rome, we hope Ave Explores will capture your attention and engender a deeper love of Mary in your heart. Our Lady, Queen of Peace, pray for us. Download this article as a PDF here.

Tuesday, April 08, 2025

Scripture in Our Family

By Rachel Balducci Our relationship with sacred scripture has always adjusted to our needs. When our six children were very little, we couldn’t have family prayer that looked like it does now that our youngest child is eleven. When our children were in elementary school, they would have a scripture verse to memorize each week. This was part of their grade for Bible class, a subject that included understanding the stories in the Bible and learning about basic Christian living. They got this at home, Lord willing, but it was nice to have it reiterated at school. This memorization was a very simple assignment, but it created a beautiful focus on scripture in our home. We had one year where four of our boys were in elementary school at the same time. We would post the scripture verse on the refrigerator, which was central to the whole house. Throughout the week each of my sons was working to memorize one or two lines of the sacred text. It made scripture very central practically—posted there on our fridge—and also spiritually. We had to remember to memorize that verse. Our grades depended on it! Last year our youngest child finished elementary school, which meant no more weekly scripture memorization. Now we have four children who are college-age and two in middle school, so our family focus on scripture looks different. This summer I took our youngest two children to a Catholic family camp in the mountains of South Carolina. One beautiful part of each day was saying the Divine Office. All the families at the camp would gather for the morning prayer and we would end the day together with the evening prayer. It was such a blessing. After coming home from the camp, Paul and I have continued to do this with the two children who are still at home. This might not have worked peacefully when everyone was little (and when we had six children at home we were trying to get out the door to school in the morning or off to bed at night!). With bigger kids, we can have morning and evening prayer as a family. Using the Liturgy of the Hours, we spend about ten minutes in the morning doing the Divine Office and another ten in the evening. It’s a peaceful, profound way to focus our morning and evening. We are working to be centered on God and his Word. We also feed a big group of college guys once a week (two of our sons included) and we use the evening prayer of the Divine Office to begin our meal. I love that there are so many ways to make scripture a part of family life. When our children were very little, my husband and I would read to them from illustrated bible stories. One family favorite was Tomie dePaola’s Book of Bible Stories, along with a Catholic picture bible for children that one of my boys got from his godfather. Those pictures really made the stories come to life. A few years ago, my husband and I traveled to the Holy Land with a group from our diocese. What a life-changing experience that was! This trip made scripture come alive in a new and profound way and we brought that home to our children. The next week at Mass, the gospel featured one of the places we had just visited. It was mind-blowing! Scripture is God’s gift to us, his wisdom poured out. I’m grateful that he’s shown us so many ways to allow it to be a part of family life, no matter what season that family is in. Download this article as a pdf here. Rachel Balducci is a writer, blogger, speaker, and cohost of The Gist on Catholic TV. She teaches journalism at Augusta University.

Tuesday, April 08, 2025

Praying with the Epistles

By Fr. Andrew DeRouen If you’ve ever received a letter from a friend who moved away, or a postcard from someone you once knew, then you appreciate the value of those words intended specifically for you. Someone taking the time to sit down and convert thoughts of me into words is incredibly humbling. It’s something no other creature can do; no alligator pens a letter to a heron to say, “I hope we can try for lunch again soon,” although it might be true. It’s for this reason that I never throw a letter away; the holy exchange of words is a priceless encounter because it mimics the way in which God the Father continues to communicate his love of humanity and their need of salvation: through his Word—the Son he begot—and the Holy Spirit between them, shared with us. We probably don’t think about this lofty reality in between the run-on sentences of St. Paul’s various letters or perhaps we lose sight of being personally addressed amidst the platitudes of St. John. But herein lies the key to praying with the Epistles: God not only made you, but he wants to correspond with you, because he loves you. Take, for example, St. Paul’s Second Letter to the Thessalonians, where he writes, “For even while we were with you, we gave you this command: ‘If anyone is unwilling to work, he shall not eat.’ Yet we hear that some of you are leading undisciplined lives and accomplishing nothing but being busybodies. We command and urge such people by our Lord Jesus Christ to begin working quietly to earn their own living” (3:10-12). If this handwritten message had been sent to me on a postcard, what might I be inclined to feel? Embarrassment, for having once been held in apostolic esteem? Resentment, because someone I trusted revealed my faults? Or would I instead be inclined toward gratitude, because someone cared enough about me to realign my focus and spur me back to disciplined Christian living—simply because that’s what God himself wants for me? It appears St. Paul even knew how I might be tempted to react and so he adds an encouragement: “But as for you, brothers and sisters, do not grow weary of doing good” (3:13). Or as another example, St. John’s first letter in which he writes, “See what great love the Father has lavished on us, that we should be called children of God! And that is what we are! The reason the world does not know us is that it did not know him. Dear friends, now we are children of God, and what we will be has not yet been made known. But we know that when Christ appears, we shall be like him, for we shall see him as he is” (3:1-2). It’s all very mysterious, his language. And perhaps for that reason, we might tune his message out. How does this pertain to me and not some general populous? How does having hope pay off for me beyond a momentary euphoria? One thing is certain: God, through St. John, is challenging me to think not so much about myself as instead the real demands of being Christian. I must see myself as a beloved son of the Father even when I don’t feel loved; I must see others that way, too, especially when I’m tempted to think and act otherwise; I must expect the ignorant rebukes of the world; I must believe that Jesus Christ not only walked this earth but also by his own divinity instituted the Sacraments for our becoming like him and our being made ready to see him as he is. I pray that the next time you encounter one of these Epistles of Sacred Scripture that you may be drawn into it as you would a letter from a friend. Truly, God has never been bound by time, which he created, or the history he has allowed to populate it. With every word God speaks, he has you in mind from the beginning. Download this article as a pdf here. Fr. Andrew DeRouen is parochial vicar to St. Theodore in Moss Bluff and St. Pius X in Ragley.

Tuesday, April 08, 2025

How Catholics Read the Old Testament

By Anthony Pagliarini In 1 Corinthians 15, St. Paul reiterates the Gospel he preached in Corinth, the center of which is Christ’s death and resurrection. “I delivered to you as of first importance,” he writes, “what I also received” (1 Cor 15:3). A central feature of this tradition is not only that it is something received from those who were with Jesus but that also the claim that what took place in Christ took place in fulfillment of the Scriptures of Israel. So central is this idea that St. Paul mentions it in two successive sentences: “For I delivered to you as of first importance what I also received, that Christ died for our sins in accordance with the scriptures, that he was buried, that he was raised on the third day in accordance with the scriptures” (1 Cor 15:3-4). This is a startling claim, and it needs some clarification. What does it mean for something to happen “according to the Scriptures”? We hold, of course, that the New Covenant is the fulfillment of the Old. Yet, as Cardinal Henri De Lubac teaches us, this directedness of the Old Testament toward Christ was in large measure a hidden reality. “If, to suppose an impossibility,” he writes, “Christ had not come, no man confronted with the sacred text [of the Old Testament] would have the right to go beyond its literal meaning.” The plain meaning of the text did not openly speak of Jesus Christ. There are, of course, prophecies that anticipate the coming of a messiah, and Christ fulfills these. But many of the texts which we now rightly read as speaking of Christ could not have been understood as such in the period before his coming. The story of Abraham and Isaac was simply the story of Abraham and Isaac. So too is the story of Joseph. And even the prophecy of Immanuel in Isaiah 7 likely had as its first meaning the birth of King Hezekiah. And yet as we read these and so many other passages of the Old Testament, we rightly understand them as speaking of Jesus. How is this possible? The analogy of a good novel will help. In literature that is poorly written, the ending may be completely visible in advance. The plot progresses mechanically and predictably. Everything is given ahead of time. Alternatively, the ending may be a complete and total surprise—an event that is in no way anticipated. In the first case, we can say that the ending is wholly continuous; in the second, that it is wholly discontinuous. In contrast to these, good literature sits in the middle. The ending cannot be known in advance, but once it occurs, the whole book is seen to fit together as a whole. There is a certain necessity even. We can say, “Of course!” as we think back to earlier moments and understand them anew. The ending fits beautifully even though we did not and could not have seen the whole of it in advance. The Pontifical Biblical Commission uses the same idea to illustrate what it means for Christ to fulfill the Scriptures. The notion of fulfillment is an extremely complex one, one that could easily be distorted if there is a unilateral insistence either on continuity or discontinuity. … Jesus is not confined to playing an already fixed role—that of Messiah—but he confers, on the notions of Messiah and salvation, a fullness which could not have been imagined in advance; he fills them with a new reality; one can even speak in this connection of a “new creation”(2 Co 5:17; Ga 6:15). It would be wrong to consider the prophecies of the Old Testament as some kind of photographic anticipations of future events. All the texts, including those which later were read as messianic prophecies, already had an immediate import and meaning for their contemporaries before attaining a fuller meaning for future hearers. The messiahship of Jesus has a meaning that is new and original. (The Jewish People and their Sacred Scriptures in the Christian Bible, §21)   The great early Church theologian Origen captures the same idea when he writes that Before the coming of Christ, the Law and the Prophets were not yet, one may say, the announcement of what came to pass in the Gospel since he who was to make their mysteries clear had not yet come. But when the Savior had come to us and had given a body to the Gospel, then, by means of the Gospel, he effected that the whole [of the Scriptures] should be like the Gospel. (In Ioh I.8) This is what the Tradition means to say with the well-known phrase Novum in Vetere latet, Vetus in Novo patet. (The New Testament lies hidden in the Old. The Old Testament is unfolded in the New.) The coming of Christ opens our eyes to see what God, who is the divine author of history and Scripture, has always intended us to see in the events and words of the Old Testament. Christ brought it about that “the whole [of the Scriptures] should be like the Gospel,” and so now we can read them anew. All that he did happened “according to the Scriptures,”  and thereby they opened those Scriptures for us that we might see them in their fullness. To summarize, let us turn to the words of Dei Verbum §16 God, the inspirer and author of both Testaments, wisely arranged that the New Testament be hidden in the Old and the Old be made manifest in the New. For, though Christ established the new covenant in His blood (see Luke 22:20; 1 Cor. 11:25), still the books of the Old Testament with all their parts, caught up into the proclamation of the Gospel, acquire and show forth their full meaning in the New Testament (see Matt. 5:17; Luke 24:27; Rom.16:25-26; 2 Cor. 14:16) and in turn shed light on it and explain it. Download this article as a pdf here. Anthony Pagliarini is an assistant teaching professor in the department of theology at the University of Notre Dame.

Tuesday, April 08, 2025

The Ancient Practice of Lectio Divina

By Stephen J. Binz In the sixth century, St. Gregory the Great wrote: “The biblical scriptures are letters from Almighty God to his creatures. Study them, I beg you, and meditate daily on the words of your Creator. Learn the heart of God in the words of God” (Letters, 5, 46). Reading, studying, and meditating on the Bible as the Word of God expressing the heart of God, is what the ancient Church called lectio divina, or “sacred reading.” The foundation of this way of praying with scripture is an understanding of the text’s inspiration. When St. Paul declared that “all scripture is inspired by God” (2 Tm 3:16), he used the word theopneustos (God-breathed). The sacred text is written by the human hand, but “breathed” by God, the primary source of scripture. Inspiration is not only a charism given by God to the biblical writers but also an ongoing characteristic of the biblical text enabling us to trust that God can work deeply within us through the text. Whenever we take the Bible in our hands to read, we can expect God’s Spirit to guide us to listen, ponder, and open ourselves to the transforming grace of God’s Word. Because the Bible is the word of God—“letters” from God to us—our first response must be listening (lectio). We attend carefully to the text, listening to it “with the ear of the heart,” as recommended by St. Benedict (Rule of St. Benedict, Prologue). If God is indeed speaking to us through the sacred text, then we must attend to the Divine Word and let go of our own agendas. No matter how many times we may have read the passage in the past, we can expect God to offer us some new wisdom every time we read. We must listen to the text as if for the first time, paying attention to whatever God desires for us. Listening to the inspired word leads us to reflection (meditatio). We want to understand the meaning of the text in the context of our lives. Because the scriptures are divine revelation, they are far more than mere information. By reflecting and pondering the text, we open ourselves to its deeper significance and the grace of God. Entering into this kind of meditation, we might try to place ourselves in the scene or dialogue with the characters. We want to encounter God through the text with our whole selves: our minds, hearts, emotions, imaginations, and desires. Through this kind of reflection, we try to discern what God wants us to experience through the sacred text. Then, after listening to and reflecting on God’s Word, we naturally want to respond in prayer (oratio). Our prayer arises in our hearts as a result of having encountered God in the biblical text. As in any true communication, we listen and respond so that a dialogue is established between God and ourselves. As St. Ambrose said, “In lectio we listen to God, in oratio we speak to God.” Depending on what we have heard God say to us in our reflective reading, our prayer may be of praise, thanksgiving, lament, or repentance. And our prayer is increasingly enriched because it is continually nourished by the vocabulary, images, and sentiments of the sacred texts. Because our dialogue with God leads to an increasingly more personal relationship with God, our prayers then move us to contemplation (contemplatio), which is simply resting in the presence of God. As with any relationship, words and dialogue can be sustained only for so long. In the presence of God, our prayer leads to intimate silence. In this silent contemplation, we open our hearts to whatever God wants to do within us. Having been fed by God’s word, we are now transformed by God’s grace in the ways God knows best. A humble receptivity on our part allows God to work his transforming will within us. Before ending our prayerful time with God’s word, we take time to move back into our active lives with awareness. We move from contemplation to action (operatio). We should consider what God wants us to do as a result of having encountered the divine presence in scripture. By allowing our lives to be gradually transformed by scripture, we become witnesses of the gospel. The experience of lectio divina deepens the presence of God within us as we seek to become more like Jesus Christ so our daily lives become more attentive, more merciful, and more purposeful. Download this article as a pdf here. Stephen J. Binz is a Catholic speaker, biblical scholar, and pilgrimage leader. He is the award-winning author of Threshold Bible Study and Transformed by God’s Word. Discover more about his work at Bridge-B.com.

Tuesday, April 08, 2025

Living in the World with Our Family

by Lydia LoCoco I know why you are reading this: because not that long ago, I sat where you are sitting. I was embarking on the greatest adventure known to man—to follow Jesus Christ and his way and to meet him in the mysteries of his Church. The challenge for me was that the culture in which I lived was growing increasingly hostile to my little adventure. I had no training for this and did not have any real personal experience of Catholic family life. I was terrified. Fast forward and I am now the mother of eight millennials and the grandmother of thirteen little ones. I am only slightly less terrified, but I am writing this because each one of my young adult children is on their own journey to follow Jesus Christ and his way: four are married to wonderful Catholic spouses, one is a diocesan priest, two are single, and one is a postulant in a habited religious order. I am living out my vocation as a wife, mother, nana, and as someone who works full-time in the office of an archbishop in a large American archdiocese. Yet all people want from me is the answer to this one burning question: “How did you raise your children to grow up and remain in the faith?” I have a sneaking suspicion that what you want is what I wanted—the simple recipe. If someone could have told me the ingredients for the recipe called “a good Catholic family,” I would have sold all that I owned, bought the ingredients, and made the cookie dough. Nothing would have been too hard, no pious devotion too tiring, no curriculum too obscure. I was ready, bowl in hand, and all I wanted was to be told what to do. Oh, if it were only that easy. People today write all kinds of books with various options as to what we are to do as members of his body, living as we do in a world that is pretty foreign to us. We know that we are called to engage culture. We want to be witnesses and shining lamps to light the way for others. However, we also very quickly learn that to be “in” culture and not “of” culture is a difficult task. There are no recipes and there are no easy options. It is not only about the right devotional or about pious practices. What came to be in my life, gradually and without my even realizing it, was the intentional creation of what my kids and I like to call, “the snow globe.” By that I mean that there was a feeling that our home, our family, our life, and our faith were somehow places apart. While we were in society and moved about in culture no different from the rest, we certainly felt different. We ran back to our quiet faith village where we spoke a vocabulary of faith with one another, our friends, and within the community of our parish and other like-minded families. It was and is an enchanted place of security and peace, even amidst the trials of this world, because we have set ourselves apart for him and we know that this is not a lasting city. As Christians we are not called to leave the world, but to live in it; we must create homes—and faith communities—that allow our families to prosper and flourish. In the end, you must know that you can do this! This is your vocation and it demands everything. What can you do? Desire to have a peace-filled home. Give this holy desire to Jesus Christ. Ask him to help you create a nurturing and loving home focused on him. Surrender all and see where the adventure takes you! Download this article as a PDF here. Lydia LoCoco is the director of community relations in the Office of the Archbishop in the Archdiocese of Milwaukee. lococol@archmil.org Twitter: @lydcoco.