There is a moment in Leo from Chicago, the short documentary produced by the Vatican’s Dicastery for Communication that we looked at last week, where one of Robert Prevost’s Augustinian brethren marvels at how the young priest, freshly minted with a Doctor of Canon Law degree from the Angelicum in Rome, could have had his pick of any number of academic or ecclesial appointments. Instead, the brother muses, he chose that moment to embark on what would be a multiyear missionary journey to Peru—working largely on the outskirts of the cities, living the vision of the church as “field hospital” long before Pope Francis gave us the image.

That period of Prevost’s life is covered in León de Peru, the third of the three-part series rounded out by Leo from Chicago and Leo in Rome. The prevailing tone of the documentary is similar to the previous two: interviews with Leo’s former parishioners, fellow Augustinians, and diocesan staff tell the story of a “humble, fraternal, open” man, an “ordinary, everyday man,” who entrusted his flock with the faith and encouraged them to develop it in prayer, reflection, and action. One Augustinian sums up this mixture of spiritual simplicity and social awareness with a telling premonition: “I believe Pope Leo XIV will always be Father Roberto, the man with the warm smile, but also a man of high standards.”

The name “Father Roberto”—or its close cousin, “our brother Roberto”—is a preferred title throughout the documentary, and it seems that Prevost never strayed far from the pastoral roots of his vocation. Even after he was elevated to Bishop of the Diocese of Chiclayo in 2015, he maintained his identity as a man of and with his people. “We were all his children, his siblings, his family,” recalls one interviewee; another, recounting the bishop’s response to the devastating floods in the north part of the country in 2017 in which he arranged to provide housing, food, and other necessities for those who had been displaced and participated in direct-aid efforts himself, says that “he was loved because he got involved with the people.”

Watching this documentary having followed the various stages of the still-unfolding Synod on Synodality, with its documents of dense thickets of Vatican-ese and, at times, self-referential theologizing, was a reminder that the church’s mission is always outward, away from itself as a set pattern or static institution. There is a story of Bishop Prevost sending doctors to visit the sick and infirm in his diocese that illustrates this well: a church that is nimble and decentralized enough to respond to individual needs as they arise—to improvise, as it were, not as an NGO might but as a collective bound together by an ethic of service. That nimbleness, that freedom to respond is the special gift of the church to the world because it demonstrates, at its best, how we might voluntarily associate around our own free response to the higher law of God’s love. Reading paragraph 16 of his inaugural encyclical, Magnifica Humanitas, it’s clear that “Father Roberto” has retained this perspective even after assuming his new office as Bishop of Rome:

I address this heartfelt appeal to all the Catholic faithful, to all Christians and to all men and women of goodwill. Let us not be afraid to get our hands dirty on the “construction site” of our time. Like Nehemiah, let us pray, plan wisely and work perseveringly, placing God at the forefront of our actions and the human person at the center of our choices. Thus, the “rejected stones”—the poor, the sick, the migrants and the least among us—will become the cornerstone, and a solid, welcoming common home will emerge on the earth, where love and faithfulness will finally meet, and righteousness and peace will embrace (cf. Ps 85:10).

Michael Centore
Editor, Tomorrow’s American Catholic

We are excited to partner with Flipping the Tables, a new podcast about Catholics working for peace and justice hosted by journalist, activist, and past TAC contributor Colleen Shaddox. Colleen’s work has appeared in The New York Times, The Washington Post, America, and many other publications. She’s been recognized by the Catholic Press Association for feature writing and by the Connecticut Society of Professional Journalists for excellence in podcasting. She is also the co-author, with Joanne Samuel Goldblum, of Broke in America: Seeing, Understanding and Ending U.S. Poverty.

Flipping the Tables has already released episodes with organizers from the Ark of Noah Fund that assists families who have been targeted by ICE; Natalie Wasek, Director of Corporate and Social Responsibility for the Sisters of St. Francis of Philadelphia; Lincoln Rice, coordinator of the National War Tax Resistance Coordinating Committee; and Catholic Worker Mark Colville, with more scheduled for release soon. We will feature new episodes in our weekly newsletter and are exploring ways to include episodes directly on our website. To listen, visit the Flipping the Tables website here.

The Association of U.S. Catholic Priests (AUSCP) recently completed its 15th Annual Assembly, held in St. Louis from June 22–25.

Centered on the theme “Building the Future: Church, Priesthood, and Global Engagement,” the assembly brought together ordained priests and lay friends to “deliberate on structural renewal, global migration, and the evolving role of pastoral leadership within a modern, relational Church,” according a statement released by the group.

The gathering opened with an Ignatian-themed retreat facilitated by Dr. Damian Zynda. Keynotes came from Fr. Dan Groody, CSC, on migration theology, and Sr. Kathy Duffy, SSJ, on the thought of Teilhard de Chardin.

Cardinal Mario Grech sent a Vatican address that drew on Pope Leo XIV’s encyclical, Magnifica Humanitas. Grech’s address “fram[ed] the modern priest as a ‘co-builder’ of communion rather than an architect of isolation” and “stressed that synodality does not threaten ordained ministry, but instead offers the framework to alleviate clergy loneliness and structural polarization,” the statement reports.

In his annual State of the Association Address, AUSCP Executive Director Fr. Steve Newton, CSC, proposed a “paradigm shift” in how the association understands its own membership.

“Instead of seeing ourselves as a membership-driven organization, let’s become what our name says we are—a true Association of U.S. Catholic Priests!” Fr. Newton said. “Let’s operate on the assumption that, by virtue of ordination rather than paid membership, all priests ministering in the United States are in association.”

During the assembly, members discussed and adopted a 3-to-5-year strategic plan “aimed at building a Church where ordained and lay people co-labor synodally,” the group said in a separate statement. Key priorities of the plan include continuing the organization’s long-term focus on anti-racism, care for creation, gospel nonviolence, and women’s inclusion in the church, as well as updated programming to engage younger priests.

Archbishop Mitchell Rozanski presided at the assembly’s closing liturgy, which honored Fr. Gerry Kleba, Fr. John Heagle, and Bishop John Stowe, OFM Conv.

The Association of U.S. Catholic Priests is the largest association of Roman Catholic priests in the United States. Founded to keep alive the pastoral vision of the Second Vatican Council, the AUSCP serves as a prophetic voice and a sanctuary of professional and spiritual support for clergy and lay friends working to build a synodal, missionary church.

The AUSCP announced its 2027 assembly will be held in Orlando, Florida, and will focus on the extensive pastoral and societal implications of Magnifica Humanitas.

Join Br. Mark D’Alessio for the annual Mary Oliver retreat at Wisdom House (229 E Litchfield Rd, Litchfield, CT 06759) on August 22 from 9:30 a.m. to 3:30 p.m. ET. Mary Oliver is a favorite of poetry lovers of all ages for her lyrical, intimate, and sensitive poems, many of which use nature as a lens for exploring a wide spiritual spectrum of human emotions, from love and joy to sorrow and despair.

The retreat will center on Oliver’s 2006 collection Thirst, which she wrote after the death of her partner. Through reflection, contemplative practice, and guided conversation, retreatants will invite Oliver’s poems to become companions on their own journeys of loss, healing, and hope.

“Summer gently reminds us to slow our pace, breathe more deeply, and notice the quiet beauty that is always waiting to be discovered,” writes Br. Mark. “I hope you’ll join me next month in August for a contemplative retreat: my annual Mary Oliver Poetry Retreat, where we’ll listen for the sacred through poetry and the natural world. You are welcome to join us for an opportunity to rest, renew, and awaken more fully to the Presence already within and around you.”

Br. Mark adds that no prior knowledge of Oliver’s work is needed—only an openness to allow poetry to speak to the heart: “Come walk with us through Thirst and discover how grief, too, can open us more deeply to love, resilience, and the quiet hunger for God.”

Cost is $85, with lunch included. To register, click here. For information about overnight accommodations, call Wisdom House at (860) 567-3163.

Wisdom House is an interfaith retreat and conference center founded by the Daughters of Wisdom. The Center presents programs in spirituality, wellness, the arts, and ecology, and welcomes people of all backgrounds and beliefs.

The Rt. Rev. Br. Mark D’Alessio is a Franciscan friar, bishop and priest, ordained lay Buddhist, spiritual director, chaplain, author and retreat leader, and former president and executive director of the Psychotherapy & Spirituality Institute. Our podcast episode with Br. Mark, “Hatching Open the Heart,” is available here.

Our conversation with Fr. Carl takes us through his early years and burgeoning interest in contemplative life and Centering Prayer, including his retreats at Gethsemani Abbey in Kentucky and Spencer Abbey in Massachusetts. He introduces us to the four elements of Centering Prayer and explains why a key to the practice is to “stop thinking that you have to stop thinking.” In addition to sharing memories of Fr. Keating, Fr. Carl offers ways for us to deepen our own prayer lives by returning to what he calls “the basics”: that “God is already there if you’re existing, and that prayer is a relationship.”

Last week we looked at Leo in Rome (Leone a Roma), a short documentary produced by the Vatican’s Dicastery for Communication that tells the story of Robert Francis Prevost’s time in Rome prior to his becoming Pope Leo XIV. It feels appropriate to follow up this week with some thoughts on Leo from Chicago, a companion documentary also produced by Vatican media that profiles the early life of this son of the Second City.

Young Prevost seems to have had an almost preternatural kindness about him. His elder brother recounts a story of the two of them coming across a gang of neighborhood toughs while riding their bikes one afternoon. When they threaten the brothers, Robert is able to talk them down, and they suddenly turn friendly. It’s an early example of the thoughtfulness and tact—and willingness to move through fear to encounter—that will characterize his pastoral, episcopal, and now pontifical leadership style.

Time and again Prevost’s associates describe him as kind, gentle, one who listens before he speaks. It doesn’t matter from which chapter of his life they are drawn: friends from Villanova University and professors from the Catholic Theological Union, brothers from the Augustinian Order, parishioners from St. Jude in New Lenox, Illinois—they all point to his ability to generate a feeling of warmth and inclusion and his particular gift for friendship. One gets the sense that he wears his office lightly, that he has not accrued power so much as influence has followed him by virtue of his goodness. “It is good to have this man in our house,” says one friend, a Lutheran pastor, describing his family’s reaction to a visit from Prevost years ago; something about the tone of the reminiscence, the simplicity of the recognition, put me in mind of the disciples of Emmaus whose eyes were opened at table with Christ.

The word that comes up repeatedly throughout the documentary is calm. Prevost is noted for his “calmness,” for being “calm under pressure” and “calm and very present.” Nothing seems to faze him—he has that hidden wellspring of confidence in God that his predecessor Pope John Paul II had, though in a less self-consciously theatrical key. It’s a quiet confidence, measured and considered, and that has as its telltale sign something also noted by several of the interviewees: a deep and abiding joy.

Hearing these multiple accounts of calmness and groundedness, I thought of the monastic ideal of apatheia or dispassion, a mastery of the passions that is linked to love and purity of heart. “Apatheia has a child called agape who keeps the door to deep knowledge of the created universe,” writes Evagrius; in other monastic sources, the Greek term ataraxia, or “calmness,” is used as a synonym for apatheia and denotes the same quality of spiritual freedom.

It is easy to remember that the pope orients the church through public pronouncements and documents; less evident is the way he creates a program, a direction, through his presence, the special gifts and virtues he has cultivated and that he places in the service of the church. Providence has ordained this moment for Leo, and one subtext of the documentary is that the world needs his calm—and that those of us who follow in communion with him might do well to emulate it as we show one face of the Body of Christ. In the words of the Letter of James, “But the wisdom from above is first of all pure, then peaceable, gentle, compliant, full of mercy and good fruits, without inconstancy or insincerity” (3:17).

Michael Centore
Editor, Tomorrow’s American Catholic

John Pavlovitz is a writer, pastor, activist, and storyteller from Raleigh, North Carolina. A veteran of local church ministry, he is committed to equality, diversity, and justice, both inside and outside faith communities. His many books include A Bigger Table: Building Messy, Authentic, and Hopeful Spiritual Community; Worth Fighting For: Finding Courage and Compassion When Cruelty Is Trending; and devotionals for the seasons of Advent and Lent.

In the latest episode of our podcast, John shares with us his formative faith experiences in both the Catholic and Methodist Churches and how they prepared him for a “relationship with something far bigger than myself.” He explains how he was “drafted into ministry” and why it is so important for faith communities to honor people’s fears, doubts, and uncertainties; ways we can move from a “membership” to a “partnership” culture within our churches; and what he continues to glean from Jesus’s responses to the “collateral damage of the world.” He also speaks to the idea of “compassionate courage” and its link to what he sees as our fundamental task: “to show up as the most honest, most steadfast version of humanity that we can, make our offerings, and realize we’re not going to get to see the whole picture.”

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Ray Temmerman reflects on the Eucharist as action: “Jesus is asking his followers to take him more seriously. He is not asking them to physically eat and drink. Instead, he wants them to go deeper, to take the whole of his reality, his life, into them, and be changed by it. That more serious reception of and reflection on who he is can begin immediately, without needing to wait for the institution of Eucharist.”

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John’s many books include A Bigger Table: Building Messy, Authentic, and Hopeful Spiritual Community; Worth Fighting For: Finding Courage and Compassion When Cruelty Is Trending; and devotionals for the seasons of Advent and Lent. His thought-provoking blog, Stuff That Needs to Be Said, has reached a diverse worldwide audience with over one hundred million views.

Seeking a place to connect even more directly with his readers, John launched a Substack platform, The Beautiful Mess, which presently reaches over 116,000 subscribers. John also serves as director of the Empathetic People Network, a vibrant online community that connects people from all over the world who want to create a more compassionate planet.

In this episode, John shares with us his formative faith experiences in both the Catholic and Methodist Churches and how they prepared him for a “relationship with something far bigger than myself.” He explains how he was “drafted into ministry” and why it is so important for faith communities to honor people’s fears, doubts, and uncertainties; ways we can move from a “membership” to a “partnership” culture within our churches; and what he continues to glean from Jesus’s responses to the “collateral damage of the world.” He also speaks to the idea of “compassionate courage” and its link to what he sees as our fundamental task: “to show up as the most honest, most steadfast version of humanity that we can, make our offerings, and realize we’re not going to get to see the whole picture.”

We are all very familiar with the words of the institution of the Eucharist. They are, in broad strokes, “Take and eat. This is my body. Take and drink. This is my blood of the new covenant.” What we refer to as the institution narrative appears in the Synoptic Gospels (Matt 26:26-28, Mark 14:22-24, Luke 22:19-20) as the central focus of a meal. It appears as well in the First Letter to the Corinthians (1 Cor 11:23-24).

John’s gospel takes a different approach. The central act there, again within the context of a meal, is that of Jesus washing the feet of his disciples, an act of service. When the disciples question it, he doubles down, insisting that such acts of service are essential if one is to have life in him.

John places the actions of eating and drinking Jesus’s flesh and blood in another area of the gospel, chapter 6. We will look at each of these moments in turn, beginning with the Synoptic Gospels, to see what they may have to say to us.

In Search of the Pronoun

Within the institution narratives, there is a small yet interesting word. I am speaking of the pronoun this. A pronoun points to something beyond itself. But what does it point to?

We take it as a given that “this” refers to the bread and wine, which we believe has become, in substance, the body and blood of Christ.

Must that be the only interpretation? Could it also be referring to something else, of equal importance? Having had for some time a hunch that this may be an important possibility, I now present it as a hypothesis and invite your reflections.

In the institution narratives, it is important to note that while we see bread and wine, we also see actions: take, eat, drink, do. We are called to carry out these actions “in memory” of, “as a remembrance of” Jesus the Christ. These actions are part of the whole eucharistic celebration. And that, I suggest, is important. But why?

In his book Deconstructing Sacramental Theology and Reconstructing Catholic Ritual, Dr. Joseph Martos points out that the word εὐχαριστ (“eucharist,” meaning “give thanks”) invariably appears in the New Testament in verb form. It was only when the New Testament was translated from Greek to Latin that the word morphed into a noun, a thing rather than an action.

What does this tell us? We do not come together to be given “the eucharist.” Rather, we come together to form the ecclesia, to eucharist, that is, to give thanks. We are called together to be a “eucharisting” community. Eucharist, in the New Testament, is not understood to be a thing but an action, a practice of thanksgiving, followed by actions through which we receive the Christ. Rather than solely through the sacred elements, it is through our actions of giving thanks, of taking, eating, drinking, and doing what Jesus told us to do, that we become able to receive the substantive reality of Christ.

The Whole of the Person

In John’s gospel, having life in Jesus brings with it the necessity to “wash the feet” of those around us. None of us is greater than our master. In washing the feet of those who are lower than him, Jesus has given us a template for our lives. It is, however, not enough to know this, to believe this. We will be blessed if, knowing it, we apply the template in our own lives, doing as he has done. This is, for John, as central to the meal, and to life, as is the institution narrative in the Synoptics. While the words are different, the same reality applies. It is in the actions we perform as an expression of our faith that we receive, are taken up in, the substantive reality that is Christ.

While the actions of eating Jesus’ flesh and drinking his blood are not present in the Last Supper, John presents them very clearly. We find these actions in a different time and place, that of John 6. This is of significant importance and is worth examining in detail.

Consider: while Jesus is clear that his disciples are to eat of his flesh and drink of his blood, this passage takes place about a year before the Last Supper and the institution of Eucharist. Can he be insisting on their doing something that is not yet possible? Make no mistake, Jesus is insistent that such eating and drinking must happen. Not only does he tell them they must eat of his flesh and drink of his blood (6:32-51), he doubles down on this when they begin to grumble at his words (6:53-58).

Let’s look at the actual words used. Jesus speaks of eating and drinking his flesh and blood. The term “flesh and blood” is a Jewish way of saying “the whole of the person.” Jesus is not speaking of his physical flesh and blood any more than saying a man is “the spitting image of his father” is describing a man who is spitting.

In versus 32 to 53, Jesus uses the words φάγῃ (phagay) and φάγητε (phagayteh), “to eat.” This appears to be the equivalent of taking a bite out of his arm. That he is speaking metaphorically, however, is reinforced in versus 54 to 58 when, in response to his listeners grumbling about the literal meaning, Jesus speaks of eating using the term τρώγων (trogon), “to dine.” The word carries the sense of a slow, reflective action. With cattle, we speak of chewing the cud, ruminating on what has been eaten until it is fully absorbed. Indeed, in verse 58 Jesus contrasts eating, ἔφαγον, with dining or ruminating, τρώγων, saying that the fathers who did the former died, while those who do the latter will live.

In short, Jesus is asking his followers to take him more seriously. He is not asking them to physically eat and drink. Instead, he wants them to go deeper, to take the whole of his reality, his life, into them, and be changed by it. That more serious reception of and reflection on who he is can begin immediately, without needing to wait for the institution of Eucharist.

Interconnected Realities

Let us turn now to the words of the institution narrative itself. In Matthew, Mark, and Luke, and later in First Corinthians 11:23-25, we see the same or similar words being used. Invariably, we see that Jesus says we are to take and eat his body. The word for body, however, is not σάρξ (sarks) or σάρκα (sarka), but σῶμά (soma). There is a clear difference. With σάρκα, we would be dealing with a fleshly body. The word σῶμά speaks of the mind-body connection, i.e., the whole person. The word forms the root of words such as psychosomatic, where that which the body experiences is understood to be real, but not necessarily caused by something physical. When Jesus uses the word σῶμά, he is referring to that totality of him, his entire interconnected reality, his whole person.

The word for blood is αἷμά (ayma), which we can indeed understand as blood. Again, though, we remember that “flesh and blood” conveys a Jewish understanding of the whole person, not just liquid blood. In this understanding, in the action of receiving, one receives the whole of the person, Christ himself.

Note, too, that in Acts 2:42, the disciples are not spoken of as devoting themselves to the bread and the prayers, but to the breaking of the bread and the prayers. Again, the action, rather than the bread, is what stands out.

In the story of the disciples on the road to Emmaus, we are told that a man joins them on the walk and asks them what they are talking about. They respond with astonishment, wondering how he could be the only person in Jerusalem who does not know about the events that have taken place. He proceeds to explain the Scriptures to them as they walk. Then they invite him to stay with them.

The words here are important. The do not tell us that the disciples recognized him in the bread that he broke. Rather, “they recognized him in the breaking of the bread.” It is in the action of breaking bread (as happens in the fraction rite) that they recognize him. But it is clear in what they say on the way back to Jerusalem that, when they recognized him, they recognized that he had been present with them all along. Clearly, in every case, the actions around the bread and wine are as important as the elements themselves.

Remembrance of Acts Past

Jesus told his disciples to take these actions in memory of, as a remembrance of, him. How can we respond to that? How can what we do at Mass be truly done as a remembrance of him if we haven’t taken the time to get to know him, walk with him, talk with him, see what he does, hear what he says, learn how he relates to people and to creation itself? From Jesus’ words, we can see that building such a memory of him is of critical importance. How do we do that?

There are any number of ways. We can read the Scriptures, reflecting on them as we go. We can pray the “Scripture rosary,” a form of prayer in which the words are not the prayer, but instead form background music stilling the chatter of our minds so we can reflect deeply on the mysterious events of the birth, life, death, and resurrection of Jesus the Christ. If we sit before the sacred elements, we can do so not merely in silence as with a friend, each doing our own thing, but instead being truly present to Jesus, asking him about his life, listening as he speaks to us, learning from him.

We can do it in especially the Mass, treating it as a family reunion. We gather and greet each other. We recognize each other and ask all present to pray for us. Then we listen to the stories of our ancestors in faith: our great aunt Ruth, our cousin Jonathan, our great-grandfather David, and more. And we can listen to the stories of the words and actions and relationships of this man we have come to know as the Christ. We can then join in the preparation of the meal and together give thanks, or eucharist. All these actions serve to build a memory, a remembrance of him, so that we may do what he told us to do: namely, to take, eat, drink, do the whole of him (including washing the feet of those around us), thereby receiving the substantive reality of him. Finally, we are sent out to live our lives according to his template.

And so we come full circle. Are we invited individually to participate in the Mass so that we may receive the Eucharist as a noun? Or are we invited to an ongoing practice of faith by gathering, eating, and drinking deeply of the stories of our ancestors in faith, of the ecclesia, and especially of the words and actions, the whole life, of Jesus of Nazareth?

Perhaps, indeed, “this” refers back to the whole of the life of this man Jesus, God become human in our midst. Perhaps it is the memory of this which makes it possible to take, eat, drink, receive the substantive reality which existed before time began, then go out to do as he did: wash the feet of our brothers and sisters, feed the hungry, clothe the naked, and visit and heal the sick. ♦

Ray Temmerman (Catholic), with his wife Fenella (Anglican), administers the website of the Interchurch Families International Network. A former Board member of the Association for the Rights of Catholics in the Church (ARCC), he continues to conduct research into the place of interchurch families and the gift they bring to their churches and the Church.

Last night I watched the film Leo in Rome (Leone a Roma), a short documentary produced by the Vatican’s Dicastery for Communication that assembles archival images, interviews, and contemporary footage to tell the story of Robert Francis Prevost’s time in Rome prior to his becoming Pope Leo XIV. We hear from his classmates at the Angelicum, his alma mater, as well as former parishioners and members of the Augustinian Order of which he served as Prior General from 2001 to 2013. Interspersed with these recollections are photos of the young Prevost growing into his vocation—presiding over Mass in one, participating in a protest against nuclear weapons in another. The sum total is a portrait of a man who seems to have arrived to his place in history naturally, without any of the convoluted maneuverings we associate, rightly or wrongly, with the Roman Curia.

“Natural,” in fact, is a word that comes up quite frequently in the documentary, along with its sister virtues of openness, simplicity, peacefulness, and prudence. “He does not give space to impulsiveness,” says one interviewee; another speaks of how he “gathers all his potential” into prayer. Several describe the pope as “normal,” which in another age might sound underwhelming, even something of a slight, but that here rings as a valediction when we consider the abnormality of our times. In a world hollowed out by greed and the fevered musings of techno-feudalists, where we can mint a trillionaire based on false promises and the financialization of an economy divorced from the physical world, the “normalness” of Leo—I think of the Buddhist concept of “ordinary mind”—holds as a still center amidst the chaos. It’s that measured, deliberate spirit that animates Magnifica Humanitas, his inaugural encyclical, and its call for us to question the “paradox of material progress and anthropological regression that undermines the foundations of a just and stable social peace” (154).

Leo in Rome makes clear that this “normalness,” this depth-in-simplicity and simplicity-in-depth, derives from a life of prayer and devotion. Time and again we hear how then Prior Prevost’s singular aim with the Augustinians was to create an atmosphere of fraternity, community, love, and peace. “Unity” might well be the watchword for his papacy, and it has its roots in this conciliar leadership style—listening to everyone, not so much admonishing as gently instructing or indicating paths forward. It is a hallmark of one who has spent so many years in service of the hidden Christ, the Christ who doesn’t insert himself into the center of things but stands off to the side, condemning by his very presence the empty show and “pretentious life” (1 John 2:16) of those who would dominate the world.

It is also a sign of Leo’s fidelity to Our Lady, especially considering his long association with the Augustinian Province of Our Mother of Good Counsel in the midwestern US; the documentary features scenes of him praying at the Sanctuary of Our Lady of Good Counsel, the shrine southeast of Rome under the guardianship of the Augustinians that houses a treasured Marian fresco. “Counsel” is an apt title to conceptualize this pontificate, as it implies a spiritual work of mercy that guides, gathers, and inspires, and that depends not on force but on a listener’s receptivity. The image of Leo attuning himself to the counsel of Our Lady is reflected in the way the church heeds Leo’s counsel to unity. As Dominican priest and Angelicum graduate Fr. Joseph Fox says toward the end of the documentary, “The words he uses are not so important, but rather that we can breathe with him, we can pray with him, and we can live with him.”

Michael Centore
Editor, Tomorrow’s American Catholic

Thomas Masaryk is an artist, deacon, and hospital chaplain. His work has been featured in individual and group exhibitions, as well as numerous publications in the United States and overseas. Throughout his career he has given professional seminars and demonstrations in the Connecticut, New York, Boston, and Philadelphia areas.

In the latest episode of our podcast, Deacon Tom takes us through the varied stages of his vocations as an artist and ordained minister. We look at the relationship between creative and spiritual practices, the need to find new sacred stories through visual language, and how Deacon Tom uses guided retreats to “help others find the sacredness of what they do.”

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Rev. Cornelius Uche Okeke reflects on the Fourth of July through a theological lens: “Genuine communion presupposes and values distinct identities. Unity is most meaningful when it emerges from the free and respectful interaction of individuals and communities that maintain their unique histories, cultures, and traditions. Both persons and nations achieve greater maturity when they confront their fears, acknowledge their limitations, and learn to encounter others with openness rather than suspicion.”

* See also Deacon Art Miller’s reflection for the Fourth, “Not Just a Celebration, a Summons”—and this just-released episode from the always stimulating Lost Prophets podcast looks excellent, too!

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Pope Leo XIV will convene a worldwide meeting of Episcopal Conference Presidents at the Vatican from October 7–14, 2026, focusing on the 2016 apostolic exhortation on the pastoral care of families, Amoris Laetitia (The Joy of Love). To support this synodal discernment, Catholic Church Reform International (CCRI)—at the suggestion of the Association of U.S. Catholic Priests (AUSCP) and in collaboration with Ignatian Encounter Ministry (IEM)—is launching a global initiative to share the lived experiences of diverse families directly with the Synod Office.

The organizers write: “We are inviting families from all around the world to host small, informal listening sessions using the Conversations in the Spirit format to share your joys, struggles, and pastoral needs. Though ambitious, we believe these authentic voices will provide vitally important information to church leaders reflection on modern family life.”

How It Works

1. Gather: Families or small groups meet to reflect prayerfully on their experiences as a family, giving each member equal time to speak. (A tutorial of how to hold a Conversation in the Spirit is available through IEM’s website here.)

2. Submit: Members of the family use this form to capture the themes that emerge: convergences (issues on which everyone agrees), divergences (issues left unresolved), and suggestions of how the church could better guide and support them through their struggles.

3. Deliver: CCRI and IEM will synthesize these global insights and deliver them to Pope Leo and the Synod Office by mid-September.

Organizers invite others to publicize this initiative through parishes and other networks, and to encourage families, clergy, and pastoral ministers to host a conversation and submit feedback.

As their Season of Faithful Witness initiative comes to a close, Catholics in Communion has released a short recap video celebrating the leadership, prayer, and public witness that unfolded across the country over the past several months. Catholic communities responded to the signs of the times through accompaniment, public action, and prayer, offering witness to the dignity of every person, care for our common home, and the common good. Watch the season recap here, and find Tomorrow’s American Catholic’s conversation with Sergio Lopez of Catholics in Communion here.

On Tuesday, July 21, Catholics from across the country will gather to discern how this movement continues beyond the Season of Faithful Witness. The July All Call will introduce three areas of ongoing work: parish- and organization-based formation, faithful citizenship and election safety, and detention center witness support. Participants are encouraged to bring their local teams as Catholics in Communion begins discerning the next phase of faithful public witness. Register here to join for the July All Call.

“What, to the slave, is the Fourth of July?”

Frederick Douglass asked that question in 1852, and if we are honest, it has never stopped echoing.

What is Independence Day to a Black man whose history in this nation began in chains?

What is it to a young Black girl, sitting alone on a train, surrounded not by celebration but by quiet, watchful hate?

What is it to those who still see men marching in formation—not for freedom, but for exclusion—waving flags that were once raised to defend slavery?

On this 250th anniversary of American independence, we watched white nationalists move in cadence through the capital region—masked, uniformed, chanting about reclaiming a country that was never theirs alone to claim. And I could not help but hear Douglass again.

Because the question is not just historical. It is present. It is pressing.

I have worn the uniform of this country. I have sworn to defend its Constitution. I have stood in the long tradition of Black men and women who believed enough in the promise of America to risk their lives for it—even when that promise was not fully extended to them.

And I have also walked the road of civil rights, where that same Constitution had to be demanded, interpreted, and sometimes wrestled from the hands of those who would deny its reach.

So I live in the tension.

I know what this day is supposed to mean.

It is supposed to mean liberty.

It is supposed to mean dignity.

It is supposed to mean that all are created equal—not in theory, not in aspiration, but in lived reality.

But for too many, it still means something else.

It means exclusion dressed up as patriotism.

It means silence in the face of hatred.

It means watching those in power hesitate—or refuse—to clearly reject forces that traffic in division and supremacy.

And so the question remains.

What does the Fourth of July mean—to the marginalized, the threatened, the unseen?

For me, it means this:

It is not just a celebration. It is a summons.

A summons to tell the truth about our history—not the polished version, but the whole story.

A summons to stand against hatred, even when it marches openly and loudly.

A summons to protect the vulnerable—not just in word, but in action.

A summons to make real the promise that this nation so boldly declared.

Because freedom that is not shared is not freedom at all.

And faith—real faith—does not allow us to look away.

The Gospel calls us to stand with the least of these.

The Constitution calls us to form a more perfect union.

History calls us to remember.

And this moment calls us to act.

So today, I celebrate—but I do not celebrate blindly.

I remember those who fought for a freedom they could not yet taste.

I honor those who still struggle to breathe under the weight of injustice.

And I recommit myself—to the work, to the truth, and to the belief that this country can still become what it claims to be.

Not by denial.

Not by nostalgia.

But by courage.

Because until liberty reaches that young girl on the train . . .

until it confronts the marching hatred in our streets . . .

until it is truly for all—

Douglass’s question will remain unanswered. ♦

Deacon, author, radio host, revivalist, and retired businessman, Deacon Art Miller is the former director of the Office for Black Catholic Ministries for the Archdiocese of Hartford.

Thomas’s work has been featured in individual and group exhibitions, as well as numerous publications in the United States and overseas. Throughout his career he has given professional seminars and demonstrations in the Connecticut, New York, Boston, and Philadelphia areas.

In 2008 Bishop William Lori ordained Thomas as a Permanent Deacon in the Diocese of Bridgeport (Connecticut). In 2015, Bishop Frank Caggiano appointed Deacon Tom as Spiritual Director for the English-speaking Cursillo movement, a lay evangelizing movement of the Catholic Church, in the Diocese of Bridgeport. He is the first deacon in the diocese to be appointed to this position.

Deacon Tom took a year sabbatical in 2014 to serve as a full-time hospital chaplain at St. Vincent’s Medical Center in Bridgeport. The experience impacted him profoundly, motivating him to seek an assignment outside the walls of a parish and to reevaluate his artwork. In 2016, Bishop Frank Caggiano granted him a transfer to the Shrine of St. Margaret, the official diocesan shrine of Bridgeport, where he has been overseeing the renovation of the shrine’s grounds and statues.

In this episode, Deacon Tom takes us through the varied stages of his vocations as an artist and ordained minister. We look at the relationship between creative and spiritual practices, the need to find new sacred stories through visual language, and how Deacon Tom uses guided retreats to “help others find the sacredness of what they do.” Deacon Tom also shares with us what people get wrong about Vincent van Gogh, and why he believes “everybody knows how to create an image in some way, shape, or form.”

As the United States of America commemorates its 250th anniversary, it is an opportune moment to reflect on the nation’s significance within the broader history of humanity. Beyond political and economic achievements, the American project may be understood as a profound experiment in human coexistence—an ongoing effort to unite diverse peoples under a shared commitment to freedom, equality, and individual dignity. Viewed through a theological lens, the United States represents not only a political achievement but also a social and cultural endeavor with implications for humanity’s pursuit of communion.

The founding generation envisioned a republic rooted in the protection of liberty and individual rights. The system of government established through the Constitution was designed to limit the concentration of power, prevent tyranny, and preserve the freedom of citizens. The American Revolution (1775–1783) was driven by a desire for self-government, freedom of conscience, and liberation from political oppression. At its core was a conviction that legitimate government derives its authority from the consent of the governed and exists to protect fundamental human rights.

This vision found its most influential expression in the Declaration of Independence, which proclaims that all human beings are created equal and endowed by their Creator with certain inalienable rights, including life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness. Although the historical reality of the American Republic often falls short of these ideals, the principles themselves establish a moral horizon toward which the nation has continually aspired and should continue to aspire. The affirmation of universal human dignity remains one of the defining features of the American political tradition.

Central to the American experiment is the recognition of the individual person as the primary bearer of rights and freedoms. Regardless of origin, ethnicity, language, religion, or social status, every human being possesses an intrinsic dignity that ought to be respected and protected. This understanding contributed to the development of the United States as a nation that has historically welcomed immigrants and those seeking refuge from persecution. The ideal of America as a place where individuals can freely pursue their aspirations has attracted people from every corner of the world. That is why the United States has often been described as a “melting pot” of cultures, peoples, and traditions. While this metaphor has its limitations, it captures an important aspect of the American experience: the coming together of diverse persons and communities within a shared political framework. The nation has served as a living laboratory of pluralism, where different cultural, ethnic, and religious groups interact, cooperate, and contribute their unique gifts to the common good. In this sense, America may be understood as an experiment in communion—a society composed of distinct individuals and communities whose flourishing depends upon their relationship with one another.

This was the impression that first struck me when I visited the United States in 1998. Encountering people of different racial backgrounds, hearing a multitude of languages and accents in the stores and on the streets, and witnessing the everyday interactions of diverse communities, I was reminded of the biblical vision of harmony and communion among all creation in Genesis 1. The experience suggested the possibility that humanity is capable of transcending divisions and moving toward greater unity without sacrificing diversity. It reinforced my conviction that the United States occupies a unique place in the ongoing human quest to realize a more integrated and interconnected world.

The concept of communion lies at the heart of Christian theology. The New Testament presents Christ as the one who reconciles humanity and overcomes the divisions that separate people from one another. St. Paul declares that in Christ there is neither Jew nor Greek, slave nor free, male nor female, for all are one in him (Gal 3:28). Similarly, in Ephesians 2:14, Paul proclaims that Christ has broken down the walls of hostility that divide human beings and has established a new unity grounded in reconciliation.

The church embodies this vision as the universal sacrament of communion. As the Mystical Body of Christ, the church transcends national, cultural, and linguistic boundaries and offers a spiritual home to all peoples. From a Christian perspective, the ultimate goal of history is the restoration of all creation in Christ. Humanity, together with the whole cosmos, participates in a process of transformation and renewal that moves toward a fuller realization of unity, peace, and communion. The whole creation, St. Paul notes, longs for this fulfillment (Rom 8:22–23).

From this theological standpoint, contemporary social and political developments deserve careful scrutiny. The ongoing tensions surrounding immigration, together with increasingly divisive political, racial, and religious rhetoric, raise important questions about the direction of American society and its fidelity to the founding values. Public discourse that emphasizes exclusion, fear, and antagonism risks undermining the nation’s historic aspiration to serve as a place of encounter and communion among peoples. Such tendencies may be understood not as signs of social advancement but as challenges to a more mature vision of human coexistence based on mutual respect and solidarity.

Communion does not require the erasure of differences. On the contrary, genuine communion presupposes and values distinct identities. Unity is most meaningful when it emerges from the free and respectful interaction of individuals and communities that maintain their unique histories, cultures, and traditions. Both persons and nations achieve greater maturity when they confront their fears, acknowledge their limitations, and learn to encounter others with openness rather than suspicion.

As the United States celebrates its 250th anniversary, it is appropriate to renew reflection on the foundational ideals that have shaped its history. Despite its imperfections and contradictions, the American experiment continues to offer a compelling vision of a society founded upon human dignity, freedom, and the common good. At its best, the United States points beyond itself to a broader horizon: the possibility that diverse peoples can live together in mutual respect and shared purpose. In this sense, the nation remains not merely a political entity but an ongoing experiment in communion—one whose success carries significance far beyond its own borders. ♦

Rev. Cornelius Uche Okeke is a priest from Ekwulobia Diocese, Nigeria. He holds a Ph.D. in psychology from the Institute of Psychology, Gregorian University, Rome. Since the time of his ordination, he has been involved in the formation of priests and religious men and women, and has written books on the subject. Fr. Okeke is currently on mission in the Archdiocese of Detroit, as the pastor of St. Andre Bessette Parish, Ecorse.

Over the past few years, clergy, academics, and the media have been talking about the growing number of Americans who no longer identify with any religious tradition—those whom pollsters identify as “nones,” because they answer survey questions about their faith with “None of the above.”

Between 1998 and 2000, 8 percent of Americans indicated no religious affiliation; by 2025, this had grown to 27 percent—over a 300 percent increase in just 25 years. The percentage of those with no, or who no longer have, any religious affiliation is even higher among younger Americans.

According to the Pew Research Center’s Religious Landscape study conducted in 2023–24, 44 percent of 18- to 29-year-olds are nones—the highest percentage of any age group—compared with a national average of 27 percent. Other national surveys by the General Election Survey (GSA) and Cooperative Election Study (CES) in 2025 analyzed by Ryan Burge of the Center for Religion and Politics at the University of Washington indicates that there is a growing tendency among these younger Americans in Gen Z to be raised in families with no religious affiliation.

If this trend continues, the families that these younger nones create will carry on the practice of not identifying with any religion. This presents a serious challenge to organized religious institutions going forward who rely for their future viability in attracting young families and their children.

The recent uptick in church attendance reported by media recently may not be permanent. There have been surges of interest and participation in religion throughout American history. Several Great Awakenings occurred in the 18th, 19th, and into the early 20th centuries. There was a significant increase in church attendance after 9/11 in 2001. However, these past surges did not produce permanent new church memberships, and participation ebbed when the fervor declined.

According to the Pew Research Center’s Religious Landscape study, for every convert to Catholicism today, eight who have been raised Catholic leave the church. It will take a very long time using traditional evangelization methods to make up for these losses despite recent upticks in conversions. In addition, nearly three-fifths of nones (58%) indicate they do not feel they need to belong to a church in order to pursue spiritual and moral lives and will resist formal efforts to get them into the church.

Many Nones Are Privately Religious

Research has shown that perhaps up to a quarter of nones (approximately 25 million Americans) continue to exhibit some religious values and behavior apart from membership in organized religion. Burge has termed this group of nones “ninos”—namely, nones in name only.

While these nones don’t affiliate with any faith institution, they display some religious characteristics. Twenty percent are sure that God exists; 31 percent believe in a higher power. More than three-quarters (78%) of Gen Z nones (ages 13 to 25) claim to be spiritual, and 45 percent say that they pray. There does seem to be potential for religious believers to engage nones if more creative strategies than formal evangelization methods are used to reach them.

In my recent book, Reaching the Religiously Disaffiliated: Comparative Strategies to Engage the Nones (Bloomsbury Academic Publishing, 2025), I describe strategies of the Nuns and Nones movement that seeks to accompany nones in their respective spiritual journeys rather than proselytize them.

The Nuns and Nones Movement

One of the most creative strategies to engage the religiously disaffected is the Nuns and Nones movement, a national organization that includes several hundred Catholic sisters and younger nones. The sisters invite nones to meals in their communities to explore the aspirations nones have to deepen their spirituality and discuss the moral values that motivate them.

These nones show interest in learning meditation techniques from the Catholic sisters and ways to create meaningful community experiences. Some have participated in shared living experiments in convents for months at a time, conversing over meals and meditating with the sisters while maintaining their work routines.

The sisters have discovered common values with these nones in areas of social justice for the poor and migrants and protection of the environment, resulting in hands-on projects such as the Land Justice Futures project that turns vacant convent land into ecologically sound farming communities eventually restored to Black, Indigenous, and other peoples who have been historically dispossessed.

The theology underlying these efforts by Catholic sisters is one of accompaniment, not proselytization. They affirm for nones signs of the Holy Spirit already at work in them, witnessed in their moral and spiritual lives and their desire to promote justice. This approach is less threatening to many nones who want to explore spirituality and meaningful community but are turned off by efforts to get them into churches.

The sisters see in these younger nones reflections of their younger selves, when they entered religious communities with lofty ideals for service to others. The nones, who may have had negative experiences of organized religion, are pleasantly surprised by positive interactions with faith-filled women who value and support them in their life journeys.

Sister Anne Curtis, RSM, from Madison, Connecticut, attended one of the first dialogues. She described her experience as having “this amazing sense that it was like listening to our younger selves in many ways.” Sister Carol Zinn, SSJ of Philadelphia has remarked that she was immediately impressed that the nones were creating organizations “right out of the Gospel and Catholic Social Teaching . . . I was just absolutely awed.” Sister Mary Dacey, SSJ, also of Philadelphia and the former president of the Leadership Conference of Women Religious (LCWR), remarked, “Certainly not the same, but the basics and the desires are there.” She affirmed: “We have so much more in common here than ever could divide us.”

Sister Judy Carle, RSM, who participates in the Bay Area gatherings of Nuns and Nones in San Francisco and is now on the national advisory committee for the movement, indicates that the meetings usually “start out with just a question that’s coming up from your heart and your experience, and that kind of sharing gets deep rather quickly.” She sees this work as a shifting of the concept of missionary conversion to “finding the spirituality of people and to live and serve in that particular milieu.” For her, these engagements between nuns and nones are new ways of how the church can work in the world.

A Possible Way Forward

In her 2014 book Belief Without Borders, a study of the spiritual but not religious, Linda Mercadante suggests that churches create “outer rim” communities for dialogue with nones on spirituality and shared moral values to serve society. Most megachurches already have developed small-group communities to deepen the spirituality of members, and these could be expanded to follow some of the strategies of the Nuns and Nones movement. Other denominations, including Catholic parishes, could also adopt some of the strategies of the Nuns and Nones movement to reach the vast majority of nones who have thus far expressed no interest in joining a house of worship in order to pursue spiritual and moral lives.

This may or may not eventually lead some to become adherents of organized religion, but it would plant the seeds in preparation for their doing so in ways that are not as high-pressure as those of formal evangelization efforts. Moreover, spiritual accompaniment might build bridges between those on the “edge of the inside” of organized religion with those on the “edge of the outside” (to use terms coined by the Rev. Richard Rohr) who are looking for ways to explore spirituality, discuss their struggles with faith, and experience communities that take their spiritual journeys seriously.

This approach of accompaniment of nones also has been endorsed by an influential theologian in Eastern Europe, where secularization and disaffection from religion has been even more rapid than in the United States. Fr. Tomáš Halík is a Catholic priest who has worked with young agnostics in Czechia for many years, an experience he has written about in his recent book, The Afternoon of Christianity: The Courage to Change (University of Notre Dame Press, 2024).

Halík believes those who wish to spread their faith must “follow Christ outside the Church where he awaits among those who say they do not believe.” He is convinced that Jesus is at work beyond the church, and the church’s mission is not to push nones into its existing structures but rather to “open and enrich . . . [the Church] by the experiences of those seekers who have much to tell us.” He adds, “We cannot just come to them with our apologetic arguments, but we should embrace those experiences of the silence of God and give it a broader context.”

Like the nuns in the Nuns and Nones movement, in his ministry on the “edge of the inside” of religion, Halík is building bridges to those on the “edge of the outside” of religion. This strategy may become an effective way for people of faith to engage nones in many regions as the world becomes more secular in the future.

There is a saying attributed to St. Teresa of Avila that “God works straight through crooked lines.” There are some “crooked lines” today in the way many nones are pursuing spirituality. Pressure to make them follow more traditional straight lines of church membership may interfere with God’s plan to collaborate gradually with them where they are. ♦

Brian H. Smith is professor emeritus at Ripon College where he taught courses in religion and ethics for 33 years (1987–2020). He has advanced degrees in theology, ethics, and political science, and has published several books on religion and politics in Latin America with Princeton University Press and University of Notre Dame Press. He was a member of the Jesuit Order for 21 years (1958–1979) and served as a priest for nine years, including one year in Chile as a pastor in a small Christian community (comunidad de base) in 1975.

Dr. Levine has been awarded grants from the Mellon Foundation, the National Endowment for the Humanities, and the American Council of Learned Societies. In addition to receiving three audiences with Pope Francis (which she recalls for us here), in spring 2019 she was the first Jew to teach New Testament at Rome’s Pontifical Biblical Institute. In 2021, she was elected to the American Academy of Arts and Sciences.

Her most recent books include The Bible with and Without Jesus, co-authored with Marc Z. Brettler, and The Pharisees, co-edited with Joseph Sievers, to which Pope Francis contributed an essay. With Marc Brettler, she co-edited The Jewish Annotated New Testament. She is also the editor of the 13-volume Feminist Companions to the New Testament and Early Christian Writings, and The Historical Jesus in Context. She has given close to 1,000 lectures on the Bible, Christian-Jewish relations, and religion, gender, and sexuality across the globe.

In this episode, we speak with Dr. Levine about her formative religious experiences and the development of her interest in Christianity and the New Testament, the impact of Nostra Aetate and the Second Vatican Council on Jewish-Christian relations, and various “blind spots and stumbling blocks” Christians might have about the representation of Jews and Judaism in the gospels. Along the way, Dr. Levine shares her thoughts on the rise of lectionary-based faith-sharing communities in the Catholic Church, explores why it is essential to preserve both the “logic and mystery” of Sacred Scripture, and explains why Jews and Christians are both “unfinished products” who can use their shared state as a means of dialogue and collaboration.

See also:

Faculty page at Hartford International University

The Pharisees, edited by Amy-Jill Levine and Joseph Sievers (Eerdmans Publishing Company, 2021)

Report on Dr. Levine’s lecture, “Reading the New Testament as Jews: History, Antisemitism, Respect,” Tomorrow’s American Catholic, March 19, 2026

“Celebrating the Jewish Annotated New Testament at the Gregorian University,” news brief from the Gregorian University Foundation, April 1, 2019

Author, Episcopal priest, and wisdom teacher Cynthia Bourgeault described incarnation as a “synonym for involution,” or the movement from a higher unbounded state to a lower, in conversation with her friend, fellow author, and Franciscan theologian Ilia Delio on Monday evening.

Referencing German mystic Jacob Boehme, Bourgeault said that “in order to make something flow, you have to constrict it.” God put the divine will “under tension as yearning” for something outside itself, she explained. Incarnation happens “when the divine in its deep love” realizes that one must move to a lower state in order to “participate in the creation of the new thrust.”

This desire or yearning, therefore, is “the primordial first move that the divine ineffable makes” toward creation, she said.

Bourgeault and Delio’s exchange, billed as “Cosmos, Chaos and the Complexities of Consciousness,” was convened by the Center for Christogenesis. The organization describes its mission as deepening the integration of science and religion, reflecting on the human person as an integral member of the cosmic whole, and enkindling an awareness of love as the core energy of the universe and impulse of evolution.

Last month, the Center announced that it is transitioning to becoming the World Institute for Science, Religion and Culture (WISR), “an educational platform dedicated to forming the human person on the level of the Noosphere—the sphere of shared mind and meaning that [Jesuit scientist and theologian] Teilhard [de Chardin] saw emerging across the planet.”

Monday’s Zoom-based conversation began with a moment of prayer led by the Center’s executive director, Robert Nicastro, who attuned over 550 participants “to the deeper currents of life moving through us.”

Delio introduced Bourgeault as a “mystical theologian” and presented the evening’s framing question as “how do we navigate as human knowers in this world today,” particularly in light of the challenges of “political mayhem” and “runaway AI.”

Delio opened by asking Bourgeault what consciousness and thought meant for her in the present moment, given that “evolution is the rise of thought” and thought is fundamental to what it means to be a human person.

Speaking from her home in Maine, Bourgeault identified the two issues that are most pressing to her as the “runaway collective insanity” of our current political situation and the crisis of global warming.

She described how the Western mind has long understood consciousness as “a natural entitled right” and presumed it was static. She identified the “earliest roadmap of the transformation of consciousness in the West” as chapter 8 of the 14th-century Christian mystical text The Cloud of Unknowing.

In the 20th century, a group of thinkers including Chardin, George Gurdjieff, and Jean Gebser set forth the idea that “consciousness itself is an evolution,” she explained. Yet even today organized Christianity has not adequately attended to the idea of evolutionary consciousness, which has been developed “on the extremities,” she said.

Delio responded by pointing out how integrated thinkers perceived consciousness as a “holistic field of unification” and questioning why institutional religion has not placed an emphasis on consciousness.

She hypothesized that the church “redirected” consciousness away from the self to a transcendent divinity. Institutional religion, therefore, believed the wholeness of life was contained in canons and dogmas rather than in human consciousness “open to infinite depth or infinite divinity.”

Many of the problems of our age “can be traced back to institutional religion” because the mystical dimension “was truncated [and] constrained,” Delio continued. This “managed mysticism by the church” meant that individuals did not have the “freedom to explore [consciousness] experientially on our own.”

Bourgeault elaborated on this insight, observing that we are presently dealing with “a failure of an epistemology of consciousness,” or a way of knowing how we know.

She offered Gurdjieff’s “useful heuristic” of “human beings [as] three-brained creatures”: intellectual, emotional, and kinesthetic. The latter is the “moving center,” a mode of consciousness rooted in the body’s rhythmic motions and adaptations.

The problem of the Western mind and the institutional church is that they privilege the intellectual center of consciousness but disregard the other two, Bourgeault said. She described the intellectual center as tending toward abstraction and dialectic—“it loves either/ors”—as well as being the “slowest moving” of the three brains.

“All three brains have to be on line and in communication,” she explained, so that something can emerge out of their “interweaving” that is conscious of its own consciousness and can begin to access its “evolutionary dimension.”

Delio picked up on this theme, noting how St. Francis of Assisi was “a very, very simple man, but a mystic.” His mystical orientation began with “the experience of the self open to something beyond the self,” she said. She described this form of mysticism as “horizontally ecstatic.”

Francis developed into integrated personhood through “a circular movement of ever-deepening awareness,” she continued. He moved into the world, assimilated it into himself by reflecting on it in light of the presence of God, and gave it back to the world, all the while “growing in the awareness of love.”

Bourgeault observed that with his well-developed centers of awareness, Francis “can wield and sort and attract energy and deflect it,” she said.

“There’s nothing he experiences that he hasn’t experienced absolutely in his body,” she added.

Bourgeault turned to another Gurdjieffian concept, that of the “law of three”: the idea that every action arises not just as a conflict between two opposing forces, but contains a third “reconciling force” that allows for the opening of a new horizon.

Our world today is “third-force blind” in that we don’t recognize this reconciling power, she said. We become entrapped in a “polarizing brain” that ends in disintegration, dialectical absolutism, and siloed thinking.

The way through such polarized situations is “just bringing a certain kind of consciousness” that doesn’t judge but simply holds the chaos and tension of opposing forces. She drew a parallel to Michelangelo’s Pietà, where Mary holds the “groaning and travailing of the cosmos” in the form of Christ, her son.

Delio added that when knowledge has “lost its eros” it devolves into “a war of words”—purely fact-laden, logical arguments and theorems.

“There’s no air in [these arguments], there’s no life in them,” she said. The mystic, to the contrary, is “impassioned by something more” that pulls her into wholeness and greater unity.

Mysticism “is a way of being that makes doing possible,” she continued. “Reclaiming the mystical dimension of life may be fundamental to the 21st century.”

In the process of reclaiming a core of love and thinking beyond binaries, “the middle may be the most important area to consider,” she said. This gives special value to experiences of ambiguity, unknowability, and tenuousness.

Bourgeault and Delio turned to the need to learn to let go, to surrender the structures of selfhood and ego in order to enter into new levels of consciousness, awareness, and human community.

Describing the process of letting go as “an opening up” and “a matter of freedom,” Delio referenced the counsel of St. Francis’s companion St. Clare of Assisi: “May you go forth with swift pace and light feet.”

“The most important thing is what’s arriving from the future,” she reminded listeners. She suggested that “the Catholic Church needs to let go” and open up to a new future, one in which it might reimagine and rethink its doctrines “as core values for life.”

Bourgeault said that individuals are “held back” by institutional and epistemological binaries that suppress “a tremendous need to break free of our boundedness.”

She identified “our big question” as “how we live in our mystical beingness” and asked, “Can we find our way forward together as a humanity?”

Letting go requires a strength of inner being to survive it, she continued. It is not just an intellectual process, but one that must emerge of out “three-centered awareness.”

Bourgeault spoke of her practice of Centering Prayer, based on the teachings of Trappist monk Thomas Keating, as an act of generosity of freedom. In Centering Prayer, the focus is on letting thoughts go as a way of “repatterning the brain” so as not to grasp at them in fear.

“If you can’t let go [of something] at the object end, let go at the subject end,” she advised. “Let go of the self that needs it.”

She returned to the theme of passion and yearning as being at the origin of God’s participation in the universe. The only way we can relieve the tension of yearning and anguish is through surrender as a pure act of will and self-survival, she said.

In letting anguish play out “without giving into the temptation of dialectics,” individuals and the world as a whole become freer, she continued. One begins to act in the world “with unconflicted action” and “the beauty and elegance of the right motion.” This has planet-altering effects as more and more individuals acquire the trust and lived experience of a “higher synergy” that collects and holds them and in which they can participate together.

Added Delio, “We are much more together than we are alone.” ♦

Michael Centore
Editor, Tomorrow’s American Catholic

I would like to share some tips that I hope will give others much-improved insights into the New Testament. I’m not a priest or theologian, just a lay Catholic with many years of experience gradually gaining knowledge of Jesus and his times. I took rigorous biblical redaction courses at the University of Illinois several decades ago, but I mostly studied biology and chemistry in college. In recent decades I’ve read many books about biblical research and, more recently, watched countless lectures online given by recognized Bible scholars.

Like most 20th-century Catholic families in the United States, my family never read the Bible at home, though we attended Mass each week and on all holy days. We listened passively to the three Scripture readings each Sunday. They were brief extracts from widely scattered texts in the Old and New Testaments, and though the five-minute homily usually dealt with a religious point made in the gospel, there was no real mention of when a text was written, for which audience, or why it was written in a particular manner. Still today, the Mass readings are short and from widely scattered sections of the Bible. These cycle over a three-year period designated A, B, and C, and these cherry-picked passages represent a tiny fraction of what’s in the Bible. There is never the insight that would be provided by reading completely a full letter by Paul or a full gospel. We just hear brief passages out of context.

I never participated in serious scholarly discussions about the texts until those courses in college. The professor required that class members read several textbooks during those months while referring to a specific scholarly edition of the Bible that each student purchased. We used the Oxford annotated Bible, and this was eye-opening. In the front was a brief but thorough explanation about the construction and structure of the Bible and how the English translations were made. Each book of the Bible had a short scholarly introduction explaining what was known about the author, origin, and context of that book. Importantly, extensive detailed footnotes to verses were provided on nearly every page, and these were highly informative.

Many Tomorrow’s American Catholic readers likely have Catholic Bibles or other sorts of modern editions, and that is fine. But if you really want a deeper and much more instructive experience, I suggest you get an Oxford annotated Bible. My advice would be to stay away from scholarly textbooks for now as the material can be technical and difficult.

The Bible is not a book. It is a library of many books written by different people over a long period. Nearly all Catholics know this, of course, but it is important to realize that the many authors had many different and often conflicting points of view. Some people worry when they see contradictions among the gospels, for example, but there should be no concern about trying to align the accounts so that they agree. The different writers are telling important religious tales written in various times and places using different sources, often based on decades of oral tradition before anything about Jesus was ever written down.

I was amused as a teenager when I first heard of a “red-letter Bible” in which verses that are spoken by Jesus are printed in red. One should recall that Jesus spoke in Aramaic and likely knew only a few words or phrases in Greek. The Gospel of Mark was written likely just before 70 AD and was composed in koine Greek (an ancient type of Greek) by a well-educated and sophisticated person not likely living in Palestine. That gospel, which is short, has been described as a passion narrative with a brief introduction. The sources of the material apparently were almost entirely oral traditions that had circulated for decades. I mention this not to minimize the importance of the words of Jesus as recorded, but to emphasize that except for perhaps a few short phrases (as in the Lord’s Prayer), these words of Jesus likely capture well only his intent, not his exact wording.

In one gospel, for example, Jesus is quoted as saying that married couples should not divorce, though in another gospel he says not to divorce unless there has been adultery. (Note that culturally in the first century, adultery was often not believed to be a serious personal failing but instead was an afront to the paternal family system in which marriages were negotiated and a price was usually paid for the bride. Men generally were never punished for adultery, but a woman had insulted her family and could be punished. Also, as an aside, a man who had sex with an unmarried young woman was seriously affecting her cultural acceptability as a potential bride; the man generally had no consequences except that the family might insist that he pay the bride’s price.) Note that Christians had initially believed that the end was coming soon, perhaps in a few months, so it was advised that if a person was single, he might not take the trouble to marry, and it didn’t matter short-term if a person was a slave or free. Since the kingdom was about to come, oral tradition was adequate.

The gospels of Luke and Matthew were written later, perhaps between 70 and 90 AD. They both used Mark as a guide as well as possible sayings of Jesus from another source that scholars call Q, which has been lost. Again, Luke and Matthew were composed in sophisticated koine Greek. It’s not clear if the two authors had ever seen each other’s writings, or if they had ever seen the letters of Paul, which are much earlier. By the 90s, Jesus’s origins and place in history were becoming more important to Christians, so “Christmas narratives” were added, as well as stating Jesus’s ancestry, though one gospel emphasizes Mary and the other Joseph as the relevant parent (again reflecting the paternalistic culture), and one gospel even traces ancestors all the way back to Adam. The Gospel of John is later still and depicts Jesus as being very God-like and knowing much about the future, even remaining “in control” during his passion. In contrast, in Mark, Jesus is hesitant at first to let people know that he is the Messiah, and he may believe that he has died a failure since his only words during his execution are, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”

The latter point is important: the four gospels have very different perspectives. They are narratives shaped by authors who have religious ideas in mind, and each gospel is valuable. This is why each gospel should be read all the way through, just like a novel, to understand that author’s view. Having a few paragraphs read to us at Mass, one week or two weeks from one gospel, and then other weeks from other gospels, loses each author’s intent. I once heard a radio broadcast about the “seven last sayings of Jesus” during his passion, as though Jesus had said all these words sequentially during the crucifixion. In fact, the radio preacher had amalgamated these seven sayings from the four gospels, creating a novel “mongrel gospel.”

The Bible is a vital source of information for Christians, and it is not legitimate to blend the separate gospels as we wish just to create our own mixed-up gospel. For example, in Mark, Jesus is suffering and silent during the passion except the one statement when he dies. In John, Jesus has several sayings and seems to be in control as he dies as a ransom for many. These are not contradictions. They are different narratives to make important religious points. In the Synoptic Gospels (Mark, Luke, and Matthew), there is a Last Supper to celebrate Passover followed the next day by the crucifixion. This differs from John because that author wanted to emphasize that Jesus was killed on the Day of Preparation (the day before the meal is celebrated), which was the time when the innocent lambs are sacrificed to serve as the meal. In consequence, there is no Last Supper in John, though there is a different episode in which Jesus humbly washes the feet of his disciples to show that our role should be that of servants to others.

As mentioned, Paul’s epistles are much earlier than the gospels. Keep in mind that when Paul is quoted saying that he is spreading the gospel, he means the “good news” based on oral traditions—the written gospels do not yet exist. Paul is thought to have been killed by 64–67 AD. He has also had a vision of Jesus, but he never bothers to describe it, and he gives almost no sayings of Jesus. Paul’s message is not “from Jesus” but rather “about Jesus.” The thirteen letters that are attributed to Paul are all that survive, although he likely wrote a hundred letters or more to his churches over the years.

Paul was among the early Christians who were confused by the death of the Messiah and reasoned what it must mean. (Speaking religiously, they were inspired by the Holy Spirit to make sense of Jesus.) Paul came up with two theories, and in his letters he switches back and forth effortlessly between these. Modern readers may not even notice that Paul is switching back and forth between these ideas. For modern Catholics, these have become a sort of blended idea. Either the death of Jesus was a price that had to be paid as a ransom because of Adam’s sin (atonement), or the death of Jesus somehow overcame the evil power that was ravaging the Earth, causing sin and the death of humans (overcoming evil). I should note that the atonement concept was favored by three of the gospel writers, but not by Luke. Luke has expunged any mention of atonement from his gospel, though one phrase during the Last Supper (“a ransom for many”) is thought by scholars to be a later insertion by a scribe who must have been concerned that the consecration language in Mark and Matthew was not being followed by Luke.

We must trust in the Holy Spirit. These ancient documents form the basis of our faith, and we should not be troubled that they were composed by humans who were trying their best to tell important religious stories, placing emphasis on different points as it suited them. Importantly, these documents were composed separately and are best understood when each is read from start to finish instead of sampling a few verses at a time from different documents. I hope that these points will lead you to improved understanding and appreciation of the Bible. ♦

James Magner, MD, is an endocrinologist and scientist who spent years studying the biochemistry and physiology of the pituitary hormone, TSH, and providing medical supervision for several projects within the pharmaceutical industry. He is the author of several books, including Seeking Hidden Treasures: A Collection of Curious Tales and Essays and Free to Decide: Building a Life in Science and Medicine.

22 de septiembre

Días sin hablar,
miradas sin sostener,
silencios
que prefieren callar.

Un abismo . . .
hasta que te vi llegar.

Tu presencia
me hizo suspirar.

Una palabra
atrajo mi calma,
un lugar seguro
que reconocía mi alma.

Mis besos revelaron
lo que el silencio gritaba,
escuchar latir tu corazón,
sentirme deseada.

El vaivén de emociones,
los días de ausencias,
los días
en que me recordabas.

Existía un amor
que solo en mí estaba.

Besarte sin un título
decía lo que
te entregaba.

Cruzaste mis limites
siendo nada,
ganaste mi esperanza
y me rompiste el alma.

La primera vez
que mi corazón
se entregaba.

September 22

Days unspoken,
gazes unheld,
silences
that prefer to keep silent.

An abyss . . .
until I saw you arrive.

Your presence
made me sigh.

One word
drew forth my calm,
a secure place
that my soul recognized.

My kisses revealed
what the silence was shouting,
to listen to the beat of your heart,
to feel myself desired.

The sway of emotions,
the days of absences,
the days
when you remembered me.

There was a love
that was only within me.

To kiss you without title
was saying that
I gave myself to you.

You crossed my boundaries
being nothing,
you won my hope
and you broke my soul.

The first time
that my heart
surrendered.

Cuando te fuiste

Una lucha de
corazón y razón.
Debatiendo encuentros
que alma señalo.

No debí probar tus labios
que ya tenían un nombre.

No debí quedarme
en el calor de tus brazos
cuando no eran míos.

No debí jugar
sabiendo
que no iba ganar.

No debí sentir
si solo en mi nacía.

Mi alma no entendió razones,
y el corazón abrió caminos.

Te observo sin querer
hacerlo.

Y verte de lejos
duele más
que el día
en que te fuiste.

When You Left

A struggle between
heart and reason.
Debating encounters
marked by the soul.

I shouldn’t taste your lips
that already had a name.

I was not able to remain myself
in the warmth of your arms
when you were not mine.

I was not able to play
knowing
that I wasn’t going to win.

I was not able to feel
if it was only born within me.

My soul did not understand reason,
and the heart opened ways.

I watch you without wanting
to do it.

And to see you from a distance
hurts more
than the day
you left.

Ensayo de despedida

Mi corazón
ensaya palabras
para darte el adiós.

Mi cuerpo
siente ese dolor.

Mis ojos
cristalizan
lo que la ilusión
construyó.

Me despedí
de mil maneras
y ninguna llegó.

Camino por recuerdos,
verdades que
el silencio ocultó.

Una despedida
sin palabras
llegó.

Te marchaste
sin previo aviso,
sin ruido,
sin final.

Despedidas
que el alma
creó.

Buscando una salida
para no morir
de dolor.

Donde antes fuiste mío,
quedó
un profundo adiós.

Un ensayo de despedida
que mis sueños construyeron
pero nunca existió.

Rehearsal for Departure

My heart
rehearses words
to offer you a farewell.

My body
feels that pain.

My eyes
crystallize
what the illusion
constructed.

I said goodbye
a thousand ways
and no one arrived.

The way of remembrance,
truths that
the silence obscures.

There arrived
one wordless
farewell.

You left me
without warning,
without sound,
without end.

Goodbyes
that my soul
believed.

Seeking an exit
so as not to die
of pain.

Where before you were mine,
there remained
a profound goodbye.

A rehearsal for departure
that my dreams constructed
but never existed.

Gabriela Emperatriz García Martínez escritora salvadoreña, encuentra en la escritura una forma de transformar recuerdos, heridas y silencios en versos. Los textos exploran el amor, la nostalgia y el crecimiento personal, buscando conectar emociones con imágenes sensibles y cercanas. Actualmente continúa desarrollando su voz poética mientras participa en convocatorias en español.

Salvadoran writer Gabriela Emperatriz García Martínez finds in writing a way to transform memories, wounds, and silences into verse. Her work explores love, nostalgia, and personal growth, seeking to connect emotions with evocative, relatable imagery. She is currently continuing to develop her poetic voice while participating in Spanish-language literary calls for submissions.

Traducciones de Michael Centore; agradecimientos especiales a Rick Dixon y Gabriela Emperatriz García Martínez. | Translations by Michael Centore, with special thanks to Rick Dixon and Gabriela Emperatriz García Martínez.

In addition to her literary output, Mary has a PhD in Immunology & Pathogenesis from the University of California–Berkeley and did infectious disease research for a decade, all the while volunteering part-time with Annunciation House. She lives in Seattle with her husband and two children.

In this episode, Mary shares the history and mission of Annunciation House and its culture rooted in personalism, liberation theology, and “doing small things with great love.” We look at how US immigration policies have changed over time, and how the lack of legal pathways in our current system ultimately endangers migrants’ lives. Mary also explains the importance of “humanizing people and seeing them as worthy of our compassion” and elaborates on the core goal of her book as helping readers “really come to know specific stories of immigrants, migrants, refugees, so that they can feel more of a kinship with them, more of an understanding of why they come.”

See also:

Mary Fontana’s official website

Strangers in the Province of Joy at Orbis Books

“Rio Grande Roulette,” essay at The Lemonwood Quarterly

Awareness by Anthony De Mello, a formative influence on Mary’s spirituality

Sixteen months into the current administration’s mass deportation campaign, faith communities are organizing, with courage and creativity, to accompany our immigrant neighbors. The focus now is on halting the expansion of immigration detention centers and the separation of mixed-status families. In early May, I visited the Kino Border Initiative in the border town of Nogales, Arizona. A ministry of hospitality and accompaniment founded 19 years ago by Mexican Catholic Sisters, Kino provides holistic services to people on the move. At the shelter in Nogales, Mexico, mere yards away from the port of entry, the Kino staff and volunteers serve two meals a day, offer health care and legal consultation, and advocate for migrants’ rights. During our visit, we met several parents who had been deported from the US. Hearing their stories impressed upon me the urgency of supporting young people impacted by parental deportation.

One Mexican national staying at the shelter, whom I’ll call Carlos (not his real name), arrived in the US as a teenager. He lived in California for 27 years, started his own construction company, bought a house, and paid his taxes. One day, without warning, ICE showed up at his door in North Hollywood and arrested him. Not because he had done anything wrong—they simply knew where to find him after requisitioning his address and information from the California DMV.

This situation was preventable. We’ve known for some time that ICE can access information held by DMVs. That’s why municipal ID programs were designed to safeguard the identity of cardholders, who are not asked about citizenship when they register. With an official form of ID, city residents can apply for jobs, cash checks, and check out library books. Programs like the Elm City Resident Card, launched in New Haven, Connecticut, in 2007, offer accommodations for undocumented people who have come to the US, wanting to work and raise their children in safety. Even before the current administration curtailed legal asylum, people from working-poor backgrounds like Carlos had next to no options for authorized entry into the US. With federal immigration reform stymied since at least the 1980s, it’s been incumbent upon local communities to create alternative ways of welcoming and integrating new neighbors. Creative accommodations like municipal ID programs held out hope for inclusion. We need that kind of creativity now to accompany families targeted by immigration raids.

After ICE picked him up, Carlos was deported and separated from his four US-citizen children. Two daughters, still in school and working, are struggling financially. In December, they couldn’t afford groceries. Carlos wants to return to provide for them. When he had his construction company, he could do so easily. But in Mexico, he doesn’t earn enough.

Carlos is now in an impossible situation. Under current policy, people deported by ICE after living in the US for 10-plus years are charged with a misdemeanor under federal law and subject to a 10-year ban. For a full decade, their US-citizen family members are not allowed to sponsor their application for legal residence. They cannot even apply for a tourist visa to visit their children. If they are caught crossing back into the US to reunite with their families, the penalty levels up to a felony and permanent ban. Proponents of these harsh sentences say they act as deterrents to prevent people from attempting to cross. The truth is that federal immigration laws are designed to criminalize the poor, using racialized fear tactics honed during the War on Drugs to justify the mass detention and removal of people already living on the margins. The implementation of policies that nullify legal pathways to migration, while making border-crossing as deadly as possible, violate human dignity and the right to life.

At Kino, Carlos asks what we think of him and his situation. “I had the American Dream,” he says, “and I lost it.” He wants to be a good father to his children so they can pursue their dreams. One daughter is studying to become a pediatrician, the other an immigration lawyer. I wanted to reassure Carlos that his daughters wouldn’t be abandoned, that their schools would have resources to support them. I thought of my undergraduate students at the University of Notre Dame whose parents are immigrants. When I ask about their families, these students say how grateful they are for the struggles their parents endured so that they could receive an education and choose their own path in life. These young people want to honor their parents’ bravery and sacrifice. They shouldn’t also have to fear for their safety.

The Brookings Institution reported in May that ICE has detained 400,000 individuals arrested within the US since January 2025. 145,000 US citizen children have likely been separated from a parent booked into detention. These parents are forced to make a terrible choice. At Kino, I met a working mom, whom I’ll call Jessica, who had lived in Houston since she was twelve. While waiting to pick up her 19-year-old son from work, she was arrested in an ICE raid. They separated her from her five children, including her baby whom she was breast-feeding. Although Jessica had no criminal record, she was detained in degrading conditions for six months—but not in the facility two hours away from Houston where her children could have visited. Instead, she was shackled and flown on a plane to a detention center in Tacoma, Washington. She could not afford an attorney to represent her in immigration court, where defendants are not guaranteed legal representation. When the judge told her she would be deported, she asked what would happen to her children. Her oldest son had driven the babies up to St. Louis, where her mother had stopped working to care for them. The judge said Jessica could have the children deported with her. But they are US citizens—why would she force them to leave home?

This devastating deportation policy leaves mixed-status families in emotional crisis and financial precarity. But in this time of catastrophe, local communities are mobilizing so that these families know they are not alone. The good news is that all of us can practice love of neighbor in three concrete ways. First, we can meet immediate needs by connecting with grassroots mutual-aid networks where we live. Those of us who are educators can offer additional support for students whose parents have been detained or deported. Second, we can advocate for an end to family separation and oppose the expansion of ICE detention centers. Ask your representatives to make accommodations for family members of US citizens already living here. Third, we can participate in public actions to show solidarity with our immigrant neighbors. Catholic parishes and schools have been holding prayer vigils and marches throughout the Season of Faithful Witness, culminating with processions across the country on the Feast of Corpus Christi (June 7). It’s time to offer a counter-witness to publicly funded displays of white supremacy and Christian nationalism by proclaiming the Gospel of peace and unity.

Today, in the face of persecution, immigrants are bearing witness to God’s Spirit of courage, love, and truth. Filled with that same Spirit, all of us can become advocates for migration with dignity. ♦

Ann Killian, OP, is a Dominican Sister of Peace and assistant professor of English at the University of Notre Dame.

Michele Dunne is a professed Secular Franciscan and the executive director of the Franciscan Action Network, a collective Franciscan voice seeking to transform United States public policy related to peace making, care for creation, poverty, and human rights.

Before coming to her current position, Michele’s career focused on the Middle East and US foreign policy. From 2006 until 2021, she headed programs focused on peace, human rights, and democracy in the Middle East at the Carnegie Endowment for International Peace and the Atlantic Council. Prior to that, she served for nearly 20 years in the US Department of State, including assignments in Jerusalem and Cairo. She holds a PhD from Georgetown University and currently lives in Washington, DC with her husband.

In this episode, Michele shares with us her spiritual journey and the gradual revelation of her Franciscan vocation—what she describes as “the greatest gift that God ever gave me, and also the most challenging and most humbling”—and explores those elements of the “life-giving and life-affirming” Franciscan Rule that have enriched and encouraged her along the way. We take a close look at the work of the Franciscan Action Network and its mission to “inform, inspire, and mobilize” its collective membership of religious communities, local affinity groups, and thousands of individual members across the country. Michele also touches on the relationship between Franciscan spirituality and activism and explains how the Network supports its members in discerning and carrying out their own unique calling.

Listen here »

Paul Nyklicek on healing our collective national trauma: “We are traumatized by how we are imposed upon by others and by how we impose ourselves on others. We experience the shame of being dehumanized and the shame of dehumanizing others. Reaching a critical mass of internal shame—or, worse, public humiliation—we become highly susceptible to violent behavior as an escape from this unbearable pain.”

Read more »

Jim Hickey on the tension of religious responses to war: “Pope Leo XIV has been highly outspoken regarding prayer and conflict, notably during the Iran war conflict. In a Palm Sunday address in St. Peter’s Square, he stated that God ‘does not listen to the prayers of those who wage war’ and rejects prayers from leaders whose ‘hands are full of blood.’ Leo also declared that Jesus is the King of Peace and ‘no one can use [him] to justify war.’”

Read more »

Congratulations to our podcast guest Colette Lafia, whose book Leaving the Shore: Experiencing Poetry as Prayer (Monkfish Publishing) was named the Nautilus Book Award 2026 Gold Winner in the category of Lyric Prose or Hybrid Works. Our interview with Colette explored the relationship between reading and writing poetry and contemplative practice. She also shared poems from Leaving the Shore along with prompts for guided mediation.

Congratulations also to our guest Kurt Johnson and his colleagues at Light on Light Press. The Way of Unity: Essential Principles and Preconditions for Peace, written by Robert Atkinson and published by Light on Light, received a 2026 Nautilus Award in the category of Religion and Spirituality of Other Traditions. Kurt introduced us to the two-volume Interspirituality set compiled last year for Light on Light and gave us a rich synthesis of the history and current state of the interspiritual movement.

Look out next week for our interview with Mary Fontana, author of Strangers in the Province of Joy: Practicing Radical Hospitality on the US-Mexico Border (Orbis Books). We’ll also be featuring an article on the Kino Border Initiative, a ministry accompanying migrants in Nogales, Arizona, along with new poetry from El Salvador.

If we look closely at the timeline of American history, we find that, since 1776, over 90 percent of our nearly 250-year project has been marked by involvement in war. I’m not sure if any other nation today can make that claim.

America came into existence as a consequence of war. But what explains this extreme tendency to repeatedly engage in war? It would be comforting to believe that there is a rational explanation, that there is a good reason for engaging in warfare again and again and again. There is, but it’s not what we were taught in school.

As a nation, we are saturated in a collective trauma that we have never adequately addressed. The news of what our country is doing to its own people and to people in other parts of the world horrifies us. We are exposed to such news around the clock. Mere awareness of these events hammer at our souls, and they hammer at the collective American soul. At some level, the American people know that domination, cruelty, destruction, and corruption are wrong and unacceptable. I believe this is true even for those who support the wars America wages and the oppression of people living within and beyond its borders. No individual or nation is immune to moral injury.

When we speak of this trauma, we are speaking of a national moral injury, and when we speak of moral injury, we are dealing with shame. Shame is at the center of traumatic injury, whether we are processing it individually or collectively. It takes the form of an emotional story we create to attribute meaning to our experience. Shame becomes the compelling narrative of our inherent “badness” that is so painful that we go to great lengths to conceal it from others and, as much as possible, from ourselves.

Shame insists that a person or group is the problem. Attempting to claim the moral high ground, we decry poor behavior as “shameless” and we exclaim “Have you no shame?” to those behaving reprehensibly—as if having a sufficient quantity of shame would redirect their actions back within morally acceptable parameters.

Shame has been tragically misunderstood as a kind of virtuous, corrective energy. It isn’t. Often confused with appropriate guilt, shame is an emotional indictment of who we are. By contrast, appropriate guilt is the energy of moral course-correction that guides us back to living in accordance with our values. Think of it as our organic GPS system. Guilt informs us that we have made a mistake, while shame informs us that we are a mistake. If my very existence is labeled a mistake, where is there to go? Literally nowhere.

Shame is corrosive, not corrective. In fact, research indicates that shame is highly correlated with expressions of violence. The actual experience of shame is one of internal torture. This is precisely why people and nations will go to such incredible, even outrageous lengths to escape feelings of shame.

The Origins of Trauma

America’s collective trauma is partly a result of what was done to us. The European settlers who colonized what we now know as North America were themselves a traumatized group of people attempting to escape various forms of oppression in Europe. They risked much in undertaking perilous journeys across the Atlantic Ocean. Some didn’t survive. Many died soon after arriving in the “New World.” They brought their collective trauma with them.

We have also traumatized ourselves by our long history of perpetration. The early settlers who colonized this land traumatized themselves as they dehumanized and brutalized the indigenous people already living on this continent. Those colonists traumatized themselves further by doing the same thing to the people abducted from Africa, who were enslaved and used as beasts of burden to provide a more comfortable life for those who presumed to own them. After the Japanese military attacked Pearl Harbor in 1941, we imprisoned thousands of Japanese Americans in internment camps simply because they were Japanese Americans. This kind of vicious inequality and oppression became the pattern for American life, emerging in the Jim Crow period of the 20th century and the bigotry towards Muslims in the 21st.

We are traumatized by how we are imposed upon by others and by how we impose ourselves on others. We experience the shame of being dehumanized and the shame of dehumanizing others. Reaching a critical mass of internal shame—or, worse, public humiliation—we become highly susceptible to violent behavior as an escape from this unbearable pain.

How have we tried to manage our collective trauma? We have manufactured sanitized stories that promote mythologies of greatness and virtue. We escape into highly materialistic lifestyles that we regard as the evidence of how good we are. We obscure or minimize those aspects of our nation’s history that are shameful. Instead, we tell ourselves that God favors us and is on our side. We proclaim American exceptionalism. It worked for us until it couldn’t, because it came at such a high moral cost. Portions of America’s soul were required for the Faustian bargain we didn’t know we were making.

States of Denial

What lengths have we Americans gone to in order to escape our collective trauma? Whether we consciously admit it or not, there is an inner awareness that we have acted in ways that are significant betrayals of our morality. Eventually, very painful truths break through and enter our collective awareness. We learn of war crimes like the fire bombings of Hamburg, Dresden, and Tokyo in World War II and the My Lai massacre in Vietnam that were perpetrated by the US military. Incidents of vicious racism like the Wilmington Coup of 1898 and the Tulsa massacre of 1921 seep into public awareness and illuminate the ugliness of white supremacy in America. The American government’s complicity in the slaughter of Palestinians in Gaza is a current example of this moral betrayal.

Becoming traumatized by harming others may seem like a strange concept to some. Many active military personnel and veterans will confirm how real and devastating it is. The extent to which we subscribe to the illusion of separateness between ourselves and others is the degree to which we are blind to how we injure ourselves by injuring others. The reality of our deep interconnectedness is a matter of scientific fact. Yet it is a highly problematic fact for those invested in maintaining the political and economic status quo which maintains the privileges of a select few.

Sadly, our politicians are collectively and perhaps willfully in denial of perpetration-induced trauma, as are the powerful corporations that dominate our government. Out of this state of denial, our political and economic systems continue to inflict serious injuries to our individual and collective integrity. They wound our humanity.

This denial makes war inevitable. State-sanctioned mass murder is established as a viable and all too often preferred method of getting what is desired by both political and economic power structures. It is very lucrative for the few and obscenely costly to the many. The normalization of war is the result of conditioned ignorance. The glorification of war is pathological. The conflation of war with anything holy is blasphemous.

Yet the reality of war persists. When nothing else works for us to control the torturous shame we have internalized, war is our “break glass in case of emergency” option. When all else fails, we go to war to distract ourselves from the agony of our shame.

The Work of Healing

The purpose of pointing out the low points of American history is not to promote a sense of national shame. Despite the current attempt to re-engineer public education to “protect” students from history that might make uncomfortable (to protect “white fragility,” some might contend), it is just the opposite. We are already immersed in an atmosphere of collective trauma that is so familiar to us that it feels normal. We are like fish swimming in water and not realizing that we are wet.

The point of reckoning with our collective injuries and the perpetration of serious injuries to others is that a deep and rigorous honesty is the only way out of this toxic cycle. Such honesty is the exit ramp for us to do the necessary work of healing so that we can emerge from the torture chamber of our collective trauma. We need to stop pretending that we can fight our way out of this torture chamber. We can’t. We keep trying the main the feelgood stories of our collective ego, perhaps fearing the pain of letting them go. We confuse honest humility with the shame we fear so much, and this confusion keeps us trapped in our own fiction.

Like a recovering alcoholic, America needs to make amends to all whom it has harmed, which must include tangible reparations to the fullest extent possible. We must humbly ask for forgiveness and accept whether it is given or not. A hollow “celebrity apology” will accomplish nothing.

America needs its own version of a Truth and Reconciliation process. We need to take long and serious look in the mirror and stop pretending that we’re always right and always superior. “My country right or wrong” needs to be retired and finally recognized as an obsolete stance. Our national ego needs deflation. No more fantasies about superiority. Then we will be able to heal from our trauma and start telling ourselves a new and honest story of who we are: a people who prioritize love over domination and a nation that genuinely respects all of its inhabitants and all those living throughout the world. ♦

Paul Nyklicek is a husband and a father. He works in Farmington, Connecticut, as a psychotherapist and is an associate member of Veterans for Peace.

Before coming to her current position, Michele’s career focused on the Middle East and US foreign policy. From 2006 until 2021, she headed programs focused on peace, human rights, and democracy in the Middle East at the Carnegie Endowment for International Peace and the Atlantic Council. Prior to that, she served for nearly 20 years in the US Department of State, including assignments in Jerusalem and Cairo. She holds a PhD from Georgetown University and currently lives in Washington, DC with her husband.

In this episode, Michele shares with us her spiritual journey and the gradual revelation of her Franciscan vocation—what she describes as “the greatest gift that God ever gave me, and also the most challenging and most humbling”—and explores those elements of the “life-giving and life-affirming” Franciscan Rule that have enriched and encouraged her along the way. We take a close look at the work of the Franciscan Action Network and its mission to “inform, inspire, and mobilize” its collective membership of religious communities, local affinity groups, and thousands of individual members across the country. Michele also touches on the relationship between Franciscan spirituality and activism and explains how the Network supports its members in discerning and carrying out their own unique calling.

Invoking the divine is a long-standing tradition in American military history, but the rhetoric of the present administration has reached unprecedented levels. Throughout his presidency, Donald Trump has positioned himself as a champion of the Christian cause. After surviving the July 13, 2024, assassination attempt, he attributed his survival to divine intervention, claiming he was “saved by God to make America great again” and stating that the event deepened his faith. Yet much of Trump’s subsequent rhetoric strikes a sacrilegious chord. Doesn’t Christianity teach the necessity of humility and the need to examine one’s own conscience?

This tone extends to his cabinet. Secretary of Defense Pete Hegseth has framed military operations in the language of “divine purpose,” asking Americans to pray for victory “in the name of Jesus.” He even compared the rescue of a US airman on Easter Sunday to the resurrection of Christ.

Previous administrations invoked God with more restraint. During the D-Day invasion, Franklin D. Roosevelt led a national radio prayer asking for the blessing of “Almighty God” in a “struggle to preserve our Republic, our religion, and our civilization.” Following 9/11, George W. Bush stated that “the Lord of life holds all who die,” but he stopped short of claiming a divine anointing for specific military strikes. Similarly, Barack Obama frequently spoke of “Jesus Christ,” but within the context of personal faith rather than as a justification for combat. Two passages in Abraham Lincoln’s Second Inaugural Address perhaps capture this tension best:

It may seem strange that any men should dare to ask a just God’s assistance in wringing their bread from the sweat of other men’s faces, but let us judge not, that we be not judged. The prayers of both could not be answered. . . .

With malice toward none, with charity for all.

Pope Leo XIV has been highly outspoken regarding prayer and conflict, notably during the Iran war conflict. In a Palm Sunday address in St. Peter’s Square, he stated that God “does not listen to the prayers of those who wage war” and rejects prayers from leaders whose “hands are full of blood.” Leo also declared that Jesus is the King of Peace and “no one can use [him] to justify war.”

Aside from Pope Leo’s strong pushback to Trump’s bold statement, “We’re going to bring them back to the Stone Ages, where they belong,” a vast majority of conservative politicians, media outlets, and, most surprisingly, clergy have remained silent. This “sitting on the sidelines” approach only bolsters Trump’s sense of invincibility. Does he believe he can walk on water, give sight to the blind, or make the mute sing? Does he truly believe God takes sides in politics?

The truth is, God does not choose sides.

Tom Waits’s beautiful ballad, “The Day After Tomorrow,” takes the form of a letter from a soldier to his loved ones in Rockford, Illinois. Disillusioned by the blood spilled in battle, he asks the very question that today’s rhetoric ignores:

You can’t deny,
the other side
don’t want to die any more than we do,
what I’m trying to say
is don’t they pray
to the same God that we do?
And tell me how does God choose,
whose prayers does he refuse? ♦

Jim Hickey is a member of St. Brigid Parish in Westbury, New York, a Vincentian, and a frequent contributor to the opinion pages of local newspapers.